‘Eha

A young woman swam in the sea, suddenly stopping and looking back. Her skin was almost a pure white, and she was watching a deadly scene unfold. She watched the sun sink into the rosy haze of sun setting into the deep blue, clashing with the bright bursting fire not a mile away. If you looked closely, those daunting hazel eyes were brimming with golden tears, spilling over, and increasing by the second, ‘till the pool of water around her was also a shimmering gold, and the angry fire in her eyes was clear, but the overwhelming guilt was even clearer.

As the sun was almost out of view, she called out a deep and mystic call, older than the sea itself. It was a call of utter sorrow, from the aching from the pits of the soul. It was all she could do. There was nothing left.

Less than a week earlier, the young woman, or rather, the young siren, ‘Eha, was in her favorite fishing cove, where she was humming a sweet tune to herself, plucking the tiny bones from the meat of a small coelacanth fish. 

GLUB! ‘Eha turned around and saw a bewildered young, human, woman, looking at her in awe. ‘Eha was in shock. She had never seen a human woman before, only stupid sailor men or her sister sirens. 

Overcoming her earlier bewilderment, ‘Eha grabbed the woman by the shoulders, and swam her up to the surface, where she could talk.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my cove?” ‘Eha asked once they were above water, shaking the woman fiercely.

“I- I- was observing the reef, I’m a marine biologist,” the woman said in response.

‘Eha cocked her head at the new word, to which the woman responded,

“It’s a job, where you observe life underwater, and learn new things that wa-”

‘Eha interrupted her with a snarl. “No! Why are you here in MY cove, looking at ME? Am I being observed?” ‘Eha snapped her jaws menacingly.

“ N-n-no! I was looking at the coral reef around your… cove, and then I saw you… I have never seen one like you… above the water we thought creatures such as you extinct, it’s like… a miracle!” The woman was over her fear now, and in awe. ‘Eha loved it, the attention-loving siren she was. You could see her thinking, and she made a decision in her head.

“I am ‘Eha the siren, and I would not leave you to drown, but you must tell me what man thinks of sirens, and more of this… marine biology. In exchange, I will spare your life, yes?” 

‘Eha’s declaration was more of an announcement and less of a question, but nevertheless, the woman said yes.

“Also… my name is Sophie, just so you know,” the woman said shyly. “Now, where to begin…” Sophie’s voice faded into the distance, telling all sorts of tales, most all of them good to sirens, to please ‘Eha. 

The next couple of days, in between these story sessions, ‘Eha would swim back to her home cove, where the sirens slept, and had feasts, as well as hunting sessions together. 

“…And then, it was said that the Sirens were fated to die if any mortal should hear them sing and live to tell the story. So, once Odysseus passed them unharmed, disheartened by their humbling defeat, the Sirens hurled themselves into the sea and bothered no man ever again!” ‘Eha was telling tales she had heard from Sophie to her sisters in their cove, now explaining the story of Odysseus to them.

“That is untrue and outrageous, that one lowly man might escape us in the first place, and that we might leave for no one ever again! Why do you tell us such foul tales, sister?” Ayca, another siren, complained.

“I-” ‘Eha was shouted over, 

“Now! Tell us another, a good one ‘Eha.” Ayca again interrupted, longing for more of her sister’s tales. ‘Eha’s words spun webs around the sirens, trapping them all in stories of delight, and fear, and the sea. It was as if ‘Eha had placed a spell on them.

Yet, all seemed to be happy and wonderful, but one fateful day, with the oncoming storm darkening the sky with a blanket made of storm clouds, and fog so thick one could barely see through it. But sirens’ eyes were made to see through the deepest ocean depths, so this was a slightly cloudy day to their eyes.

So, ‘Eha waited hours after Sophie would usually come, but her impatient qualities got the best of her. She swam off, in search of Sophie’s ship. She found a huge, lumbering ship, made of some material, harder than wood, unknown to her. The ship had Sophie’s scent on it. She could tell, as a natural born hunter of man. 

Finally, swimming around the sides of the ship, ‘Eha heard Sophie’s voice, and peeked through a porthole.

There was a sailor, and Sophie sitting in the cabin. The sailor had a heavy beard and was noticeably short next to Sophie. The two seemed to be relaxed in the cabin, drinking ale while the rest of the crew scurried up to the deck to help with the oncoming storm. Now, ‘Eha could hear voices clearly, her ears adjusted to the muffled talking.

“BWAHAHAHA, ahh, Sophie, that’s a good one, phew. By the way, how’s your siren friend coming along? I don’t mean to pry, but…” A deep sailor’s voice reached ‘Eha’s ear, with his sentence left unfinished for Sophie to continue. 

“Well, I’m so glad you asked.” Sophie said with a smirk.

“It’s going great. The stupid little fish girl is oblivious, and full of herself, leading me right to it. All part of my plan…” Sophie continued talking, but what was said is unknown, for ‘Eha had heard enough. She swam away in a fury, astounded that Sophie could call her stupid, and full of herself! And, ‘Eha thought, she was most definitely not a ‘fish girl!’

Yet, even being the self-absorbed fish girl ‘Eha was, she forgot about everything else Sophie had said to the sailor man. She spent the rest of the day fuming, as if she had been set on fire.

Coming back to the main cove, ‘Eha told no stories, much to the dismay of her sisters, until Ayca finally convinced her to. After telling a couple of tales, ‘Eha took a break, but was content, and had forgotten about Sophie for a while. 

When dusk had settled, all the sirens swam to the lowest depths of the cove to sleep on the soft sand at the bottom. ‘Eha had laid awake for quite some time, thinking and thinking, until her mind suddenly became clear, seeing a beautifully destructive path of revenge.

She would plant a chøktå in the ship, and watch it all burn.

See, ‘Eha was a fish girl, and very full of herself, but there was one thing Sophie was wrong about. ‘Eha was not stupid. 

‘Eha hatched a plan to set the ship ablaze.

A chøktå was a sort of bomb made by sirens. It was made of shell, with a whisper of the magic of a siren entwined with it. The shell would be placed on a ship, and no matter how far away the siren was who cast the spell on the chøktå, if they said the spell again, the chøktå would burst into siren song, causing all men aboard the ship to jump off, and drown.

Now, this would not work on Sophie, for she was a woman, and a song meant to ensnare men would not do the same for any woman. So ‘Eha decided fire would have to do. ‘Eha would go up the ship one night, and steal a spark from a lantern hanging on the railing of the ship. That same spark would be placed into a beautiful shell in ‘Eha’s cove, and magic would be whispered into its soul.

Soon, ‘Eha had it all figured out. It had been two days, and Sophie didn’t show, so a confrontation upon her next visit was unlikely. 

Coming upon the now moving ship, ‘Eha knew it was now or never. The ship had been stationary the last few days, so now it was most likely going somewhere back wherever it came from.

With the water lapping at the sides of the boat, ‘Eha wriggled up the side, tugging herself up by the crook between the ship and the portholes. Finally, she put her head over the railing, looking out for incoming people. No one was there, so scrambling off and over the railing, ‘Eha placed the shell in a coil of rope, hidden and entangled.

She heard a voice, and as fast as she could, heaved over the railing, and took the dive back down. 

Now in water again, she could feel her tail aching with the relief of touching water again, her scales quickly feeling good as knew, she zipped off to the main cove.

Feeling much better about herself, she smugly shouted, “Gather, sisters. I have another story for you.” The other sirens chirped up, and gathered around.

This time, ‘Eha began to tell a story of her own design, about a princess of sirens, who longed to explore the world of man, but her sisters forbade it. Determined to go through with her plan, she sought out a lone siren, who had been banished years ago for misusing her magic. The story went on, the siren princess fell in love with a sailor man, but he had betrayed her. He pretended to love her, but he lied and married another woman, shunning the siren princess. The siren princess then, for revenge purposes, set fire to the kingdom, while she watched from the water and went back to her sisters, the only ones she could trust.

Done with the story at last, ‘Eha’s sisters looked at her in awe, for this story was more powerful and wonderful than the last ones. ‘Eha truly was a master of words. She assumed they were silent because her story was so great, so she took a deep bow, and her sisters swarmed her. 

That night, she decided, with her confidence built up, she would repeat the spell, and light it up. Sneakily swimming out of the main cove, ‘Eha swam up and about a mile away from the cove and the ship, an equal distance where she could stay unseen by others, but see everything herself. Once there, she took a deep breath, and called out to the shell, starting the countdown.

Little did ‘Eha know, Sophie had also hatched a plan of revenge. Sophie’s real name was Ashley, and Ashley had come leading sailor men to investigate the mysterious disappearance of men in this area. Ashley’s husband, Mark, was a sailor on a ship in the area a couple months ago, where all the men on the ship were found drowned without any signs of struggle.

Ashley had come back for revenge, and thanks to ‘Eha, she was able to track ‘Eha back to her cove. Ashley was planning an ambush on the sirens.

Just as ‘Eha was currently starting the countdown for the fire, Sophie had all her men put earplugs on to protect themselves from the siren songs. Because of the boat above their cove, the sirens next move would be to sing, and kill the potential threats, but since the ship was aware of that, they sprung nets when the sirens swam up, trapping them and tugging them up onto the deck.

Just as the countdown hit four, ‘Eha heard her sister Ayca call out to her for help, and ‘Eha realized that ship had come just over the main cove. Panicking, she swam as fast as she could, as if she was going at the speed of light, but sadly, there was nothing she could do.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

“Help, ‘Eha!” called Ayca.

Eight

Eha was nearing the ship.

Nine.

Ten.

FWOOSH!

The chøktå exploded into flames, propelling ‘Eha backwards. The fire quickly expanded across the ship, and it started sinking slowly, the sirens on the deck shrieking. 

‘Eha tried to push herself over to the boat, but since the explosion slammed ‘Eha back, she was pushed against a rock. Her scales were bloody, and she couldn’t swim, no matter how hard she tried.

And so we return where we started, with ‘Eha bobbing in the sea, watching it all burn, and responding with her call of great sorrow.

The Doubles’ Disaster

Bob was walking in a dark alley when someone came up behind him. He felt that someone was following him, and assumed the worst. He ran away, not daring to look back. It seemed that even though he kept running faster, the follower was still just behind him. What could he do, but look back? There behind him were the unmistakable frown and pocketed overalls of Kate Herentock. He was right to assume the worst, but there was no running now. She was much too close.

“Bob,” she said, “we meet again.” They circled each other, neither daring to make the first strike. The problem, though, was that they were both so scared of the other’s hatred that the circling took hours. Kate had lost the element of surprise, and Bob was terrified. They circled and circled until finally it became day again, and they realized that they couldn’t fight anymore because they would be caught. They both ran off, neither of them saying a word during this exchange since Kate’s first statement. 

Hour later, onlookers stood, shocked. Nobody was sure what to do. The whole world was silent, and in regret. They were not sure if it was good or bad. Kate and Bob looked at each other distrustingly. They looked down. Bob saw a very familiar outline, so he looked up and down at Kate, and below her. The feud had gone on forever, yet he’d never known who it was with. Had he done something good, or bad? He thought of his twin, and now he understood why both Kates wanted to kill him. One was good, and one was bad: just like him and his twin. Except everyone looked at him suspiciously because surely good Bob would not have done this awful thing. Did he do it to Good Kate or Bad Kate? Would he ever prove that he was Good Bob? 

Someone walked up with handcuffs, saying “You have done an atrocity to one of the Goods of the city. We rule you, Bad Bob, and we will capture you.”

In another town, another Bob sat there watching the news of Good Kate’s death. He saw Bad Bob be arrested—or was it good Bob? Who was he? Was he the good one, or the bad one? He decided that he was done with his arguing, and that he would fight the Kates. He had decided that there was no good or bad Bob. It was all Bad Kate’s fault, but she had turned from the dark side, it seemed, after seeing her sister lying on the floor. 

He worked on a new potion. They had always used hatred potions, which he had been so scared of when he’d circled one of the Kates. This time, he put his emotion out into a forgiveness potion that would hopefully do something nobody had before: stop the hatred after it had already inflicted its horror on another. There was another murderer on the loose, spreading hatred everywhere.

In jail, the other Bob thought about what happened. He and his twin had been put against each other from the start by a hatred potion, and manipulation. They each did awful things, and great things in the constant fight against hatred. They both thought there was one Kate. The Kates both thought there was one Bob causing madness. The good Kate thought there was only a bad Bob. The bad Kate thought there was only a good Bob. So they both attacked the Bobs, making the Bobs fight back. This caused many disasters. They also went on rescue missions. Bad Kate’s turned into an avalanche by accident, and everyone thought she was bad. This caused everyone to hate Bad Kate, infecting her with hatred. That’s how she became truly bad: because she was possessed. Another rescue went wrong by the Bob in jail, and Good Kate and the other Bob both succeeded. This caused a massive confusion that spread hatred like a virus, leading to the panic attack that killed Kate. When the Bob in jail saw two Kates, he killed one. But now, two of the few things that could combat the hatred had come: understanding and forgiveness.

Tenderloin’s Six

Chapter 1:

Julian, California, 1875

Fresh hay poked at the inside of Thomas’ butt, as he struggled to put his shoe on. 

“Dang sweet busters, ay Willy how ya do ye ol’ shoe. Coulda taught me?” Thomas asked.

“I teached ya an hour go, ya dinger!” William shot back

“Ya ain’t teached me an hour go, dat’s yesserday!” 

“Watcha sayin’ ya fool?!”

“I sayin’ dat ya can’t do nuttin’!” Thomas yelled, throwing the empty glass bottle on the floor at William.

“Ya chop floppin’ spam tangler!” William said. 

“Hey, look! Some shiny gold!”

“Huh, where?” William said, turning around. Thomas slapped him in the back of the neck and let out a loud laugh.

“You slap danglin’ meat picker!”

“Ya know,” said Thomas. “I want some pie!”

“Yeah, me too!”

“But we ain’t got no gold!” Thomas said.

“Been five year since ol’ Coleman was got gold!” William added.

“Well, why don’t we steal some it ourselves?!” Thomas said. “The Eagle Mine’s got plenny of it!”

Chapter 2: 

“Now dat’s a real dang good plan. First one ya got in a whole dang year!” William responded. 

“Flap it, ya muskrat, I get dat jolly poppin’ idea just four day ago.” Thomas snapped back. 

“Nah, wiz just today when ya flopped dat dang bustin’ idea, ya bootlicker.” said William.

“No, it not!”

“Ye, it is!”

“No, it not!”

“Ye, it is!”

“Shut yer bone box ya filthy muskrat!” 

Some time passed as the friends continued to snap at each other. But now the conversation was on some more important matters. 

“So how we gonna bust into dat Eagle Mine?” William said. 

“Well dat simple! Throw a bunch of bombs inside!”

“Na, dat would just blow up dat rich gold ya meater!” 

“Oh. Den why don’t we just run in and slap ‘em all silly! Then dey all be out cold and we got steal dat gold!”

“Ye let’s do ‘at!”

Chapter 3: 

It was 8 AM on Thursday, July 12th, 1875, and if you happened to be out front of the Eagle Mine in Julian, California, then you would’ve seen two old men, dressed in old ripped clothing. William and Thomas slowly walked up to the front of the mine and stepped inside. It was pretty dark and they didn’t see anyone until a young miner spotted them.

“Where ya keep all ya dang gold, ya gibface?” Thomas yelled to him. 

“Ya’ll don’t look like miners. Watcha doin’ in here?”

“We are miners!” said William rather quickly. 

“Now ya fools shut it with your fimble fambles before I give you a couple blinkers!”

“We just wanna know where ya keep some gold, ya hobbledehoy!” 

The boy looked very surprised by that remark, and feebly punched Thomas square in the face and slapped William. He kept on hitting them until they ran out of the mine, yelling curses.

“Well,” said Thomas, after they got out of the mine. “Guess dat wasn’t a good plan.”

“It sure wasn’t! And it ain’t my fault, ya flop dangler!”

Chapter 4:

“Well,” said William, looking up from the apple pie he had stolen. “If my scientiifick chalky-lashins are co-rect, we need to ‘semble a team for da gold stealin’.”

“Yar, but we might have to flop em’ some of out jolly poppin’ gold.” Thomas said. 

“No, we do not! Alls we’ll gotta do is tell them fools we givin’ em some gold and dey flop der trousers off and we run away wit all dat golds!”

“Dat a poppin idea, now, what bootlickers are we gonna get?” 

“Well, how ‘bout Sunny and the Hornswogglers?” said William.

“Right, but Sunny and the Hornswogglers can’t flop a dangler,” Thomas said. “We need ’em to be able to flop a dangler.” 

“Well let’s go get ‘em and see ya flop bootslappin’ cheap bungle ball!” yelled William.

“Where are dey?”
“Ya know I factually dow no!”

“Let’s check the Hornswoggler Shack, dats der main hideout.”

“Dat’s all the way across town, so how we gonna get der.”

“Well let’s do it ya slap foff-gogglin’ slap wonderin’ meat danglin’ horn bogglin’ belly guzzlin’ sleep chogglin’ bootlickin’ fat bunderin’ foozler!!!”

Chapter 5:

After two and a half hours of walking, they finally reached the Hornswoggler Shack. Sunny and the Hornswogglers were playing cards, which they obviously didn’t know how to play.

“Watcha doin’?” asked Thomas. 

“Playin’ cards,” said one Horswoggler, as he took the deck and threw it up in the air. “I win!” he yelled.

“No, I win!” said another Hornswoggler.

“No!”

“Ye!”

“I wanna play!” Thomas yelled over them.

“Na!” said William. “We gotta get down to bizz nizz!”

“Alriy,” said Sunny. “Woot dar yer bootlickers wunt froym us?”

“We need ya’ll Hornswogglers for dem heist were pullin’,’ ‘ said William. 

“But we don wanna get got,” said Billy the Boy.

“Ya’ll gonna help us and yer gets dat golds!” said Thomas.

“Oooh I want dose golds!” said Jumpin’ Jimmy.

“Fer yer infromattin, I am in charge of dis heist!” said William.

“Ya, but will we ge’ dos golds,” Sunny said. 

“Oh ya’ll will get half of de earnin’s from the hiesteroonies!”

“Fine we’ll take the job,” said Sunny. “But I ain’t doin’ it, and yer only takin’ five of my boys.” 

“Alrightyright, ya slap danglers, dat’s a deal.”

All through the night the boys discussed their heist plans, and they woke up feeling a little dreary. 

Chapter 6:

When the morning light showed upon the Hornswoggler Hut, William and the boys had a heist plan ready. All night they had practiced and practiced until they had all memorized what was supposed to happen. They had the entire day to prepare for the heist. They would leave for the Eagle Mine at 6:00. But first, they had to steal a carriage. Finally, the time came for the heist.

At approximately 7:00 PM, Billy the Boy entered the mine, in mining clothes. William was already there, dressed as a miner. Billy casually walked down close to where the gold was, then he snuck into the gold area, and shoved it into a sack. After William’s signal, he ran out of the mine and passed the sack with gold off to Jumpin’ Jimmy, who quickly switched it with a bag of fake gold and ran behind the mine. 

At this point, people from the mine would be running out, trying to catch the thief. Meanwhile, in front of the mine, Billy was sprinting to the stolen carriage, which had Thomas at the wheel. He tossed the fake bag of gold into the carriage and jumped in. Suddenly, Frankie Choo-Cha and Bootlickin’ Bob screeched into the area in a police carriage, both dressed as police officers. Suddenly, Jumpin’ Jimmy ran out from the area which the other carriage had driven away to, holding the real sack of gold, yelling, “I got the gold! I got it from the thief!” He then threw the sack of gold into the “police carriage” and Bootlickin’ Bob, dressed as a police officer, yelled, “We got the gold and we’re gonna catch them thief real soon!” They drove away, the miners cheering, completely oblivious of what had just happened.

The Wall

The wall was waking up. Yellow light bounced around in the hexagon, ever so slightly moving faster in the span of a blink, until the middle opened like an eye, casting its piercing light over the entire planet. It was beautiful. Nobody else saw it, nobody else could separate the planet from its creation. Tears drew their first breaths in Azure’s eyes, falling into the void below before their first words were spoken. Azure stood alone at the edge of the world, watching the stars as their world sailed towards the annual death of its people. Pebbles flew into the abyss and twigs crunched as heavy boots approached them.

“Message from our scouts,” said a deep, raspy voice. “It’s for your eyes only, or some nonsense like that.”

Azure sighed and pulled the bundle of gold-plated leaves to their chest. In the light of the wall, it was like a small sun in their hands, each leaf reflecting the brilliant light. As the leaves were opened, the little plant gave its last dying breath, its carbon being put back into the imbalanced atmosphere. Once its shelter was gone, the electric message sparked to life. Aurorin’s face shimmered into existence on the plate of metal. Azure’s heart raced—Aurorin was alive! The sheet began to vibrate in Azure’s hands, the movements forming sounds, then words.

“Azure, this mission is failing. The hunters have been in pursuit for several days, and–”

On the metal sheet, Azure could see Aurorin fall forward, barely managing to send the message before she blacked out from what must have been a hunter’s plasma rifle. The recording suddenly snapped to black with the abruptness of a viper’s strike. This mission had been entirely snuffed out by the Locufortian hunters. Azure left the metal folio on the ground, staring at it for several minutes before their sword went directly through the center. The electronic chip whined as its circuits were maimed. Azure kicked it, sending the whole plate of metal off the edge of the world. Tears welled up in their eyes again, not out of reflex, but out of fear and anger. Azure snuffed out the tears with the back of their hand, marching back to the resistance’s camp. Tents and wooden shelters struggled to escape their terrestrial bindings, rising into the air and only being held down by stakes and vines. As Azure strode into the area, they activated their boots’ magnetic clamps, holding them down despite the erratic gravity. As they threw open the command tent’s flap, everybody stopped talking to look at them. 

“Aurorin, along with the rest of the scouts, is dead or captured. We’ve got little to no information about the Locufortian defenses.” The other commanding officers sat in crushing silence for a moment before Azure spoke again. “We need to go in and save them before the incursion starts! It-” They were interrupted by a younger, lower ranked officer.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do we need to devote our resources to saving the scouts that failed?” The other officers slowly nodded, each bob of a head, Azure’s anger intensified until it reached the breaking point. After years of being held back, it surged forward and grabbed their brain by the steering wheel. 

“You don’t understand! You…imbeciles! This is our best scouting group, and we only have a week to gather information! You all only care about yourselves…I’m going alone if nobody’s coming with me.” Before anybody could respond, Azure grabbed their weapon from where it was hanging on the wall, and stormed off. 

Hours later, with the sun down, the forest was still bright. The wall’s golden glow permeated through every corner of the trees, no matter how dense the thickets were. No chirps or rustles were audible, the snapping of branches under Azure’s feet was the only sound that carried through the seemingly infinite masses of trees. Azure pressed on through the woods, their eyes dancing over every surface, searching for any sign of life, movement, anything that would give away a friend, foe, or even a wild animal in the lush yet desolate forest. A hand grabbed their ankle. Something flew out of a tangle of vines, light flashing off a long silver object in their hand. Before they could even react, Azure was on the ground, somebody’s knees on their arms, a knife at their throat. As their eyes refocused, they saw long scarred fingers, and the necklace they gave away a year ago. They found it was Aurorin on top of them, slowly pulling the blade away from their neck. 

“Oh,” she said. “It’s just you…wait, why are you here?”

“I was trying to find you!” Azure exclaimed. “I thought you had died!”

“Me too.” Aurorin absently felt at the back of her neck, which, as Azure now realized, was burned and mangled. 

“Is that…where he hit you? It’s bad, but…it could have been a lot worse.”

“Yeah, I know. It really doesn’t hurt that much.” The two stood in silence for a moment, staring everywhere but at each other. Finally, Aurorin spoke up. “Everyone else was captured…do you want to see where they are?” 

Azure’s brain seemed to work again, like it hadn’t since Aurorin had jumped out of the shadows. 

“O-of course. That’s why I’m here, after all.” As they began to creep through the jungle, something came to Azure’s mind. “How did you escape capture?” Aurorin turned to face Azure, while still walking in a specific direction. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “When I regained consciousness, the shelter had been destroyed, and I was out in the open. A few minutes later, you walked by, and…” The pair kept walking in silence. Finally, a movement in the leaves uncovered a large facility, showcasing its fountains of oil. A Locufortian building, plated with expensive bright metals and shiny gemstones.  Azure took out their spyglass—they could see people in prisoner’s garb inside.

“This is the place,” Aurorin said. “Let’s head around to the back.” As the two strode around the prison, Azure noticed that there wasn’t a single guard on the premises. Aurorin jauntily walked around the building like she hadn’t noticed. 

“You go on,” Azure yelled, “I’ll keep up.” As Azure stood there, trying to look busy, they felt Aurorin’s gaze on them. She wasn’t moving, just…looking. That’s not Aurorin. She would never just stand around like that. “Hey Aurorin! Over here!” Not-Aurorin sauntered over, a slight smile on her face. Before they knew what they were doing, Azure slammed the flat of their sword into the fake Aurorin’s throat. As she gasped for air, Azure grabbed her neck and pinned her to the ground. “Who are you?” The imposter Aurorin smiled, her face splitting apart. Underneath the now-gone face, a hideous smile was exposed, full of too many teeth.

The deep and unnatural voice seemed to reverberate through the trees, “It really took you this long to realize this? You’re losing your edge.” Rage filled Azure once again, making them slam their hand onto the imposter’s neck. 

“Where’s the real Aurorin?” The shapeshifting…thing laughed even harder, shaking the trees. 

“Dead. You failed, Azure.” Azure’s grip loosened, a numbness spreading throughout their whole body. They were whispering under their breath, not moving.

“I…failed…?” With that, a spear rose from the fake Aurorin’s chest. It touched Azure’s skin, then broke it, sending trickles of blood raining down the point, then the shaft. Azure didn’t feel pain, the spear was simply not strong enough to outmatch the emptiness inside, the void that had been filled by hope, the void that was now empty. As the spear rose higher, in a second that stretched into a year, the welling blood filled their vision, their life. Azure closed their eyes. Some time later—Azure had no idea how long it had been—they struggled to open their eyes, finding themself surrounded by trees, carnivorous plants moving closer to their body. They tried to push themself up, but their hands slipped on the pooled blood, their blood. They released their grip on their sword, which was planted into the lifeless body of…Aurorin. No, not Aurorin, somebody else. Azure looked down and saw the pike driven through their own body, their blood dripping off of the tip. All this time…all this work…and this is what kills me…? Faint footsteps came into their earshot, with yells of…their name? Hands brushed against the underside of their chest, and as a face became visible, the world dissolved into bright golden light. And it was beautiful.

Ish & I

A gentle breeze swept over a small neighborhood in Brooklyn. The sun shined over the New York City skyline, like any other spring day. It started with my little brother toddling around our apartment. 

“Ish, Ish, Ish, Ish.” I don’t know why someone would name their child Ish, but my name was Burtch, and that wasn’t any better.

I rolled out of bed and put on my glasses, and I was off. The house was empty except for me and Ish, which gave me no choice but to take him with me. Home life was never easy. There was always a bill overdue and our electricity wasn’t very stable. There were cracks in the paint, and after my mom left, I hadn’t had a single friend over. You would think that we would be living with another relative, but the only one still alive was my mom’s mom. She lived in California and only visited once a year. She was now too old and frail to travel. Part of me was used to this, but I knew Ish deserved better. 

 I tiptoed out the door and held my hand over Ish’s big mouth. I never grew up like the other kids nearby. My mom had left a while ago, and left me with newborn Ish. She left in the night, didn’t tell us where she was going, and we never knew why. I thought that she would come home one night, but to this day she still hasn’t. Once you opened the front door to our house, your ears were clogged by police sirens and the sound of loud piercing screams from the family next door. When my mom was there, it was always a lot easier to manage.

With Ish and my school bag in my arms I headed outside. Ish tried to run out of my grip, but I knew better than to let him go. I held him tight to my chest, my heart pounding and Ish kicking me with all his might. It had been the same way every morning since the day Ish was born. My pace quickened as I saw what was up ahead. The guys.

Ever since I was Ish’s age they would torment me. Then I had my mom to stand up for me, but now she wasn’t there to fend for us. I dodged the next corner and ran with Ish the rest of the way to school. It didn’t really feel like I could face them alone. I was small, skinny, and pale; they were huge and muscular, always on guard waiting to attack. I dropped Ish off at the preschool center. He gave me a kiss, and with a smile on his face, ran off. Now I had to face the walk to school.

The next few blocks were filled with broken glass, and the smell of smoke wafted through the air. It felt like my every move was being watched. With each step I could hear the faint sound of laughter getting louder and louder.

I walked into the hallway and kids pushed and shoved me as they walked by. I was the weird kid at my school. The one who was in the school band, answered every question right and I thought that was what everyone wanted. My mom always said, “Your education is the most important thing.” I tried to live up to that standard, but I never was good enough. Each time I got a perfect test score it didn’t feel perfect. I was confused, because I didn’t even know what I wanted. I was top of my class, but kids still passed me and looked at me like I was nothing. I was just that kid, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape from it.

I walked into classroom 5A with my shoulders hunched and head hanging low. I took my seat next to a small window while Ms. Crow went on about writers’ craft. Once we were dismissed, I went to the library.

 The library had been my second home since I entered middle school. There were shelves full of thousands of books, all categorized and placed in different sections. Scattered around the room there were little reading nooks, and all I wanted to do was stay in there for hours. I scanned each shelf and grabbed as many books as I could carry and went to check them out. There were very few kids who liked the library as much as I did. At the moment it was just me and the librarian, which in some ways made it nicer. It was quiet and there were no kids around to stare and judge me. I curled up on a small chair and picked a book out of my pile. The cover was blank, and I flipped through the pages– only to find a note written with the same neat, cursive handwriting as mine. The same handwriting that I had recognized through all of my childhood.

Run.

My mom left without leaving a note, but if she could bother to just write the word Run, it meant something. A wave of shock overcame me as I looked and realized that this was her handwriting. Just seeing it brought me back to when she would hold my hand and check on me every night to make sure I was okay. I could just feel her presence in the room. I couldn’t see her, but she was there watching me from wherever she was in the world now. My mind raced as I thought of Ish and how he never had a real mother. I was sure that this wasn’t a joke, but I was also sure that she would never leave me, but I was wrong. My breath started slipping, and suddenly someone’s hands were wrapped around my throat. Mr. March, the librarian, was behind the counter and couldn’t see what was going on. I looked up to see just another kid in my class. I wrestled my way out of the clutch on my throat, grabbed the small book and ran. This suddenly didn’t feel like teasing anymore, because it hurt all of me. My insides ached and my face was still purple from the impact of the hands that had just been around me.

I ran, tears dripping down my face, my legs aching and burning but I couldn’t stop running. I knew my mom too well. She didn’t want to leave us, but she felt like she had to. 

 My legs came to a halt and I bent down, panting, my eyes bloodshot red, and it felt like the whole world was spinning at full speed around me. My head felt this strange sensation, and my body was not in my control anymore. I was drifting and drifting away…

I woke up to find myself in a hospital bed. Where’s Ish? And then I saw him. His little smile was gone and he had gone quiet. Three people marched in the room and tried to grab Ish from his seat. 

“Where are you taking him?” I asked, but they ignored me and grabbed Ish tight around his little arms. 

Once he was out of the room he started to cry. Small tears dripped down his face, and now I was the one who had gone quiet.

The pain in my head was now sharper and stronger than before, I was helpless. I had let Ish go and didn’t even put up a fight. It felt like my fault, it was my fault.

Doctors came and went talking, whispering, sometimes even shouting but my ears still rang with the sound of Ish’s screams. I had no options layed out for me and my future. School had got me nowhere but stuck in my own head and I had to just wait. The digital clock in the room kept flashing bright lights and I just had to wait for child services to come and take me next just like Ish.

A figure came into the room. Her face was scared and frigid all at once. She was very thin and her hair was the color of straw, just like my own. Her shoes were torn, and her pants were covered with patches of dirt and grime. Her ears were too big for her head and her mouth was shaped with an almost perfect curve on the upper lip. 

“Run, she said, and then without another word, she gave me the slightest kiss on the cheek and left.

I discreetly slipped out of bed and felt all the blood rush down from my head. The air was still and I was able to take off the IV that had been placed in my arm. In my hospital gown, I tiptoed out of the small room and worked my way through each bustling hospital corridor. Once I had made my way down to the exit, I had to get past a bunch of security. I made my way around a metal detector and went into the large swirling doors. Once I was outside I realized exactly where Ish had gone.

I took off sprinting, jumping past cars going through streets, and then I saw him. Waiting at the bus stop for me. I didn’t care how he had escaped those other people, but he was alone. There was a large cut on his forehead, and when he saw me he came running. I embraced him in my arms, and decided that it was time to tell him the truth. “Ish, I’m sorry, but we can’t stay here much longer.”

“I know Burth Burth, we are not safe here anymore,” Ish replied. 

Ish climbed up onto my back and I ran. I ran past mountains and fields and skyscrapers. We were never going to stop because no one could stop us.

Night creeped up on us and my stomach grumbled. I laid Ish down on a patch of grass and he instantly fell asleep. At the break of dawn I woke Ish up, and we were off again. In the distance I could see a small village, and with Ish now running and the sun shining; my aching hunger was pushed aside by a sense of joy– because Ish was here with me, away from child services, the dangers of Brooklyn, and he was safe.

After another night on the run, the village up ahead was closer than ever. My bare feet followed the path of a wet cobblestone road, and I decided that this was where we would call home for the coming years. Education was important, but not as important as Ish. He was my everything from the day he was born to the day that I die. It would always be Ish and I forever.

The Pawn’s Parry

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Will Ravenswood woke up from a sleep devoid of any dreams with a smile on his face. Not because of anything that was happening that day or because he had a good sleep, but because he smelled something: the sweet scent of frying bacon. He jumped out of bed, dressed himself quickly, jammed on his boots, and ran downstairs so hard he practically flew. He lived in a small house, in a room only a couple feet wide with three beds in it. One was for his grandma, Em. He also had a small drawer, half of which was his, the other half occupied by his adopted sister. Downstairs was slightly bigger, with a couple of small lamps lighting up a kitchen and a table, as well as a door at the end. His grandma, who was standing over their small stove with a frying pan in hand, gave him an eye.

“Don’t stomp around like that!” she said with a scowl on her face. “You’re going to break your neck, or worse, the stairs!”

“Sorry Grandma,” said Will, walking as fast as he could down the rickety old steps. Will was a bright young boy of fifteen, with curly black hair and brown eyes. He was a perfectly average height for his age, but he was abnormally strong, due to his years and years of training to be a soldier in the army. Grandma Em was shorter than Will but she made up for it by being twice as strong as him. She wore a white dress and blue apron at all times and possessed hand wraps that she used to fight things.

“Why do we have bacon? We’ve never had bacon without something special happening,” asked Will. She threw her hands up in the air in anger, somehow not flinging fried pork through the air in the process.

“Do you need me to memorize your schedule for you? It’s your graduation day.” Will’s heart skipped a beat. He had completely forgotten in the night. He went to the Lightbringer School for Pawns, where he was training to be either a Knight, Pawn, or a ROOK (Royal Officer Of the King). The final exam was to decide whether or not he got promoted or stayed a pawn. He was one of the best in his class, but because he moved up two grades, he was worried that he was too young to beat everyone else in the final exam (a giant free-for-all battle between all of the students). His grandma must have seen his worried expression because she took the pan off of the stove and hugged him.

“Oh, don’t worry. There’s a reason you moved up two grades, right? You’ll be fine!” She smiled deviously. “Then, you’ll get a good job and give me a share of the earnings, like your sister did.” Will groaned. His older sister Mira was probably one of the most innovative Bishops (or witches) to ever exist, revolutionizing magic and getting a lot of money from making weird, magic, robot things. She figured out how to make fireballs and plants by combining machines and magic, so he could never hear the end of it from Em. 

“Now, eat your bacon,” she said, pouring a third of the pan’s contents onto Will’s plate. Will picked at his mere thirty-three percent of the pan, and as the stairs creaked, he was severely reminded as to why he could only have that portion. Rogue, his other sister, creaked her way down the stairs and, before sitting down in her chair, grabbed three pieces of bacon and tossed them into her mouth. 

“Good morning, dear,” said Grandma Em, her rough demeanor deteriorating at Rogue’s sudden entrance. 

“Morning, Grandma Em. Morning, Will,” she said, swinging her feet onto the table. Will twisted to do the same, but Grandma Em raised her eyebrow at him, and he sadly twisted back to his normal seat. Not too long ago, at the beginning of the year, when the last blizzard of the spring was raging, Will found the shivering Rogue on a street corner, only about as old as Will and only remembering her name. Will was wary of her suit of stealth pawn armor that she possessed, and her unnaturally purple eyes, but he still brought her home, and his Grandma Em said she could stay for a couple days to recuperate and perhaps remember something. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, until it seemed like she was a real part of the family. Grandma Em still treated her as a guest, however, so Rogue could get away with anything she wanted. She had incredibly pale skin, like she spent all of her time underground, and raven-black hair, which fell down to a little bit below her neck.

“How’d my little brother sleep?” she asked, licking the bacon grease off of her fingers.

“Fine,” Will replied. “How’d my short sister sleep?” he replied, cutting up and finishing a strip of his bacon. Rogue’s face turned slightly red at the nickname. Rogue’s biggest ammunition against Will was the fact that when they used experimental age testing technology to help find out who she was, it said she was forty-two. While this was obviously not true, she still addressed Will as her little brother. Will’s only retort was that she was about a foot underneath the average height of a Pithosian girl, which she was quite embarrassed by. Grandma Em sat down next to Will, and chomped down her bacon with almost as much gusto as Rogue. Suddenly, a miniature owl dove in through the chimney and spread its wings, slowing down to a halt in front of Grandma Em and lying face up on the table, spread eagled, with legs curving outward to form a face-shaped arc. 

“Ah, it’s Mira’s messenger,” she said, putting it up to her ear and plugging her other. Will’s eyes widened.

“Mira’s coming? Today?” Will went back to being terrified for his final exam. Rogue, in contrast, seemed to be very excited for this. 

“Wait, Mira’s coming today? Finally, I get to see her again! We can discuss all the best ways to torment Will!” Grandma Em seemed to not hear that. Three days after Rogue came, Mira graduated and left for Atsbury, the capital. Rogue, however, only needed three days to start treating Mira like family. Rogue looked over at Will’s face and furrowed her brow.

“What’s wrong? I thought you might be sort of happy to see your sister again after…” she counted on her fingers, “What is it, three whole years? Is there something happening today?” Will rung his hands.

“Yeah. Final exams for Lightbringer’s.” He shook his hands. For the first time since he had known her, Rogue almost looked surprised, but she quickly switched back to her aloof personality. 

“Yeesh, sucks for you. Anyway, I’m gonna go stay in my room and have no worries about anything,” she said, but as she headed to the stairs, Grandma Em grabbed the cuff of her shirt. 

“Now, young lady,” said Grandma Em, ignoring the fact that she was supposedly forty-two. “I don’t make you do much in this house, because you’re a guest, but since you’re becoming a part of the family, you have to do some things.” Rogue looked horrified at the suggestion of having to do something against her own will. Will pumped his arm under the table.

“L-like what?” she asked, voice trembling. 

“You’re coming with me…” Grandma Em said. Rogue closed her eyes and gulped.

“To Will’s final exam.” Rogue sighed and looked relieved.

“For an hour.” Rogue shrieked and ran up the stairs, quick as a fox. Grandma Em laughed, pinching her nose. 

“What are we going to do with that girl, Will?” Suddenly, a large boom sounded across the town. 

“Oh no,” Grandma Em rolled up her sleeves. “That sounds like trouble. Come on, Will. Help your grandma kill a monster, won’t you?”

Grandma Em was Greenset’s resident monster hunter, a role given to her due to her successes in some war, but recently, Will had become old enough to start fighting monsters with her. This was especially useful because the monster attacks were getting much worse, and thus more dangerous for an old woman like Em to do on her own. Will grabbed his glaive, magic pendant, and armor (haphazardly strapped on in his haste), and then ran outside. The town square of Greenset was usually a very beautiful place, especially in the fall, with a massive statue of a goddess smiling serenely in the center. Many shops lined the square, including Grandma Em’s Vegetable Shop and Uncle Ben’s Butcher, the former’s bitter rival. There were also many gardens and trees lining the square’s edge in the small spaces between the narrowly stuffed shops. 

However, today was a little different. The gardens and trees (not to mention a few stores) were blazing with fire, and the usually quiet and nice goddess statue had the apparent culprit curled around it: a giant, horned snake. Will had seen many snakes in his life. Some green, some blue, and a rare few, red. But he had never seen a snake this color before. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything this color before. It was almost like it was the color of pure shadows, a completely, purely, opaque, black-ish purple he had never seen before. It didn’t burn his eyes and it didn’t hurt, but Will still felt like it was something that he was not supposed to look at, something that forced his eyes to avert themselves. It was like staring into an endless, horrifyingly empty void. However, it was still destroying the town, so Will cracked his neck and started to run over to his grandmother. She had seemed to have wrapped her fists with some padded cloth, but otherwise, she was still wearing the same blue dress and white apron that she had on at breakfast. Suddenly, she jumped up into the air, almost eight feet up, and delivered a massive punch to the snake’s head. Will could hear an audible crack as one of the horns of the reptile crashed to the ground. Grandma Em landed, but the serpent had recovered faster than anticipated and it shot out its cranium at the old woman, fangs bared. Will, realizing his grandma would never make it out in time, gripped his magic pendant tightly and ripped it off the chain, smashing it into pieces on the cobblestone streets of Greenset. However, instead of laying there, broken and useless, the shards produced a flash of light, and a horse suddenly appeared underneath Will. He started to flawlessly gallop towards the snake, and just before it injected its deadly venom into the aged body of Grandma Em, Will scooped her up and whisked her to safety. 

“Oh boy, this one’s a bit harder to kill than some others,” said Grandma Em. “It took a direct punch to the head and survived, not to mention almost breaking my fist.” Will shivered at the thought of something that could hurt the great Grandma Em. Suddenly, a shout sounded across the square as Rogue jumped out of her window and sank her rapier into the snake’s neck. However, instead of red blood pouring out, liquid darkness seemed to gush from the wound. It leaked over to a couple of flowers, and its touch seemed to suck the life out of the poor plants. Rogue rode on her blade down the coil of the serpent’s long, thin body and touched down to the ground, unscathed. Will rode his horse up to Rogue, who hopped on behind Grandma Em. 

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Em. “That was pretty good.” Rogue flashed a grin.

“Hey, incredibly fun violence is incredibly fun violence. Now that I’ve come, I think we’ve almost got this thing!” After Rogue said that, the snake shook itself and strained. The shadows around it started to creep towards the serpent, climbing up its tubular torso and filling in the cracks and cuts left by their collective efforts. It ended with a new horn poking out and completely growing back.

“That’s really bad,” said Will, his spirits sinking. But then, a streak of black flew through the air, a staff underneath it. A Bishop, wearing a mask that was said to magnify their power tenfold, looked around in their belt and then held a miniscule, glass bottle into the air. Suddenly, the snake started. It looked distressed. Then, with a great vacuum sound, the entire monster was pulled back, squashed and stretched into a tiny form until it flew into the bottle. The mage quickly corked the container, screwed it tight, and then maneuvered their flying staff through the air down to the ground. They jumped off of the branch and summoned it into their hand with a burst of magic. The cloaked figure threw off their hood and took off their mask, revealing the puffy ponytail, huge, hazel eyes, dragon-head tipped staff, and big, oxidized-copper goggles that Will had known since he was only a little baby. 

“Hey, little bro,” she said. Mira Ravenswood had returned.

Utopia

7 years ago…

My routine is quintessential. Nowadays, the word “perfect” is seen as a thing of the past. The word isn’t given much relevance since there is no perfection in our world. However, I would like to refute that point. The word “perfect” is pertinent to me because it so accurately describes my life. 

My eyes adjust to the luminous rays that fill up my room. I sigh contentedly. I rub my smiling eyes with my pajama sleeves and take a big stretch before I step out from the left side of my bed. I dance around my dreamy space humming the song that has been stuck in my head for the past week. Then, I start my valued morning routine that consists of getting ready in front of the shining vanity mirror, heading down the stairs of the manor to the abundance of fruit pastries prepared, and opening the embellished doors to explore my idealistic city, Utopia.

Utopia was the only place I ever lived. It was everything I could ask for. Homestyle bake shops on every block, fully restocked boutiques on every corner, and cinemas in every neighborhood. All of the citizens radiated a glow—a glow that could only be found in genuinely happy souls. The mayor of the city fulfilled every citizens’ needs and left no room for discontent. There was nothing that I would have thought to change. Absolutely nothing. 

Present day…

My eyes adjusted to the sunlight that beamed through the windows. I opened my eyes and stared at my bedroom ceiling. Another day. I had to drag my legs out of my comforter onto the cold stone floor. I entered my uncomfortably large bathroom to get ready for the day. I walked down the manor stairs into the dining table where the food spread was laid out. After taking a few bites of my toast, I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door. 

As I walked through the streets of Utopia, all I could see were smiles. Every face I saw was bubbling with excitement. The excitement that I contained 7 years ago. The excitement that I couldn’t find in myself anymore. 

As much as I tried to bring up that emotion that filled my soul once, I couldn’t quite dig it up. Utopia wasn’t the idealistic city. As I spent every day following the same routine, I started to find patterns. The cookie shops that were filled with the smell of sugar and buttermilk represented obesity in my society. Though enjoyable, cookies had a negative health effect on most citizens of Utopia. The boutiques that sold the latest gadgets, popular pants, and anything else you could possibly purchase, represented society’s greed. My closet and drawers were filled with things that I had little to no use of. It was when my dresser broke that I realized that I too had been corrupted by material goods. The movie theaters that satisfied the children left no room for actual education, disrupting creativity and a passion for learning. As I walked in the blinding radiant streets of my city, I realized how much it resembled a dystopian community. Oh how I longed for a humble routine. 

I soon arrived at my destination. I gazed up at the pure white, glimmering tower for five seconds, opened the clear intricate door, and entered. I walked across the marble floor with my heels click clacking against the stone. 

“Welcome back Ms. Solace,” the lobbyman called out. I gave him a quick nod and smile before entering the dinging elevator. I pressed the 13 button and I rocketed up the tower. I got out and headed to my office. The second I stepped out, I could hear greetings and laughter. As if excitement and joy were fairies, they surrounded me and filled every corner of the floor, maybe even the whole building. I opened my matte black office door and stepped into my soundproof space. 

I heard three consecutive knocks on the door. 

“Come in.” It was my assistant, she came in with a chai latte and a box of sugar cookies. I concealed my discontent with an illuminated smile and ecstatic thank you. 

“You always know what I need.” I happily responded. 

“Anything for you mayor.” My assistant walked out and gently closed the door behind her. I pushed the refreshments to the top right corner of my desk and opened my laptop. I opened my Gmail to see hundreds of proposals for “improvements.” Utopia had been manipulated with the lack of authority and I was going to resolve this conflict. With my cursor I selected all of the emails and clicked on the trash icon on the top right. The lives of Utopians would forever change. 

Chapter from the ‘Book of Problems #6: Fight Fire With Madness’

It was 11:32 am. Desmond showed up at ‘Milk Kingdom,’ his place of work. It was Saturday, the most perfect day of the week to carry out his plan with no school to keep him back.

Zofia, his coworker, was already there in her cow costume complete with the horns. 

“I got your text.” she said. “I’m a little confused. What’s LONG ENDS. INC?”

“The worst government organization in the history of the universe,” Desmond answered. “So I’m thinking 

we could use that new routine we were working on to distract them. Is that cool?”

“Where’s that Jim guy you were talking about?”

“Oh yeah, he should be here in a bit.”

“He better be compatible.”

“He is kind of…I can’t find the word. He yells a lot. That’s what he did to me and my friends when we tied him up in the theater.”

“Why did you tie him up?”

“Because he broke in.”

“Why did he break into a theater?”

“Because he’s a brother of a director-in-chief at LONG ENDS. INC, he calls himself Gemini. He thought that my friend Imogen had kidnapped a Greek princess, so he kidnapped her to get her to admit that she kidnapped the Greek princess. His best friend then hacked into her personal files and kidnapped my other two friends, Stefan and Ellis.” Desmond wished he could provide a more detailed explanation, but he was in a hurry.

Zofia just stared blankly up at him. “What’s a director-in-chief?”

“It’s what they call a commander-in-chief at LONG ENDS. INC.”

“Why is your life so weird?”

“There’s Jim!” Desmond pointed his finger out the window.

Jim pushed the door open. A little bell dinged as he entered the shop. He held up his phone. “Okay, so I got your text. About the plan…”

He said some words. Not some good ones.

“Bro!” Zofia scolded.

“It was not my plan,” Desmond said, like Jim could read his mind. “It was a mix of Sadie’s, Daisy’s, Finian’s, Magnolia’s, Sharon’s, Jaime’s, Fiona’s, Grace’s, Milo’s, Ilyas’, Lale’s, Zelda’s, Marina’s, some Bryan action here and there…yeah,  I only contributed a little bit. We’re just the distraction.”

“Why do I have to be the distraction? Can’t I just get into the action part of the plan?” Jim asked.

“No, because when your brother sees you, he will be distracted from his work, and be all over you which is exactly what we need. And since he is one of the commanders, or directors, or whatever you call them, everyone else will have to stay behind!” Desmond replied.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘everyone else’?” Zofia asked.

“LONG ENDS. INC has sixty workers.” Desmond explained. “Those members are divided into five groups. Each group has a leader. That leader is called the ‘director-in-chief.’ All sixty members take their lunch break together.”

Jim shook his head. “Fine. I’m guessing there is more to this distraction?” He made sarcastic jazz hands.

“Wear this.” Zofia threw a black garbage bag at Jim.

He caught it, opened it, took a sniff, took the contents out, and cringed.

“I’m not wearing this.” he said, shaking his head in reluctance.

“Hey, a Moo-Moo’s milk cow costume is nothing to be ashamed of.” said Zofia.

“It’s nothing to be proud of either. It smells like my teenage years.”

“You can complain, or you can help rescue my friends.” said Desmond.

“Is this how you defeated Mildred and Marge?”

“No. We were wearing elephant costumes.”

“Can I ask a question?” Zofia asked.

“Sure.” said Desmond.

“What type of government organization has only sixty members? And what type of government organization has all sixty members go out on a lunch break at the same time?”

“Who cares?” Desmond asked.

“All that matters is that their HQ is empty then.” Jim said, pulling his costume on. “Their lunch break is in ten minutes. They’re probably at ‘Bucket World’ today.”

Jim pointed his fingers to the West. “Let’s roll.”

Zofia raised her hand.

“Yes?” asked Desmond

“Do you want me to bring out my choir group as an extra distraction?”

“We’ll call that plan C.”

“Plan C?”

“We already have a plan B.”

***

All sixty members of LE. INC piled out of the HQ building like raw sewage spilling out of a pipe. As Jim predicted, they all went to Bucket World for lunch, home of the buckets of mac n’ cheese and fried chicken. There were plenty of outdoor seating by the fast food restaurant with metal folding chairs and tables on both sides of the wide sidewalk. All sixty members sat on one of those folding chairs, taking up all the available seats. They were always lucky like that.

In the middle of their meal, Jim, Desmond, and Zofia were hiding behind a car parked at the corner of the street, waiting for the right moment.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring my choir group? They can be pretty distracting.” Zofia persisted.

“I think a teenager, a ten year old, and a college student dancing around in cow costumes rapping about milk is distracting enough.” Jim assured her.

“3…2…1! Go, go, go!” Desmond whisper-shouted.

All three cows popped out from behind the car to run to the eating area where the LE. INC members were sitting and struck their opening poses. Jim turned on a boom box. A heavy beat emitted from the speakers, shaking the ground like a heartbeat in a ribcage. That prompted Zofia to start rapping, 

“Moo-Moo’s milk is straight from fiction, it’s a non-alcoholic, drug-free addiction!”

Desmond texted Magnolia:

Dwiththeglasses direct message to MagnoliaWantsPeace: distraction in place. Start picking the lock.”

“Let me hear you scream ‘calcium’!”  Zofia continued with the rap. “Vitamin D!”

Meanwhile, Sadie, Daisy, Finian, Magnolia, Sharon, Jaime, Fiona, Grace, Milo, Ilyas, Lale, Zelda, Marina, and Bryan were waiting in the alley a block away from the LE. INC HQ building, or what they called ‘the loony bird nest’.

“Desmond gave the signal!” Magnolia shouted. “Let’s go!”

Sadie was fastening her harness. “Fiona, you got the rope?”

“Check. And the carabiners, too.” Fiona nodded. “Finian! I need your baseball bat.”

Finian handed it over. “Do not get it dirty.”

“No promises.”

They all ran to the front of the building. Magnolia was about to pick the lock, but Sharon picked up her leg, drew back, and with a running leap, kicked the door. It flew open.

“Lifting those weights really paid off!” she said, rubbing her arms to feel some toned muscle.

“The door was unlocked,” Sadie said.

“Oh. Enable the Blossom phase!” Sharon said in her anime voice.

Everyone rushed inside the building. There were cubicle offices, papers everywhere, and the whole typical corporate office shebang. The lights were off. A single switch controlled all the lights in the building. They didn’t turn them on so they didn’t attract attention.

Fiona and Sadie set up their gear. It was the gear you use when you want to hang from the ceiling to spy on people. Sadie was wearing a rock-climbing harness. Fiona slid a thick rope through a metal ring attached to a part of the harness on Sadie’s back. Sadie, wanting to remain incognito, wore a black t-shirt and black jogger pants to blend in with the shadows on the ceiling. Fiona was wearing a white hoodie and white cargo pants to blend in with the walls she would be leaning against. Fiona secured the rope, rummaged through her backpack, and took out a bow & arrow. She took an archery class last summer, and she hoped her aim was good enough for the plan.

There were various metal bars on the ceiling, all evenly spaced. Enough space to make a shot with an arrow. Jim had told Fiona that those bars were for safety measures. If the ceiling had collapsed, they would fall on the bars first, giving everyone in the building enough time to escape. Fiona tied the rope to the end of the arrow. It was a very long rope. She hoped it was long enough.

She aimed, took a deep breath, and let physics do its job.

The arrow shot up like a rocket, soaring through the bars, ricocheting off the wall, and dived down, hitting Fiona’s target on a wall opposite from where she was standing. Her target was a thin space between the wall and a large filing cabinet.

She reached into her pocket. “Crap!” she snapped her fingers.

“What? asked Sadie.

“I told Sharon to get me the counterweight. Where is it?”

“Right here!” Sharon said, carrying over a cow’s head.

Fiona screamed. So did Sadie.

“Shhhhh! Do you want us to get caught? This is fake,” Sharon said, turning it around and knocking on it. 

It was made of what seemed to be a mix of plastic and cement.

“Is this heavy enough?” Sadie asked.

Sharon dropped it on the floor. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

Fiona bent over to pick it up, but she groaned and grunted as the fake cow head barely moved. 

“I have so many questions.”

“You can ask them if you want,” said Sharon.

“First, where the hell did you get a fake cow head? Second, why the hell do you have a fake cow head? Third, have you been lifting weights or lifting—this? Fourth, why—WHY—does it look so realistic?”

Sharon had tied the end of the rope to the fake cow head securely and set it behind a stack of paper, out of view. She then left to do some other stuff. Fiona shook off her feelings about the cow head and got to work. She walked to the opposite end of the rope, the one that wasn’t tied to a cow head, and pulled it.

It was secure.

She turned to Sadie, gripping the rope. “My life is in your hands, and I just want you to know that I will never let go of this rope.”

“Are you sure you’re strong enough?” Sadie asked. “I mean, I am two years older than you.”

“I can carry my brother with one hand. I can handle you. He’s like, nine years older than me.” 

Sadie knew that this was true. She had seen it with her own eyes.

Fiona backed away and wedged herself in between two filing cabinets. She pulled the rope hard. It was now as tight as a guitar string. The rope was aligned to look like an upside-down ‘V,’ with the corner hanging by a metal bar. Sadie grabbed Finian’s baseball bat, bit the handle, and started to climb up the rope to the metal bar-infested ceiling. She didn’t stop until she reached the top. She grabbed one of the metal bars and took out the baseball bat from the grasp from her teeth. Finian had the most sweaty hands out of all the boys. She gagged thinking about what disease she had just put in her mouth. She was now hanging from the ceiling fifty feet off the floor. If there was any type of attack in the building, she could slide down the rope and hit someone with the baseball bat.

Magnolia, Zelda, and Bryan rushed to the room where Jim had told them to go. They ran down a dim hallway. Every ten steps, there was a different door with an eccentric poster on it. Only one door fit Jim’s description: the one with the poster of a guacamole pun.

‘Guac this way’.

Magnolia read the pun as she turned the door handle. It was unlocked.

“For a government organization headquarters, this building has low security levels.” Zelda stated.

Magnolia pushed the door open. Inside the room, there were three monitors sharing the same keyboard on one side. On the other side was a row of iron bars. Behind those bars was her missing friends: Stefan, Imogen, and Ellis.

“Holy crap! You’re alive!” Magnolia yelled.

“Magnolia?” Imogen shouted in both relief, surprise, and the verge of crying happy tears.

Bryan waved. “I was Tarzan when you were missing!”

“I trapped him with a glass of milk!” Zelda said. “For your cause!” she added.

Ellis rolled his eyes. He missed his little sister’s spunk.

“Bryan! What are you doing here?” asked Imogen. “You should be at home with mom and dad!”

“I came to see you!” Bryan replied. “I thought you would like to feast your eyes upon your hunky brother.” Ellis and Stefan broke out into a laugh. They started rolling around on the floor, clutching their stomachs.

“Sooo…I’m going to pick the lock now.” Magnolia said, holding up a bunch of differently shaped metal strips.

Stefan and Ellis stopped laughing. They got up and started to rapidly nod their heads. “Get us out of this metal prison!”

Magnolia shoved the metal strips inside the lock of the ‘metal prison’s’ door. The art of lock-picking was tedious, and it made a lot of noise. “Did you actually kidnap a Greek Princess?” she asked.

“No!” Stefan, Ellis, and Imogen said in unison.

As Magnolia picked the lock, Daisy and Finian were shuffling through the file cabinets. “I’m sure they keep records of who they take in for questioning.” Daisy said.

“You mean kidnap,” said Finian.

“Yeah. If we can find those records, then we have evidence of a failing government organization. We can take it to court, then LONG ENDS. INC will close down!”

“That would be nice. Or we could burn it to the ground. That would be quicker.”

“Not while Sadie’s hanging from the ceiling.” Daisy pointed out.

Grace, who had a plan of her own, looked around for vents. She found a loose vent cover. She tugged at it until it came off. There was quite a lot of space in the vents, big enough for her. She climbed inside, carrying a pocket knife with her. If anyone tried to do something to her friends, she could pop out of the vent quickly and threaten the attacker with a corkscrew or something. 

Milo saw her. He placed the vent cover to hide her face. Grace was lying on her belly.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “You better find a place to hide.”

Milo didn’t feel the need to hurry. All the lights were off. He could just shut himself in a supply closet at the last minute. Jaime and Ilyas went into a room with a sign on the door that said ‘Director in Chief #5 Office,’ and hid under a desk. Jaime turned on the recording app on his phone. They might be able to get some oral evidence from the man that was the whole reason they were there.

The whole reason their friends got kidnapped.

The whole reason why their lives were in danger.

It all started with one man’s stupid idea that a teenager captured a Greek princess.

A single moment of misused thinking.

All because of this man.

Jaime and Ilyas were fuming under the desk. They wanted revenge on this man as soon as possible.

Lale followed them in and looked down at them. “Guys, I don’t think you’ll get any oral evidence—” she started lecturing.

“I want to shut this place down!” Ilyas said angrily.

“—we need to leave in ten minutes! If we get caught, we’ll end up getting locked in here like our friends!” Lale explained. “Finian and Daisy should have found the right file by now. We can get out of here soon.”

Jaime nodded. He always liked listening to Lale’s powerful reasoning with Ilyas. In the back of Jaime’s brain, he could hear a doorknob being turned. He jumped. 

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Ilyas asked. “C’mon, J, let’s get out of he—” 

But before Ilyas could finish his sentence, something happened that brought fear to everyone’s hearts. The lights switched on. Director-in-Chief #5 entered the building.

Gemini.

Blood on the Ice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

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

28 YEARS EARLIER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just…

can’t…

stop…

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

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

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

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

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

The End

Or is it…

 Yes. It is.

Revenge Awoken

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

I had waited seventeen years for this moment.

I was raised to be the woman I am now.

I was born to be her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am ready for this moment.

I have to be. It’s my only choice.

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

I have to do this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I have to do this.

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

“Bring me the alcohol!” I bark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lady of the Night.”

“Necromancer. Witch. Savior.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. What shall I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cora babbles happily.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who wants it next?” I sneer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy snorts. “No.”

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

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

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

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

“And now, we shall kill you.”

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

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

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

But one can never run from revenge.

Revenge is Best Served Cold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April 7th, 1:03 AM: S Flowers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad Things Come in Threes: Chapter One

Nora

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

A Pop Star’s Thoughts on the Universe

A Pop Star’s Thoughts on the Universe 

What is the universe made of?

A cab without much of a brain. It’s so unbelievably stupid. 

How did life begin?

The teen movie thing wanted this project for an easy paycheck.

Are we alone in the universe?

I worry there is a body. It is super thin. It happens all the time and it’s frightening.

What makes us human?

Sleep, a lot of days. 

What is consciousness?

Wake up screaming at 7 in the morning and become an energetic California preppy.

Why do we dream?

The commercial validates that choice of sly silliness. It’s a satire. 

Why is there stuff?

Absolutely, the prospect of becoming is interesting, a really cool one. Amazing, like a crash course. 

Are there other universes?

I’ve always believed that. I felt from the beginning there are a lot of strange pressures. But you can’t live your lives in fear, a huge challenge for us. 

Sources: 

University of the People, “20 Big Science Questions to Get You Thinking” https://www.uopeople.edu/blog/the-big-scientific-questions/
Cinema.com, “Legally Blonde: Interview with Reese Witherspoon” https://cinema.com/articles/584/legally-blonde-interview-with-reese-witherspoon.phtml

9 Hours: Worth Much More

Every single one of the two million people who fly every day passes through the airport. Those people are there with purpose, whether to attend a funeral, go to a camp, or to return home. They all have their goals, and the airport is a stepping stone on their way to achieve things. For me, Dallas Fort Worth is the place where I missed my connecting flight to San Luis Obispo for a journalism workshop. It is the place where I was stranded for nine hours. But by the time I left Dallas, I had seen and learned so much. Because Dallas is also the place where I met Linda, a 72-year old woman with cancer who wanted to finish her bucket list before she died. 

Linda’s yearning to experience new things as an older woman was respectable, especially as our generation has much trouble trying something different. In class, on the ice, or on the field, teachers and coaches offered, “Do you want to try a new play?” or “Would you like to join the coup club?” My classmates had tendencies to shy away from opportunities, as they have never done it before. However, Linda did not. 

I first saw her at the American Airlines help desk, where tens of people formed a snaking line in the cramped space. Sweating, I shrugged my jacket off, hitting the woman behind me: Linda. When I first looked back, I saw an old lady I can only describe as “coastal grandmother.” She had a light blue headband on with a white dress and blue heels. She was under five feet tall. 

She asked, 

“Why are you here, honey?” 

I shared my story about missing my flight. Linda shared, 

“Oh, I just attended the most beautiful wedding reception for my nephew. It was so special, and nothing like I’d ever seen before. I had a splendid time.” She said she chose to attend their Muslim wedding instead of their Christian wedding the weekend before, because “I wanted to experience something new, something else.” 

I was awed by how she was 72, and she still pursued uniqueness. For me, whenever I was placed into a situation I was not familiar with, I hesitated. For example, on my first day of field hockey camp, I judged it for being different from ice hockey and approached it with a preconceived opinion; seeing Linda with an open mind at her older age genuinely surprised me. 

We decided to eat lunch together — two strangers in a busy airport who had no one else but each other. The one thing we did have in common was a lot of unexpected time. Linda embodied perseverance through problems that were significantly worse than those of young teens. For example, after our conversation, my broken nails and lost earrings felt like miniscule issues. I looked at Linda over my heap of buffalo wings to see her potato salad and corn. 

“Would you like some, Linda?” 

She declined, saying, “Too spicy for me, dear. I only eat soft foods. I have a feeding tube, you know. I’m missing large chunks of my spine.”

I’m sure my head popped up, surprised. My mother had badly injured her spine skiing, so to hear about Linda’s spine worried me. It also put her in a new light, one of a survivor and a fighter. As if that was not enough, Linda pointed to her stomach area. 

“You see here, dear, it’s hollow. There’s nothing there, no stomach.” 

At this moment, my emotional state was flabbergasted. In my mind, she barely had anything holding up her torso! There was little that could make this predicament worse, until Linda said, 

“Don’t worry, angel. I’m still spiffy, though the cancer’s been slowing that down a bit.”

“Cancer?” I asked, stupidly. I could not believe the bad luck this grandma had. As an athlete, the prospect of losing parts of my body scared me a lot. I’d never met anyone missing an organ as important as the stomach, and her willingness to travel alone and be responsible for herself can only be called sheer force. She looked so frail in front of me, the spoon looking heavy in her hands as she scooped up some potato salad. Yet, she was a force, because who could pull off this sort of vacation in the condition she was in? I clearly remembered when my friend sprained her pinky and she acted as if the world was ending. I vowed to myself I would be like Linda, who, even with her unfortunate situation, kept a positive attitude and did what she wanted. 

I admired Linda’s tenacity and sense of adventure. I listened as she recounted how she had sixteen countries she wanted to visit, out of a list she made in 2022. These were all the hometowns of her extended grandparents and great grandparents. Now, barely a year and a half later, she told me that she had three left to visit: Scotland, Croatia, and the Netherlands. I’d been to these places before, as I told Linda, and I thought it would truly be special when Linda saw the charming town of Split, Croatia, or Fife, Scotland. Croatia’s amiable culture and food would appeal to her a lot. For example, Peka, which is food “cooked under a lid,” is very soft and delicious, which Linda can enjoy. I told her it would be amazing to finish her bucket list in these towns where her ancestors were raised.  The determination to do this as a dedication to her family was driven by love for the people she was surrounded by. During the time I spent with her, I felt that love and care too. She always made sure I was right behind her, that I was eating enough, that I was not cold, and not hot. I wanted to be able to support someone I care about, just like Linda.

My relationship with Linda was accidental, formed because of unfortunate circumstances, however, we turned it into something beautiful. We strolled around the airport, as she protected me, a 15-year-old girl, from “the vast airport full of crazy people,” according to Linda herself. I returned this favor by helping Linda find her flight. Linda’s gate and terminal changed four times over the course of a couple of hours. I was able to cross-reference many sources and deduce the right one at the end. On the AirTrain, for the third time that day, Linda said, 

“Thank you so much, baby, you really saved me.” 

I told her, “Bye,” because I could not think of how to condense everything I wanted to say to her, how I admired her, into a few seconds. She later texted me saying, 

“I’m on the plane. Got at the gate four minutes to boarding.  Thank you, Angel. You picked up the pieces when I started getting tired. You’re one heck of a 15 year old.” She told me she considered me one of her grandchildren now. 

The impact a couple of hours could have on a bond between two people is very interesting, especially because we were raised in different time periods. My friendship with Linda in the end taught me to make the most of my life, to ask questions and to try something new. It also put into a new light how age does not hinder one’s attitude, so you should always keep a smile on your face.

Just for a Selfie

Henri really hadn’t meant to mess up the old castle’s drawbridge. How was he supposed to have known that it would collapse and trap them inside? 

“That moat is 6 feet deep and 6 feet across around the entire castle,” hissed Sarai, the other tourist who had lagged behind the rest of the group, “and you collapsed the only viable exit, since neither of us can swim. Plus, we’re probably going to get sued for destruction of private property now!”

“Mmkay. You do realize that if we don’t stop arguing and leave here soon, there will be no light for us to search with? This is an old castle, and the only light we have right now is from the windows,” Henri pointed out, making his way towards the stairs that lead to the main bedroom. Surprisingly, he didn’t hear any footsteps from behind him. In fact, the footsteps seemed to be going further away. He turned around and saw Sarai walking down the stairs to the servants quarters. 

“What are you doing?” he yelled, his voice echoing through the stone hallway.

“Logically desecrating the servants quarters to make a raft,” Sarai replied, not even bothering to look back at him. “If you could just remove the curtains upstairs, we could probably escape. Besides, if they ask why we did this, we just blame the tour guide company. There was a clause that said that signing this meant that if we were missing without communication directly after an event, the guide would return to the last location they saw us.”

“You read the terms and conditions on the papers they gave us?” 

“You didn’t? And hurry up,” she turned to face him. “The rope isn’t going to fly down the stairs.” Henri sighed and walked up to the first staircase window. The curtains were surprisingly flimsy, but looked like they would be a good rope when twisted. Henri was so engrossed in removing the curtains and trying to escape that he didn’t notice the small pling of a recording ending. Nor did he think to check his phone for cell signal, since the carrier he used didn’t work in that location. 

Sarai smirked. Playing the role of victim was far too easy when Henri was so gullible. She’d recorded him ripping the curtains and managed to get a picture of Henri holding the lever as well. All she’d have to do now was send the recording and photo to the tourists group chat. It was easy really, and a foolproof method to turn the full blame on Henri. He had collapsed the drawbridge, after all, and Sarai wasn’t willing to pay the price for his stupidity. She hit the send button, and then slipped her phone into her purse. 

“It’s getting late,” said Henri in a surprisingly loud voice. He was standing at the top of the stairs, looking at the small pile of wooden doors that Sarai had pulled off to make it seem like she was actually doing something. 

“Really?” Sarai responded, injecting her voice with false surprise. “I hadn’t noticed. I was having some trouble removing doors from their hinges downstairs.” Henri frowned and threw some curtains that were tied into a makeshift rope near the three wooden cabinet doors.

“Couldn’t you have done anything more?” he complained, watching the sunset through the window.

“Are you complaining? You’re the one who got us into this mess! I don’t even know you, but you literally decided that leaning on an old lever for a selfie was a wonderful idea! You don’t get more stupid than that!” 

“Stupid?!? I am an up and coming social media influencer! Everyone who follows me knows I’m on a trip to Europe and that photo would have been perfect! We just got to Spain, and of course everyone would want to see this old castle if I’m in it! I couldn’t let them down and lose most of the following I’ve just gained!”

“You’re so self centered that you couldn’t see it was an idiotic idea! And now you’ve dragged me, the unfortunate other tourist who lagged behind to see the tapestries, into your mess!” Sarai yelled, yanking out her phone and showing him the screen. “You see this! I sent the other tourists, and the tour guide evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” asked Henri, his voice calm and cold all of a sudden. Slowly he began to approach Sarai, reaching for her phone.

“Evidence of you destroying this place,” she hissed, pulling the phone back. “And it’s already sent, so you can’t do anything about it.”

“What? How dare you?” Henri hissed. “Give that to me. Now.” Sarai’s eyes widened with shock as she started backing down the stairs.

“How about no?” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I am not getting incriminated for your crimes, nor am I becoming the victim of your next one.”

“And I am not losing my entire career-” Henri began, only to be cut off by Sarai.

“Your career? You call taking photos and putting them on social media a career? You literally only have 10,000 follows! You aren’t that famous, just a normal influencer who thinks he’s super famous,” Sarai muttered bitterly, being careful not to fall as she stepped down the stairs backward. Before Henri could respond, the ping of a notification came from Sarai’s phone. 

Almost instantly, Henri lunged for the phone as Sarai pulled away and turned on the screen. 

“We’re sending the police. Hang tight,” Sarai read aloud, relief flooding her eyes. “You’re done for.”

“If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!” yelled Henry, grabbing a wood panel from the top of the stairs and hurling it at Sarai. 

“Crap,” Sarai whispered. She started running down the cold stone stairs, hoping to outrun Henri. Catching her foot on a ledge, she tripped and her knee slammed against the stone landing with a resounding thud. “No, no, no, no…”

“I heard that! Come out; there’s no escaping now!” Henri said in a disturbingly sing-song voice. It was as if the thought of losing his so-called “career” had driven him mad. Taking shallow, quiet breaths, Sarai began to scoot across the landing and toward the empty doorframe near her. Grabbing the hinges, she pulled herself up and began hobbling into the hall. She’d barely made it to the cellar stairs when a figure appeared at the start of the hallway. Yanking open the cellar door, Sarai pulled the ladder out of the room. 

Henri smirked, staring at the woman crouched near the cellar door. She’d set up her own trap. Slowly, he crept up to her, stretching his hands out. 

Sarai tried her best to keep her breathing even, as if she hadn’t noticed trouble. Henri’s shadow covered her like an inky nightmare, blocking out the sun’s dying rays. She sat right at the edge of the cellar hatch; Henri’s arms were outstretched, ready to push her in. 

“Like I’d let you win,” Sarai hissed, yanking Henri’s leg out from under him and shoving him into the cellar. She slid the ladder through the handle, and crawled unsteadily to the wall. A smeared trail of blood traced her path on that floor and she switched on her phone, breathing normally once more. The sound of now audible police sirens mixed with Henri’s screams, but Sarai hadn’t been more at peace in the last hour. 

When the police finally came, Henri was arrested. It turned out that he was a criminal named Tauren Lakst in the States who had run a relatively famous vlogging channel. After evidence was found that he murdered his neighbor, his following dropped (who would, after all, follow a murderer) and he ended up on the run. He then killed the actual Henri Widener who’d owned the Instagram account @henri_awesome_travels and stole his place in the tourist trip. 

“I’ll get back at you, witch,” Henri, or well Tauren, spat, as the police dragged him away.

“Sure you will,” said Sarai dryly. “We all know that you’re only salty that you snapped and got caught faster. Eventually, someone would have found Henri’s body.” Tauren only bared his teeth at her like a rabid animal, before the police pulled him away. 

“That… was certainly an interesting vacation. I sure am glad I’m a British doctor. The states have a lot of murderers and so do the police,” muttered Sarai, hobbling out of the castle. There wasn’t an ambulance, but the police had two cars and could take her to the local hospital. Sarai was fairly sure her knee wasn’t broken, but after all that happened… eh. Small mercies, I suppose. Sarai looked at the window, watching the dying rays of the sun fade away.

Spud the Spud

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

The Satoria Program

Chapter One        

The wild lands of Cordoba, Spain

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

         “Nice,” whispered Brooke.

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

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

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

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

“¡Tu español está mejorando!“

“Merci beaucoup!” Said April, bowing. 

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

“¡Holaaaa!” 

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

“BRO!” Shouted Brooke. 

“¡Haha, búscalo!” said Nour. 

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

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

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

She saw her friends chatting. “Gente!” 

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

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

“What?” Gala asked “ No entiendo.”

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

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

Nour sighed. 

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

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

“¡Español por favor!” Said Gala. 

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

“¿Qué?” 

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

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

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

“Abril?” Her Spanish teacher asked. 

“¿Puedo ir a la enfermería?”

“Sí.” 

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

“Yuck…” 

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

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

“Okay…” She trailed off.

The next morning April was still sick. 

And the morning after that.

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

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

“Sure.” 

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

“Coolio.” 

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

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

“mañana” April texted back. 

“:)”

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

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

“Why the rush?” Her brother asked. 

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

“Bye.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“H-Hello…?” April whispered slowly. 

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

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

Cayetena looked majestically worried. “What?” 

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

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

“Great, bye!”

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

  “Brooke!!” April collided with her friend. 

“April!!!!!!! You’re back!!?” 

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

“Huh? What is it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye,” said Brooke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, of course.” 

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

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

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

“Are you unironically skipping?” She said.

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

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

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

“What…?” Brooke asked. 

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

“Hey, is that my ball-?” 

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

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

“April…” 

“Yes?” 

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

“Oh, cool,” said April causally.

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

“Wait, I don’t understand…” 

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

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

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

“What, no! Are- No!” 

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

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

“I’ve already been in, it’s fine.“ 

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait WHAT? Kanye??” 

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

“Yeah, I did not believe you.”

“Hey!” Said April sadly.

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

“Ok, fine, that’s fair.”

“Anyways, did you talk to this faery?”

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

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

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

“And so did you?” 

“No, I told her I was free at 5:30.”

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

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

“Well, what time is it?”

“5:28” So close, yet so far. 

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

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

“What did you do that for?” 

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

“It’s a faery! What can it do!” 

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

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

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

“That sounds very suspicious,” said Brooke. 

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

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

“By hiding behind a bush?”

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

 “Wow,” Said Brooke. 

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

“Oh my god,” said Brooke. 

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

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

“Hi, Dew.” 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

The Brief But Extraordinary Life of Stevie Dreger

Trigger warning: suicide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monsters in the Dark, Part 1

Chapter 1

“Alice, are you ready to go?” Ian turned back from scrabbling through trash.

“Yeah…” Alice seemed down, she was looking at the garbage, but she grabbed a food sack. She really didn’t want to see what’s inside.

“What’s wrong?” Ian now grabbed another food sack.

“How could this happen to us humans…” Alice sighed.

“What do you mean?” Ian went over to Alice.

“We used to be at the top of the food chain.. But now after these monsters came, we are stuck searching through trash eating remains of… huh… nevermind,” The thought of what they eat disgusted her.

“Ye – ” Ian was about to say.

“FIND HUMANS.” A robot walked into the alley way.

“Oh no, run!” Ian darted deeper in the alley way.

“I – uh.” Alice walked backwards before running after Ian. After a while of running they bumped into a wall with two boxes stacked on top of each other.

“Get onto the boxes and jump the wall!” Ian yelled at Alice.

“Got it.” Alice climbed the boxes then she jumped on top of the wall. Just as she jumped up the top box fell down. 

“FIND THEM,” The robot said in a robotic voice. It was completely silver.

No!” Alice just realized that the box fell.

“Grab this!” Ian grabbed something out of the pouch and held it out to Alice.

“No, I can pull you up!” Alice rejected the thing in Ian’s hand and grabbed his wrist.

“Listen, I’m the older one. Mom and Dad put me in charge, so take it.” Ian looked back at the robot, which had now grabbed a taser. 

“Fine.” Alice grabbed the thing in Ian’s hand.

“Now, GO!” Ian turned around to face the robot. Zap! Ian fell down. Alice jumped off the other side of the wall, running away with tears rolling down her cheeks. She knew what was going to happen to her brother.

***

After a while of running, she found a safe spot to hide, which was a hole in a building. Alice then opened her fist to see that the thing Ian gave her was a pocket watch. After a while, she fell asleep. 

Thunk. Thunk. 

“Huh?” Alice looked out of the hole she entered through and saw a robot walk by. It was carrying a sack that seemed to be squirming. Ian might be in there, Alice thought. She snuck out slowly, following the robot. Luckily, the thunking of its metal feet was too loud for it to hear Alice. It eventually stopped at a small dumpster and dropped the bag in. Alice quickly hid behind something as the robot turned around and walked away. She looked back before running for the dumpster-like thing and jumping in. 

“WOAH!” she fell down into a pipe sliding. She fell down onto a table that was the size of four trucks next to each other and two trucks on top of each other. The bag that the robot threw down was next to her. “Hello?” she edged closer to the bag, untying it and then opening it. Two people got out.

“Thanks!” said a boy.

“Hmm.” Alice looked around, not seeing Ian. She looked around, trying to see if there were any more bags, but there weren’t. All of a sudden the door flung open, and a monster walked in. The monster was paper-white skinned and was kind of a much larger and much fatter human. Alice saw it, darting to a side of the table before jumping onto a stool and then onto the floor. The other people followed her. They were running towards a small vent when the monster noticed them and started wobbling towards them. Alice reached the vent, grabbing the bars of the vent door. She tugged at them, trying to rip it off. 

“Quicker!” The boy, who was now behind Alice, yelped.

“Shut up, it’s harder than it looks,” Alice hissed, still trying to rip off the vent door.

“Jeez.” The boy turned back to look at the other person running towards the vent.

“Phew.” The other person who seemed to be an adult got up to them.

“Erg!” Alice kept tugging at the vent door.

“It’s getting closer!” The boy now looked at the monster, who was getting closer and closer.

“There!” Alice finally ripped the vent door off the wall, throwing it away and running in. The boy jumped in after her.

“Woah!” The adult tripped, and the monster grabbed her. 

“NO, MOM!” The boy looked back to who was supposedly his mom being taken by the monster.

“God…” Alice looked back grabbing the boy and tossing him farther in the vent before the other monster’s hand could grab him.

“NOO!” The boy still seemed to be sad.

“Let’s keep going.” Alice pushed past him, continuing forward. They kept walking for a while and the boy seemed to be calming down.

“I’m Jell, by the way.” The boy was trotting behind Alice.

“I’m Alice,” she grunted, continuing forward. After a while, they reached an opening that had a bunch of trash bags and green murky water. “Finally, now we can separate.” Alice jumped down onto a trash bag, not daring to touch the disgusting water.

“But shouldn’t we stick together?” The boy jumped after her.

“No, just leave me alone.” Alice jumped to another trash bag.

“C’mon, I can help!” Jell almost tripped into the water but managed to get to the bag that Alice was on.

“I said no!” Alice turned around, glaring at Jell.

“Jeez.” Jell backed away. 

“Now leave me alone.” Alice looked back. She jumped onto another bag and saw that there were no more bags ahead of her. Alice looked around, noticed a rope and jumped on it, and swung to another bag. She looked back, seeing Jell.

Alice let go of the rope and began walking away. “There,” she said, jumping onto a platform. She walked to a door, busting it open. The room she entered was filled with trash. There were also some monster-sized stairs leading up to another floor. Alice walked towards the stairs. A monster fell through the floor and started groaning like a dead animal before being still. “Yikes.” Alice went back to the stairs trying to get up.

“Woah, what happened to that monster?” Jell entered the room looking at the dead monster. 

Alice ignored Jell and continued up the monster-sized stairs. “Whatever,” she said. Jell also went to the stairs. Alice was almost at the top when she heard a dead animal noise and thumping. When she got up to the second floor, a monster, who looked like all the other monsters except for the fact that he was wearing brown rags, entered the hallway, looking at Alice. All of a sudden, the dead animal noise got louder, and it started running towards her.

“Uh oh,” Alice backed away her foot, almost falling off the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Jell looked up at Alice.

“MONSTER!” Alice jumped down the stairs.

“Monster? Another one!?” Jell seemed surprised.

“YEAH!” Alice shoved Jell to side running father into the room.

“HEY – !” Jell looked at Alice for a second before he heard a dead animal noise at the top of the stairs. The monster wobbled down the stairs getting ready to grab Jell.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? COME, RUN!” Alice looked back at Jell who was frozen a bit. Jell snapped back to reality, running after Alice. Right as he ran, the monster tripped slamming onto the ground where Jell just stood. 

“Is it dead?” Jell, who had shorter legs, had a hard time catching up with Alice.

“Nope,” Alice looked up at a pipe jumping onto it trying to climb up.

“How do you know?” Jell jumped after Alice looking back at the monster who was getting up.

“Because I know a lot about monsters. That fall wouldn’t kill it.” Alice continued up.

“Ohhh.” Jell almost slipped off.

“C’mon, faster!” Alice was on a second pipe which was going right to left. 

“I can’t!” Jell was almost there when the monster got up, running towards the pipe.

“It’s coming!” Alice pulled out her hand bending down. Bam! The monster ran head first into the pipe and made a large dent right where Jell was.

“Phew, that was close,” Jell said. He had pulled up before the monster hit the pipe, which now had steam shooting out of it.

“Yeah.” Alice watched as the monster walked backward and then fell to the floor. “Let’s go now,” Alice ran on the second pipe.

“Got it.” Jell started running after Alice. 

“This way.” Alice skidded to a halt opening another vent door. The monster put his hand up before falling down again. 

“Er…” Jell looked at the monster before following Alice. Jell and Alice semi-crouch-ran through the vents. Eventually, she ran into a vent door which broke off and fell down into an alleyway. 

“Wait.” Alice noticed a dark green jacket farther down the alleyway. That was the color jacket Ian had.

“Let’s keep going,” Jell was about to go left, where the vent continued.

“Ian?” Alice jumped down, running through the alleyway filled with small puddles.

“Alice!” Jell jumped after her.

“No, no.” Alice now noticed there was blood on the jacket. She paused, then grabbed the jacket and saw Ian’s name on it.

“Alice?” Jell stretched his arms out.

“HUMANS DETECTED.” Robots entered the alleyway, blocking the exit.

“Oh no!” Jell walked backward. 

“There’s no use, it’s a dead end.” Alice was looking down at the jacket that she now dropped. The robots took out tasers, shooting Alice and Jell.

Chapter 2

“Err…” Jell woke up in a bag that was carrying a random person and Alice. The bag opened and a monster put its hand into the bag, grabbing Alice.

“Woah!” Alice was surprised, she didn’t know there was a monster there.

“Alic – !” The monster closed the bag before Jell could finish his sentence. The monster walked through the door into a monster-sized kitchen with a stone counter. It set Alice down and walked into a different room while making the dead animal noise. She got up, running across the counter. She looked around, saw a vent, busted it open, and ran through it. She ran into a room and saw a teddy with a key in its back.

“Woah…” She began to edge closer but saw a skinny hand with long fingers grab the toy and twist the key. She jumped back. Beautiful music started playing from the teddy bear. Alice peeked the corner and saw a very tall and skinny monster working on what looked like the robots that capture people. After a few minutes, the music stopped, and the monster turned and grabbed the teddy again, twisting the key before returning. Alice looked back at the monster to make sure it was looking away, then she dashed across to the edge of the wood desk and jumped to a large coffee table. She almost fell down but grabbed the coffee table, got up, and ran farther. As she was getting ready to jump to the next table, she was grabbed by the monster. The monster looked at her, tilting its head. 

“LET ME GO!” Alice was shaking and kicking the monster, trying to get out of its grip. The music stopped, but the monster did not turn around to turn the key on the teddy bear. A few seconds passed with the monster looking at Alice. It finally put her down and went to the teddy bear. When the monster looked back at Alice she was already jumping to another table down a hallway. She ran as fast as she could, hearing the monster behind her. She saw a vent and a pile of books leading up to it. Alice was getting ready to turn toward that pile of books when she tripped on a monster-sized needle. She fell off the table into a bucket full of water which tipped over, splashing water everywhere. She got up, dashing away. She didn’t mind about the water, after all, the monster was chasing her. 

Alice looked back. The monster was really agro now, throwing things off tables and whatnot. She noticed a kitchen up ahead. She knew there were vents in all of the monster kitchens. The monster was catching up to her as she entered the kitchen. She ran up a chair that was tilted onto the counter. Then, she jumped on a pepper thing, then jumped into a cupboard, and saw a vent. She climbed up a wooden kitchen knife holder to get to the vent. But when she went to the vent, it knocked over the kitchen knife holder and the knives fell into the monster in the face. The monster hit the floor. She went through the vent without looking back. 

“Great! That monster’s dead, that’s one monster gone,” Alice whispered to herself. She continued forward as quickly as she could, hoping she’d find Jell. Alice stopped walking through the vents and sat down. She put her hand in her pocket and noticed something was missing… The pocket watch Ian gave her was gone. She frantically searched all her pockets but all of them were empty. She lost the last thing that Ian gave her. Alice curled up into a ball wondering why life had become like this. She got up in the morning, at least, what she thought was the morning, as Alice couldn’t see the sky. She continued to crawl through the vents for some time. All of a sudden, she heard heavy footsteps below her and music that sounded familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. A can fell out of her jacket clanging on the metal vent. Alice paused, listening for the heavy footsteps, but she couldn’t hear them anymore. A dead animal noise came from below instead. 

“Oh no,” Alice said. She sped up through the vent. She heard a scraping noise and realized that the place where she just was was gone. At this point, she was running through the vents but whatever was done there was faster, and eventually, the place in front of her was ripped off. The vent she was in started shaking when all of a sudden, the vent floor below her was ripped off. Alice grabbed the edges not wanting to fall off, but the sharp edges cut into Alice’s palms. She looked up, seeing a monster staring right back at her. The monster, which was holding the vent floor she was on, brought her closer. The lower half of its head started opening like a mouth but instead of teeth, it was monster flesh. It grabbed Alice off the piece of the vent with its other hand bringing her closer to its mouth. A noise came from behind the monster. It seemed that a can had fallen, but whatever fell made the monster let go of Alice and turn around. She fell down into a pile of trash. She got up and ran away from the monster as quickly as she could. 

When she looked back she noticed that it was the same monster that she thought had died from the kitchen knives, it even had wounds from where the kitchen knives fell, yet no blood fell out of the wounds. It turned around, howling loudly, and began to chase Alice. She didn’t care about the fact that her hands were bleeding, she only cared that she ran fast enough to get away from the monster. Alice noticed a sewer grate and darted for it. She tried lifting the grate but it was too heavy. She ran back, grabbed a stick and ran back to the sewer grate lifting enough for her to put the stick below it and she slipped through the small gap. Alice grabbed the ladder, going down it and splashing into green water. “Ew!” She jumped to the side so she didn’t have to walk in the green water and shook her boots trying to get the water off. She noticed that the sewer she was in looked like a man-made one, as it was smaller than the monster-made ones and the bricks were more nicely placed. Alice ripped off a bit of her old jacket, tying the pieces to her hand to stop the bleeding. 

She continued forward through the sewer, eventually reaching a stack of rocks that were obviously placed to stop people from going past it. She went to the nearest ladder, pushing a sewer grate up. Alice saw multiple uninhabited buildings with either wide-open or ripped-out-of-the-doorway doors. There were also a few old items lying around like an old backpack which was half decomposed. She looked around seeing a giant stone wall on the outskirts of where the buildings were fewer and fewer. 

At that moment, Alice had an idea. She remembered that the monster that made robots seemed to be angrier when the music wasn’t playing and wondered if breaking or stealing the toy would cause the engineer robot to get mad. Would it kill the other monsters? Alice knew what to do immediately. She would have to go back and find the long, tall monster base. She turned back, hopping through the open sewer manhole. When Alice splashed into the dirty water she looked around trying to remember which way she came from. Eventually, she ran to her left, and when she reached a ladder, she climbed up. Alice stopped for a second, wondering where the tall monster’s place could be. “If the monster was here before it must be near here right?” Alice said out loud while running through the large hallway. 

CRASH. “What was that?” Alice looked around, noticing that a vase had fallen and crashed. A few things smaller than Alice which kinda looked like dirty brown cones ran past the vase. “What the hell is that?!” The cones turned and looked at Alice, and all of the cone people ran away except one. It stared at Alice and slowly walked to Alice. 

The cone said something like “Alice,” but it was muffled and also slightly echoed. 

“Who are you?” Alice backed away running trying to get as much distance from the cone thing. It looked after her for a little then ran after its friends. “Man, that was weird.” Alice kept running then turned a corner seeing a large terribly made wooden door with gears and pipes on it.

“Oh, hey!” A voice came from beside Alice.

“AH!” Alice turned her head quickly seeing Jell was right next to Alice staring at the door. “Wha – Ho – How did you even ge – I’m so confused.” 

“Eh, I had a piece of glass and I cut the bag open… I was scared you were dead,” Jell said.

“Listen, I’m some sort of bad luck. I mean, I ran into a single monster twice, thinking I killed it the first time! Just…. Just go.” Alice turned her head away and ran towards the door.

“Bu – I mean…” Jell just stood there thinking what to say next.

“Nope, just go,” Alice, who was not at the door, looked for a way to open it.

“Hey! Try climbing into that pipe sticking out of the door!” Jell called to Alice.

“Sur – Wait, you should be gone by now! I said I’m bad luck!” Alice jumped to the pipe that Jell was talking about and walked through it. She walked through the pipe until she reached an open area and jumped out to the other side of the door. Alice looked around. She was in a room with one large desk and a stool in front of it and an elevator on the other side of the room. BEEP. The elevator doors opened revealing the tall and skinny monster. It walked into the room without noticing Alice, sat down at the desk, and turned the key to the teddy bear Alice remembered. The monster grabbed a few pieces, screwed them together, and took a metal rod with wires coming out of a ton of holes. The monster placed the rod in a metal box, connecting the wires to the metal. Alice looked around, trying to find a way to distract the monster and get the teddy bear and hide it. She found a tin can on the ground behind the monster then Alice saw a wood twig she ran over grabbed the twig and with all her might threw it at the can. Clank

The monster turned around, looking for what made the noise. It spotted the can and grabbed it with its long, skinny fingers. Alice looked around seeing that the wooden peg holding the table was scratched deeply. She darted for the wooden peg and climbed it by putting her feet in the holes and using her hands to pull herself up. When she was three-quarters up the monster turned around, didn’t notice Alice, and returned to his stool. Once Alice got up, she ran for cover, hiding behind fully made robots that were not turned on or toys, like a toy doll or elephant. As she passed a broken monkey with cymbals it randomly turned on, making the cymbals clash, alerting the engineer monster. 

“AH!” Alice jumped back, hitting a wall. The monster pushed the toy monkey aside upon hearing Alice get jump-scared. She got up, looking at the monster, trying to think where she could run. The monster neared Alice, its hand getting closer. Right before it could get Alice she jumped to the side, pushing an unfinished robot, and ran for the teddy bear that was playing the music. It moved its hand away to try grabbing Alice again she just got to the teddy bear when its hand was trying to get her again. CRACK! The hand grabbed the teddy bear and accidentally crushed it, missing Alice. The monster’s other hand came up and went for Alice. “Oh sh – ” Alice jumped back from the hand and quickly ran away. Alice jumped off the table, landed on a stack of books, and slowly climbed down. When she was nearly down the book that she was on – “OOF!” Alice hit the floor, trying to push the book that was now on her but it was too late. The monster grabbed Alice, its long fingers almost touching below its wrist. “Let me go!” Alice tried grabbing something sharp from her pockets, but they were completely empty. Alice could see that the monster was getting angrier and angrier. 

CLANG! CLANG! All of a sudden a Jolly Chimp, a toy monkey with cymbals, turned on. The monster turned its hand, loosening its grip on Alice. It placed down Alice striding to the monkey grabbing it and ripping it to pieces, the cymbals hitting the floor. Alice took the chance and jumped off the table again heading towards the elevator that was still open. She noticed that there was a lever. Thinking that’s how the elevator turned on, she tried to push a box into the elevator. The monster turned around and saw Alice and rushed towards the elevator. Just in time, Alice pushed the box under the lever and grabbed the handle, pushing the lever down. 

“Phew, that was close – ” The monster had grabbed the elevator doors before they had fully closed. SCREECH! The doors slowly slid open. “Why isn’t the elevator going up?” Then, as if the elevator was listening, it started going up. The monster let go, and the doors slammed shut. 

The doors opened, revealing another room. It had trash bags and a very rotten blue wallpaper. As she walked farther in, she noticed a drawing of a door on one of the walls and a dusty desk with what looked like an old teddy bear. Alice examined the trash bags and noticed more old toys. 

“Must’ve been the monster’s old working place,” Alice muttered. She walked over to the drawing of a door as if she expected it to swing open. “Worth a try. I mean if monsters exist, so can magic.” She looked around, trying to see if she didn’t miss anything. She noticed a doorway next to the elevator with wood planks nailed into the wall, covering up most of the doorway. “Wonder why that’s there… I mean it could be that it’s trying to keep me in… Or of course, trying to keep something out!” She shuddered at the thought that something would have scared the monster so much that they had to block it. Alice swung around because she heard something behind her and noticed a doll had fallen down. She started hearing footsteps and turned around back to the doorway. She could barely see a humanoid-like thing that was the size of a monster. It even looked more human than the monster’s shadows that were covering most of it. It was just standing there, lifeless with its right arm stretched out towards the door. 

“I don’t think that was there before… Or was it?” Alice backed away and turned around, searching the room again. Then, there were the footsteps again. Alice twirled around, swearing that the footsteps came from the door. Then she noticed something… the humanoid monster thing was closer to the door. “…M-must be my imagination, right?” Alice was actually starting to get slightly frightened at the fact that something had caught sight of her and that she couldn’t get out. “I can just leave in the elevator.” She turned her head towards the elevator ready to walk towards it then noticed the doors were closed and the button to open it was too high for her. How did I not even notice?! Alice thought. She quickly turned back to the nailed door seeing that the thing had moved a bit closer. “Is it moving when I’m not looking?” She twirled around then turned back to the doorway, noticing it moved again. 

Alice could now see the monster full. It looked much like a mannequin except for a few key factors. Its face was deformed in a horrifying way, the face was smushed, its nose was bent, and its left hand was missing. Alice slowly backed up, hitting a melted teddy bear. She gulped, turned around, and ripped off the teddy bear’s head then quickly turned back and saw that the monster’s right hand was gripped over one of the wood planks, blocking the door. Alice slowly walked towards the elevator, making sure to keep her eyes on the monster. She looked at the elevator and threw the teddy bear’s head towards the button but the sudden noise of wood starting to break scared her, and instead of it hitting the button, it hit the elevator door and fell back. She ran for the head trying not to listen to the wood cracking. Alice once again grabbed the teddy bear’s head and threw it again towards the button, the head hit the button giving a BEEP, and the elevator doors slowly started to open. Alice could see in the corner of her eye that the wood went flying, and she could hear the running of the monster behind her. She ran for the elevator door and once in, quickly turned around and saw that the monster’s hand was extended into the elevator. She slowly backed away and then turned around, jumping onto the box she left under the lever. She pulled the lever down which had apparently moved up after she left the elevator. 

SCREECH. She turned back, noticing that half the monster’s body was already in the elevator. The sound of plastic being crushed came in as the elevator doors crashed into the monster, slowly breaking it. Wait… if I go down, that tall monster will be there, Alice quickly remembered. She jumped off the box running towards the doors. CRUNCH! Alice ran under the monster’s legs before they crashed together and the doors crushed the monster. She looked around, trying to find another way out, then remembered the hallway where the monster came from. Alice turned to look at it. The only light was coming from the room she was in. She turned around, searching through the pile of toys when she found a cat-shaped nightlight that ran on batteries. The glass-shaped cat was cracked and missing pieces. She flicked the small switch at the bottom of it so the light would turn on then she walked towards the hallway. “Why is it so dark down there? I hate the dark.” Alice strode into the hallway, holding the night light in front of her.

To be continued…

Fracture

The first time was when I was eight. I’d been bouncing on the balls of my feet, waiting for my best friend outside in the scorching hot playground, but when she arrived, she told me she wanted a break from me and was going to go play with someone else today. A small tear tugged at the threads of my heart, and a small crack rooted itself in my heart, so I rushed to the bathroom before anyone noticed the crack. With tears streaming down my face, my shaking fingers landed on the hidden button by accident. But when the soft flesh of my fingertips collided with the well-concealed button on the base of my neck, everything was okay. The button took me back four hours before. With those extra four hours, I thought of a solution: I wouldn’t go to school that day. It gave her the break that she needed but spared me from the pain of being told she needed the break. 

Of course, I know restarting doesn’t really change anything, but it at least gave me the option of pretending it never happened. 

The next time was when I was 11. I’d heard through my friend, who heard through her friend, that my friend had told someone that I was an embarrassment to be friends with. The secret made its way through the furtive chain of people until it made it to me. And as those words were whispered back to me, the same way they had been whispered down the chain, a fracture opened in my heart. And surprise! The fracture was in the same place as the one that my eight-year-old self had sewed up sloppily three years earlier. So I ran to the bathroom to sew up the new fracture. I hit the button and got my extra four hours. This time, my solution was a little more direct. I decided if she was going to call me embarrassing, I may as well just do it first. So I walked up to her slowly. I’m really sorry, but I just – I-I-I don’t know if I wanna be so close. I’m going to be honest, you’re a little bit embarrassing to be around, and I think I might need a break from our friendship. The moment the words escaped, there was a slight guilt that blossomed in my chest, but I ignored it. I watched the tears form in her eyes, and she shook her head and ran off. I wondered if maybe she was running to the bathroom to push her own button. 

After that, I started using it more frequently. With each use, I sewed up the same fracture that kept appearing in the same place until my heart was a jumble of threads pulled together sloppily. 

I used it for the 26th time when I was 13. I had been friends with these two girls for three years. We’d made a promise that our friendship was for life. We’d looked each other in the eyes and told each other how much we valued our friendship. It was your typical middle-school, coming-of-age-movie type thing. But obviously, three aren’t best friends. Two are best friends. Three is a pair of best friends and an extra. Apparently, I was the extra. Three months after we had made our pact of friendship, I figured out that they had been having sleepovers together every month. In fact, they had made it a tradition. Another fracture. Off to the bathroom. Better sew it up. Tears streaming down my face. Hair being flung out of the way. Fingers searching for the button. Finger. Button. Finger. Button. Finger. Button? Finger. No button? Finger. No button. 

That was the day the threads tore, and the fracture, no longer contained, etched itself into my heart, a cruel, burning emblem that had seared the words:

Tiresome.

Annoying.

Burden.

Embarrassment. 

Into my heavy, broken heart for everyone to see.

Wright: The Oil Chain

Chapter 1

Trapped in a hellhole. That is how I felt when I got shipped to a little farm 70 miles away from civilization. While rolling away from my parents’ driveway, my dad yelled, “Have fun at my parents’ house!” 

I swear to God he smirked to himself, knowing the troubles that would soon follow. And they followed sooner than expected.
It should have been a nice, uneventful hour-and-a-half drive. 

It was not. 

Not by anybody’s standards, unless you thought the “standard” was a seven-hour drive, excluding the literal five times we stopped for “gas” or “food” or “water” or “rest.” Why don’t you do all of them at the same time? My grandpa did not move faster than 35 mph on the empty highway we were on the whole time, which had a speed limit of 80 mph! I think Grandpa started a three-hour traffic jam. That is how slow he was. Did I mention that it was a one-lane highway? When we went to a gas station for water – I know! Just water! – Grandpa came back, he got in the seat, and we turned into a huge traffic jam. I mean huge traffic. So, basically, the traffic Grandpa created turned out to be the traffic we were stuck in. Don’t ask me how… No, I know how: even with the car in front of us finally out of view, we had a huge line of cars behind us, inching forward. The only thing stopping them from freedom was a small minivan with somebody too scared to go faster than 20 mph because he did not want to “catch up” with the traffic. That traffic was long gone. You could guess that the people directly behind us were wondering why we were going so slow; eventually, the car behind us went around us by driving in the grass! I think that is illegal.

He parked in the road and got out of his car. We stopped and he told us to speed up, and I looked at my grandpa, just wishing for once he would be “cool.” I could tell he wasn’t. I have been away from cool people for so long. Anything better than my grandpa would be cool to me. Unsurprisingly, Grandpa started talking about his childhood, but I did not expect what he told the guy who stopped us. It sounded personal. It was how his mom (my great-grandmother) once was driving 65 mph on a 50 mph road, and she crashed her car. She was uninjured but traumatized for life. Apparently, it rubbed off on Grandpa, and now he drives slow. Instead of empathy, he responded with a cold, “Shut up, old man.”

To be honest, I was not surprised. He then gave a thumbs up to the car behind us, and then he got in his car and drove off. I do not regret my next actions. When he gave the thumbs up, I knew that hundreds of cars behind us would move around us. So I reached over to my grandpa’s legs and pushed down on one of them. 

Although I was sympathetic to him, I did not want to wait longer than I needed to. The car bolted forward and almost crashed into a fence, and I think I lit a spark in him because soon we were driving steadily at 80 mph. Grandpa was at the wheel, leaving the other cars in the dust. My grandpa must have had some experience with driving fast. My grandma (also known as Jenny) screamed as well. All I will say is that her clothes used to not be brown. 

I think I have told you enough, and around 45 minutes later, we arrived at my grandparents’ farmhouse around ten o’clock at night. And I looked up at what I thought would be a decent barn with a silo for keeping food, and I looked at… nothing.

Yeah. You heard me. Nothing. It was empty. More than empty. It was creepy. Just a few seconds ago, Grandpa was saying it would be big and comfy, and when I looked over at him, he did not have his usual smile. That will happen a lot. 

“So this is the beautiful farm you have been talking about,” I said sarcastically.

Grandpa responded in a sad tone, “But… but it was just here! How could this happen?”

We got our answer pretty quickly. We looked behind us to see a huge pile of wood. I thought I heard a moo from somewhere in the pile, and I put the pieces together pretty quickly.

“Something destroyed the house and moved it to the field over there,” I said matter-of-factly. 

Grandpa sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea, Jenny. You know he has wanted our land for a while now. He probably swooped in when we were not looking.”

Grandma may have known about the scandal, but it was news to me. 

I knew it was a bad time, but I asked, “Why didn’t Grandma stay and watch the farm?”

Grandpa gave me a look that definitely said, Not the time, Robert.

I was about to sit at the edge of the ruins when I heard a far-off rumbling. I looked over, and what I saw in the distance was horrifying. It was an excavator with black and yellow stripes. There was a lot of other machinery in the same style, including a big truck that had a lot of materials, such as metal and brick. House material it was not.

I gave a small glare, and I ran to my grandparents. I shoved them off the road and into a little crevasse in the ruins. Before they asked what I was doing, I covered their mouths while giving the “shush” symbol. They nodded quickly, and Grandpa peeked outside. He looked back at us with a stone face. He said quietly, “We need to stop him.”

“Why don’t you sue him?” I asked quietly.

Grandpa responded in a small voice, “He owns the judges. He owns everything. Well, kind of. He has almost every country’s hands tied.”

“What is his goal?” I asked weakly.

“Nobody knows. He has been taking property all over the country. No… all over the world.”

The bad guy (who I will call Destructo until I learn his name) and the machinery rolled up to what I guess used to be the front porch. I strained my ears to hear anything important, and I realized something. Well, actually, two things. The stakes had gotten a lot higher. This was supposed to be a boring summer at a farm, not a life-or-death situation. The other realization was just as bad. My house could be next. These guys needed to be stopped. I said it was a life or death situation because it likely was. If Destructo was able to have a country’s hands tied, I didn’t doubt that Destructo would kill in an instant. I started to think of my parents, and just then, Grandpa shook me out of my daymares. “Listen!”

I got my wits back and heard Destructo yelling to one of the guys operating the excavator, “That oil won’t dig itself out!”

Suddenly, things started making a lot more sense. I got a sick feeling in my stomach and looked at Grandpa. He looked worse than I felt. Suddenly, I heard Destructo start talking again, this time much softer. All three of us looked at the area where the house used to be and heard, “Durce, we have done this before. I know you don’t like it, but that old gremlin’s family needs to die. We can’t have them getting all suspicious.”

I started to hyperventilate, and the other guy, Durce, responded to Destructo, “When do we go?”

“Not us! I will send somebody else out! I am not going to risk our lives for even the most annoying of people! And for your question, they will be playing a flute in the clouds in less than an hour. They may not open the gate for anybody related to that fool, though.”

I tuned Destructo out. “Call my parents!

Whoever you are, wherever you are, you know that a man can be worried. Especially when their parents are about to die. Grandpa called my parents, and they answered with a slightly slurred, “What the hell was a guy with a revolver doing in the house!?”

A very grim feeling settled in my chest. I tried to keep it down, but the fact that somebody had ordered my parents’ death was pretty uncounterable.

They kept talking. “We are in some guy’s car, driving to your grandparents’ house.”

I answered with surprise, “It’s too dangerous!”

The next thing I heard on the phone made me want to cry all over again.

CRASH! 

“Mom? Dad?”

The phone beeped, dead. Grandma looked at Grandpa, and said quietly, “We need to go back.”

I added weakly, “Can you speed up a little on the way?” 

And so we went.

Chapter 2                  

For Lennon Wright, it was supposed to be a relaxing, no-kid summer with his wife, Kenya Wright. Their son, Robert Wright, had left an hour earlier in a very grumpy mood.  The second Robert left, the party started. 

“Get the cocktails!” Kenya yelled. 

Around an hour later, the people started flooding in. Soon, there were dozens of noisy, drunk adults dancing where Robert had slept just a few hours earlier, and finally, when the Wrights’ friends left, the real fun began. Spoiler alert: it kind of depends on what you think of when somebody says fun.

The Wrights went to bed in a half-drunk haze for a few hours and woke up to the sound of banging in the kitchen. They felt a little better, but they were still stumbling everywhere and were sleep-deprived.

They quietly walked down the stairs, or should I say fell down them, and they saw a guy they remembered letting into the party. Only this time, the guy was holding a revolver and looking into Robert’s room. Kenya almost screamed, but Lennon held her back. They quietly crept out of the room but found a random black car with the words “Durce&Dereck” on the side and their usual blue Subaru Forester in flames. Lennon said somberly, “I heard a noise earlier but I never would have thought it was this.” 

They both looked at the destroyed car, a single tear rolling down Kenya’s cheek. Lennon looked at the horizon. 

“It’s early. Only two or three. No matter.”

“How could this happen?” Kenya asked nobody in particular, choking on every word. They looked at each other and nodded their heads. 

Lennon said almost excitedly, “I call shotgun!” 

And so they went.

Chapter 3

The next few hours were a blur. On one hand, I wanted to kill this guy. On the other hand, I needed to save my parents, so the first hand would have to wait. The first thing I did once the phone died was simply ask, “How are we getting back with Destructo right in front of us?”

The answer came quickly. Destructo walked inside one of his machines. We crept out of the ruins of the house and into the ditch where Grandma had parked the car – thank God it was not in the open. The next step was scary. We could either have just gunned it and hoped we did not get shot or driven slowly as far as the ditch took us and then gunned it. Yeah, we took the second option. The car slowly crept through the ditch and, to our absolute dismay, a huge tree was poking out of the end of the ditch. I wish we had known this before, though, because we were ready to be gunning it and, surprise, we were already gunning it! Grandpa just missed the tree. I wish we had not. Our car shot directly into an upright log. Who puts their logs there? The log flew through the window and into the roof of the car. Grandpa screamed. 

“You okay?” I asked, with more than a touch of panic.

He was not. Besides the glass flying down from the window, there was not much that could’ve hurt him enough to scream like that. It was loud. Grandpa, now with his head flopping on his shoulder, struggling to stay conscious, squeaked out, “My hand… it hurts.”

I looked up in horror as I saw that the log had jammed his wrist between the open car roof and the log, and a sharp piece of roof was sticking out of his palm. I forgot about the whole car thing, and the car suddenly slowed down by 80%, and this is the worst part: it hit a house. Yeah. A normal farmhouse. And let me tell you, it is not fun to go through the wall of a house with eight year-olds playing hide and seek. Especially when your grandpa is dying. The kids yelled for their mommies and jumped out of the way. We rolled to a halt in what used to be a kitchen. 

Yeah, you could say we destroyed the house. Grandma, Grandpa, and I stepped out of the car. There were four kids and two adults staring at us wide-eyed when this clean-shaven, normal guy with slick hair and striped pajamas broke the silence. 

“Do you need medical aid?” I thought he was talking about Grandpa. Likely. Even so, I looked down. I wish I had not. Red pieces of glass of all shapes and sizes. On my body. My body. The body that had managed to live years without a hint of a scar. I fell to the ground, and let’s just say I took a little nap.

I woke up to see Grandma standing over me, and I saw tears in her eyes. I looked down at myself, and I had scabs all over my body and face. I felt sore but not too hurt. I immediately sat up as I realized that it must have been about Grandpa. I ran the possibilities through my head, and then suddenly a figure stood next to my bed. And I was happy to see… You may have guessed it! Drum roll, please… Grandpa! WHOO! He was alive. With his limbs, hopefully. Annnd no. I craned my head (in pain) to look at his hand and deflated. A stump was in its place. I tearfully said, “I am so, so, so sorry.” I gasped for breath, tears falling from the wrong man’s eyes. “This is all my fault. I did this to you.”

He put on a fake smile. “Robert, it is not your fault. It is just a minor roadblock.”

It barely put my worries at ease, but I cooled down for him.

I asked in a small voice, “How long?”

“Four days.”

I leaped out of my bed.

I felt every one of my cuts reopen, days of healing gone in an instant. I fell to the side of my bed. The pain was just that incredible. But even more incredible was the fact that somewhere out there were my parents. I remembered the call vividly. The call where my parents were in a car and then… it was gone. Everything. The point of life. Family. They might have been out there, dying… or already dead. I grabbed my shirt and stuffed it in my mouth, and slowly got up. I wanted to scream in pain and die, but my mouth was stuffed with cloth, so that helped. I crept up, getting flashbacks to when I was a little kid. Everything was so easy. Life was easy. Grades? Non-existent. Running for my life, being worried about dying at every turn? Not a thing. The one thing I never seemed to be able to do was walk. I took my first step at four. You could say that I was a late bloomer. Honestly, I didn’t “bloom” until a few days ago. Not until… you know what, I’m not going to go back into the horror that happened. To start all of this… well, madness really. I just hoped that I could put this all behind me and have a good story to tell to my kids. If I lived that long.

Okay. I will stop fantasizing. Back to where I was. I was bursting in pain, ready to save my parents. It hurt, but it was worth it. I stood up, and came face to face with… the two people I wanted to see most?

Or should I say, Kenya and Lennon Wright.

And so we go.

Chapter 4

Lennon said almost excitedly, “I call shotgun!” 

“This is not a game, honey.”

“We will see about that,” he responded confidently.

Kenya suddenly gasped. 

“What is it, dear?” Lennon said with more than a hint of fear.

What it was, well… a word. A simple word.

“Robert!” they shouted in unison.

They took off, unlike Lennon’s father, at a “little” over the speed limit. Around thirty minutes later, they saw a normal-looking neighborhood, and they knew they were close. All of a sudden, the car phone rang.

“I will get it,” Lennon said. He fumbled through his pockets and took out his old 2009 phone.

“Five minutes,” Kenya said, without taking her eyes off the road.

She stared intently at the horizon, as if it would get her there faster. Lennon brought the phone to his face and turned on his mad voice. 

“What the hell was a guy with a revolver doing in the house!?” Before Robert could respond, Lennon said, “We are in some guy’s car, driving to your grandparents’ house.”

Over the phone, they heard their son’s voice squeal, “It’s too dangerous!”

Kenya rolled her eyes, ready to butt into the conversation, when – CRASH! Their car seemed to flip over for no reason. The now upside-down car flew into the dirt, crushing the phone. They looked around their bodies, and they were both happy to see they were not badly hurt. Kenya and Lennon slowly limped out of the mystery car and did not like what they saw. It turns out that there was a reason for the car’s demise. A fricken rocket launcher had shot at it! This beast had a smooth, gray surface, for the most part. There seemed to be odd buttons sticking out of the front. All of this, on a CAR!  Kenya and Lennon gaped in wonder. This quickly turned into fear. They quickly recovered from their shock, and well, took cover. Despite how dirty they looked, they had capabilities. They ran to a small ditch and crouched. They looked at the rocket-car pointed at them… on a grassy knoll. 

“I don’t like where this is going,” Kenya said while trying furiously to get any lower. They heard the infamous PUSSHHH as the missile launcher depressurized, and well, fired. BOOM! A little too late, Kenya and Lennon realized that they had not helped the situation by jumping into a hole: they had worsened it. 

“Run!” Lennon yelled.

Lennon seemed to forget they were in a ditch. It served its purpose, though, and they leaped out of the small hole and dove into some dirt as if that would help. Luckily, it did… kind of. The explosion shot both into the air, and both fell right on their knees. Ouch. They quickly recovered, believing that no pain was worse than losing Robert, their sweet Robert.

They looked at each other, movie style, and they seemed to make a connection in their minds. They made expressions on their faces, and the little conversation all seemed to resonate: Rush it. When? How about this: tell me if you like it. One… two… three… GO!!! 

They rushed the huge turret. They heard the creak of the launcher being aimed at Kenya. 

“Under!” Lennon yelled quickly.

They both slipped under the tank-like car and looked out just in time to see dirt erupt from the ground, resulting in a volcano-like shower of dirt. It might sting the face, but nothing more, they thought, forgetting one thing: shockwaves. BOOM! 

A flurry of dirt flew around Lennon and Kenya, and the rocket-car seemed to fly off of them, as easy as picking up a usual morning cup of coffee. Except this was not usual. Also, if the shockwave could throw a car like a doll, what could it do to a person weighing 10 times less? The answer came quickly. They got launched 15, maybe 20 feet.

It is said that 20 feet is around that distance where you can break everything from your leg to even your back or neck. It was all good, though, because they landed on a powerline… with no way down. They felt the ground rumble, and they looked down to see a smoking wreckage a few yards away. They could see a foggy view of somebody getting out.

“Damn. It is always the bald guys,” Lennon said.

A tall, maybe six-foot-three man with a bald head and a long scar on his leg walked around, surveying the damage. Lennon looked at Kenya and sighed. 

“Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Lennon asked.

Kenya responded with a weathered sigh, “I will get the switch.”

Years ago, they had done this in a similar fashion when their skydiving didn’t go as planned. Kenya took her “emergency hatchet” out and started hacking away at the rusty metal, sparks flying in all directions into the never-ending horizon, dawn just striking. The metal, lined with old blue paint marks, long since having been redone, started to crack, and then, all of a sudden, broke off. A sizable chunk of metal flew from the bone of the powerline, and they looked inside. 

“Is it the red or the blue?” Kenya asked. 

“The red, I think,” Lennon said. 

Suddenly, the air seemed to drop in temperature, and they found the dots when they stopped hearing the buzzing sound. Kenya looked herself up and down, wondering if she really was going to do this. 

She was. Lennon picked up the hatchet which Kenya had dropped after cutting the wire and started hacking at the powerline wire. After a few very strong throws, the line was being held by just a thread. Kenya and Lennon grabbed onto the strong wire, and with all their trust in it, jumped. The wire broke, and they flew down at breakneck speed, trying to do anything to get higher for fear of skimming their feet on the ground. They flew back up as momentum took over, and they started flying toward a giant powerline. With no brakes.

Chapter 5: The End Is Near…

“How did you get h – ” I got cut off by my dad.

“We are killing that guy.” A new, hard look was on his face. 

I managed to croak out, “Okay…” before blacking out. 

People act like blacking out makes you fall asleep for years, but really, it is a short thing. Two minutes, maybe three, tops. And that is what happened. But it felt much longer. In my dream, my parents and I were in a tiny rowboat, and, suddenly, the water started rippling. The water started to push upwards, and a man seemed to show up out of nowhere. And he walked on water. 

“God?” I asked. No… It was the opposite of God. It was Destructo. I bolted up, panting. My parents were waiting over me, and I got up almost like a robot. We walked to the parking lot, and they directed me to a big car. Our car? 

“We had a little extra time,” they responded. 

I hugged them. They looked as crude as me, but I still held onto their scent, never letting it go, like a watchdog fiercely protecting their leader. 

“I – ” I started.

“Yeah, yeah. We missed you, too. We love you. But right now, we need to kill that guy,” Lennon said, playfully in an unplayful way.

I smiled. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

I limped into the car and surveyed it. Clean cup holders, an undamaged roof, and leather seats. Mom put the car into second gear, and we were off. Apparently, still too cheap for an automatic. 

After an hour of driving, we reached what used to be my grandparents’ house. They were still there. And more. There were hundreds of people drilling into the ground, and still, we stepped out of the car. We had no plan. We ran to the remains of the house, and we dug a little hole into it. I swear, I could still hear the cows mooing. Mom took out her phone. 

“Mom, don’t you think it would be a little disheartening saying your goodbyes now? Right now?” I asked, with a hint of a smile. 

Kenya replied slyly, “I managed to find all the people who Destructo has taken property from. They always seem to show up on the local news, and I tracked them down from there. While you were recovering from getting glass shattered onto your body, I called them up, and they were just happy to help. They should be coming right about… now.” 

Before I could respond, hundreds of cars simultaneously revved. 

“Here they are,” Kenya said, all jolly. I peeked my head out of the makeshift house. My eyes widened as I saw something that I never would have imagined in a million years. Cars lined up for miles. On the good side. People started stepping out of the cars. I was taken aback by the age groups when I saw babies standing strong next to grandparents holding their ground next to their kids. I walked towards them. They all gave us the same sympathetic grin, and we did the same for them. Somebody a little older than me, maybe 16 years old, stepped up. 

“My name is Gerald, and I am fighting for all of our properties. All of our freedom from this horrible curse brought over us.”

“I, too,” said a middle-aged woman.

“My name is Philip, and I have spent eighty-seven years on planet Earth. The last five have been hell. Because of what Putty has done,” said an old man.

“I, too,” said a different man.

“I, too,” said another.

And then all of a sudden, everyone said in unison, “I, too.”

And we marched forward. (Where? No idea.)

I walked next to my mom. “Any idea what ‘Putty’ means?”

“Nope. Nada. But if I had to guess, I would say Destructo or the whole organization of Destructo.”

“Wow… deep,” I responded a tad too casually.

“What’s up, squirt?”

I sighed. “Why did this have to happen? Why are you here? Wait… how are you here?”

“Well, that is a long one. I guess you have no idea where I am starting from, but we are almost there, so I will keep it short. Your father and I are holding on to a power line, I know, no context, and we are about to hit the metal structure holding it up. You know what I am talking about?”

“Um… I guess?”

“Whatever. Anyway, your father and I are about to hit it when… The line breaks. We flew up, still going towards the structure, and then your father saw something. A handlebar that led to the interior of the structure stuck out below. ‘Over there!’ Lennon yelled. We hoped for the best, and we drove all of our bodies to weight for it. We just catch hold onto the bar, and from there, we shimmy our way down to the ground, not before having a few hundred heart attacks.” Kenya seemed really invested in the story, but she suddenly stopped to look forward. “Almost there, honey. I have to speed up.”

“That is fine. I just want to know the basics,” I responded.

“All right. There was this bald guy, and we wanted to sneak away from him, but we couldn’t. He found us and coincidentally took us to a dungeon a block from the hospital you stayed at. I used my bobby pin to escape.”

“Wow… that was a fast ending but really cra – ” I trailed off. 

I kept staring forward, but I wanted to look down. It seemed crazy. I couldn’t help it. I looked down. There was a step down to a sort of basement with no roof, and it was full of weapons. It was so well covered by all the farmland around, and… and… IT WAS FULL OF WEAPONS, GOD DANG IT! Glocks, C-4, rocket launchers, SMGs, everything! And hundreds of them. We all gathered around, taking what looked cool, acting like we knew how to use it, and we lined up. And we marched.

Chapter 6: Survival of the Fittest is True to Every Extent

No, really. We became the fittest. So we survived. This can be seen in so many different cases. If the weakest wins, then they were actually the fittest. A normal person walks into a wall. They feel incredible pain. But if a person with fried nerves walks into the wall, they feel no pain. All odds were against them, and they still won. Let’s see how.

We marched to the battleground in style. Not expected, but it felt good. We filed into a line behind the house. 

“Ready! Set! Go!” I yelled. We walked into view, guns blazing. 

My grandparents walked next to me and crouched down next to me, and my grandfather shouted over the gunfire, “I need to go! I can’t be here, even though I would love to. My hand is infected!”

I wanted to cry for him, but I stepped forward. 

“Whatever you think is best!”

He left, and we stepped up. We encircled the compound, and, suddenly, some of the drillers who had taken cover ran toward us. With nothing. They got behind our lines and pleaded for mercy. We gave them weapons, and they fought for us. And then we closed in. We walked inside and saw Destructo, and we surrounded him.

We put a rope around his head, and attached ropes on every side. 

Victims grabbed onto any available piece of rope. 

“Three! Two! One! Pull!”

And with that, Destructo died. And nobody shed a tear, as he would have wanted.

THE END

I was at home, hundreds of people hovering over me, bright smiles on their faces. It was over. They could have their property back. The monster… the creature that uprooted dozens of families… was dead. I stuffed a cupcake into my mouth, trying to, as most likely everybody was,  forget the pain and suffering that had ensued after the loss of their homes. Mom had combed my hair an hour before and somehow got a fancy suit on me. Grandpa had actually gotten a prosthetic hand after he left the battle. Thank God he did… saved his life. But some of the stolen property was still being run. Durce, well, he was now running the operation much more humanely. No wonder Destructo’s workers turned their backs on him.

I looked around at everybody with great smiles on their faces, filling up with colorful churros – Mom still had kept the recipe secret. She said when my birthday rolled around, she would tell me. She didn’t. I looked at Dad. He was looking around nervously, repeatedly rubbing his hand across his head. “Dad – you ok?”

“Uh… um, yeah, sweety. Just happy everything went well.” 

“Well, me, too,” I responded.

“You should try one of the churros. We bought them extra special!”

I looked at Dad. Bought? Suddenly, hundreds of people fell to the ground. None were moving. And they never moved again. “Dad? Mom?”

They were the only ones standing. They both reached for their faces, and suddenly started peeling their hair off of them. 

“Durce, you said it would be painless!” said a man that I thought was my dad.

“Well, Azerite, you ruined my surprise!” Durce said harshly.

I studied them from head to toe. Definitely bad guys. And I ran.

Settling

Mr. Murphy was a settling man who lived free of companions, but the fact of the matter is this – he was not lonesome. Lonesomeness in his case was silent and unclassified, but he did play around with his own concepts. He sat on the porch of our shack, drowsy and what seemed to be drunk. 

That day was one of the sweltering, and we usually saw dry days in Texas, where Smurf would either go to sleep, or get drunk trying. Bo had stayed in a tent built with his brother, but he was only a tween, so we didn’t have a clue what to make of him. He had tan-ish skin, and we knew he had been living in the sun his whole life, so he could handle a bit of skin peeling. We lived a couple of miles away from the village because there was a river closer by us. Anyway, Smurf and I moved down to the bar, traveling the somewhat dried-up river. 

“Sand is pasty around here,” Smurf had muttered. “It looks safe for hunting, but I didn’t know what the laws were about around here.” We laid a couple of pebbles on the moist sand. 

“Bo’ll be marked for the land,” I guessed. We called the town Lead, and we called it that because we were on the river that narrowly ‘lead’ up to Miller, a gold mining city where the government had installed the Stoker Dam. There wasn’t much of anything around our place, but I had bet we weren’t gonna try to get out of there. We lived in a shack-like structure, with a rusty iron roof and chunky clay bricks. It was dry inside, and didn’t have anything in it, just a burlap-sack bed and a wooden porch. Anyhow, clumsily striding through the riverside, me and Smurf had gotten to the thicker parts of underbrush, where trees and bushes were blocking our paved-out route. 

“Any chance we can stop by… uh… one of the Mo’s today?” he asked. Smurf called auction houses “Mo’s,” half because he liked the word, and half because we all were used to him using the term.  

“What do you need horses for?” 

“One of the Indian folk in Arizona had sent me a letter, showing us a warrant they were trying to get on our claim,” he uttered, while jumping over a log. At that point we had no clue as to what the Navajo were trying to get our land for, as the plain-skinned guy who sold us the land had not informed us. 

Smurf had looked at my troubled expression quizzically, knowing I wasn’t going down easy on our land. I had gotten so much of our profit into mining everything I could get out of our dry and sandy ground. 

Up until the point me and Smurf got out of the underbush, we were unscathed, but as we were walking into the major square of the town, bits of sand started to hit our face by the wind. I had dragged Smurf on over to the town mostly just for poker to get a bit of money into my hands, but he now seemed up for some games. 

We walked up onto the patio of the new bar, which opened a couple of months ago, just to rest for a minute until someone came into view. The bartender, a guy named Vinnie, stepped out of the locked building all tired looking, but he had clearly gotten a new trim for the time being. I didn’t know if he himself wanted to do anything, but almost as soon as I thought this, he quickly trod over to talk to me and Smurf. 

“The landlords had been after you, ya know?” Vinnie said quickly. 

“Since when have the Indians actually won a case?” Smurf responded as he straightened up in his chair. 

“I don’t know, but you guys better get back to Mexico before anyone whips at your asses.”

I got out of my seat to stretch out and run over to a vendor and get a six-pack to calm down Smurf. I kept my own counsel, but I reckoned Smurf was devising a plan to steal some horses and flee cross-country, or something to do with Bo. I then hurried back across to street to pass a beer to Vinnie and maybe one to Smurf. 

“You boys wanna go back home for the night?” Smurf blurted out. 

“Why would I go? My gran’s got a place in Lead,” Vinnie shot back at him. 

“I guess I’m stressed on the whole of it, but any time wasted is just as bad as any time they have to get closer to us.”

“We should head back to get ready,” I pitched in. 

Vinnie sent us on our way and we took a trail back to the land. I knocked on the steel-plated door, and a couple of seconds later it opened up to reveal the face of a little Indian boy.

“Where abouts you come from?” Smurf asked as we walked into the shack. I had noticed the kid didn’t really want to speak, so we just gave him a cup to play with. We sat for a couple of minutes, until Smurf got up to pour beans into the one little stove we had. We sat for a little longer waiting for it to be prepared, the pan sizzling. 

As Smurf stood up from the bare floor to get bowls for us, we heard a knock at the door. Then there was another knock, and another. But they didn’t stop, loud bangs in the numbness of my brain. 

Proposal

They’d been together for six years now. Six years. It still didn’t feel like that long. But today was different. The two weren’t going to the same restaurant for Friday dinner, and they weren’t going out at the same time. The guy had told her beforehand, “Dress nicely,” which made her awfully excited. “Dress nicely” always had more meaning to it. It was always something special. Last time he told her this was when he surprised her with tickets to the concert of her favorite band. Or that time he took her to dinner and gave her a promise ring. He had led her to a new place. The beach. Not that new. But the beach was a very special place for the both of them. It was where they first laid eyes on each other. One special thing about their relationship was that they usually never disagreed except on one thing. How many slices to cut things into. Now, this may seem useless, but, trust me, it isn’t. Every Friday, they alternated between the number of slices they cut the cake into, and today was her choice. She usually chose six. As she was about to cut the cake, he said, “Do eight pieces today.”

“Why?”

“Just do it, please.”

“No, give me a reason.”

“Trust me, okay?”

“Fine.” 

Then she started cutting. Right as she was slicing the fourth piece of cake, the knife hit something. Metal? She took the piece out and there, in the cake, was a piece of metal. Not any type of metal, though. A ring. An engagement ring. 

That’s when he kneeled on the floor and said, “Will you marry me?”

No Second Chances for Your Love

Chaerin walked down the steps of her house, plugging her earbuds into her phone, and pressed play on her music playlist. She was going to the supermarket to buy food. She walked down the dairy aisle, checking the sell-by dates on each container. She heard footsteps approaching, so she moved closer to the freezer to make room for the person, but instead of walking past her, they stopped. At first, Chaerin thought that they must also be looking for milk, but after a while, she could really feel their gaze burning on the back of her head. She sighed, pausing her music and turning to face the person.

“Sorry, can I help y – “

“I missed you,” the person said, cutting her off. They lifted one hand and reached up to cup her cheek. Chaerin blocked their arm, realizing who she was facing. It was no other than Minwoo, her first “love.” He broke off their relationship, but after Chaerin found someone new, he tried to get back with her, even threatening to hurt her and her new lover. That, along with many other red flags, was the reason why Chaerin started avoiding him.

“Right,” she replied nonchalantly.

“No, really.”

“But we haven’t seen each other since…” Chaerin trailed off.

“Since?” Minwoo asked, feigning confusion.

“You know.” She crossed her arms, lifting her chin, daring him to say otherwise or pretend to be innocent.

“Well…” Minwoo scratched the back of his head, smiling nervously.

“Well.” Chaerin uncrossed her arms, turning around to leave. “It was nice seeing you again. Have a nice day.” She left, without giving Minwoo a chance to reply.

The Swan

These were no ordinary pair of scissors. They were my mother’s sewing scissors. They were gold and delicately molded by some craftsman long ago into the shape of an elegant swan in flight. The swan’s wings curled up the round handles, and the long beak was the razor-sharp blade. My mother’s hands guided the shining bird in and out of the seas of many-colored fabrics. She used these scissors to make the most beautiful dresses anyone had ever seen. She worked so hard. We lived in a tiny, cramped cottage with the bed too close to the stove. My bed used to be covered in half-made dresses and silken ribbons. 

Ivo stole the swan. I was asleep on my too-small bed in the too-small house. My mother was at the market. It was late at night, far too late to be awake when the moon was shining above brighter than any candle. I hated Ivo. He was the butcher’s son and about three years older than me. I’d seen him with blood on his hands. He climbed through the too-small window and stepped with his dirty boots on my mother’s beautiful dresses. I didn’t see him take them – I was too busy watching the dreams in my head. I never could have stopped him anyway – I am small, and he is strong. 

When mother came back to see the little house in disarray, she didn’t cry. I think she wanted to, but she was too proud to let me see. She told me that Ivo wanted to melt down the swan and sell the gold. In the early morning of the next day, I saw her counting the coins left in her desk drawer. I peeked out from under my blankets to see her. She lifted each tiny disk from the drawer and held it into a ray of silvery light. I dreamed about the coins when I fell back asleep. 

My mother spent the next morning sewing faster than I’d ever seen her sew before. She used a dull pair of gray scissors that lacked all the grace of the diving swan. My mother’s hands flew over the fabric as she attached a long red cape to a brown dress. She said it was for a very important, noble lady who lived in the big house by the castle. 

“I am going to play in the pond,” I said as I pulled on my favorite dress. The cloth was soft and worn from use. 

“Be careful. And come back before noon – I need you to hang the laundry,” Mother said, pinning my hair back with a spirally iron clasp. 

“I will.”

The front door creaked open. I ran outside, my boots stomping on the wet, slimy grass. I didn’t run toward the pond, though. Instead, I ran into town. The ground changed from brownish green weeds to hoof-pounded dirt to cobblestone that clomped too much with the many feet landing on it. Men and women in fine clothing walked and chatted in huddles. A couple of girls who looked about my age were weaving in and out of the swarms of adults. They had long, blonde hair the color of wheat and fine red dresses splattered with brown mud. 

No one looked at me, but I kept my head down anyway. I cut through a narrow alley. The stairs were cracked and scratched, and the walls were close enough together that I had to stretch both my arms out to feel the rough stone. The wet smell of horses faded in the alley. 

Soon, I reached the landing where two alleys converged into a cross. I turned to the right. The walls were too far apart now. Only one of my hands could feel as the stone softened to worn wood. The second too-wide alley dumped me out into an open noisy street. Wonderful smells, fresh flowers, baked bread, and expensive spices from far away filled the market street. Too many people had shoved themselves in between the tall brown houses to get a look at the vendors’ wares.

I climbed over a tall stack of crates to avoid a cluster of haggling shoppers. A tall man with arms like twigs and a wrinkly nose yelled something at me, but I didn’t hear a word he said. I leaped off the crates and landed on all fours beside a table piled high with sticky sweet buns and bread braided like hair. I scooted along the wall until the sweet smells of the market were contaminated with the ugly, rotten stink of meat and blood. 

The butcher’s shop was a tiny replica of the castle. It had big wooden doors with round door knockers the size of my head. Its charcoal stone walls stretched up higher than all the others and were crenelated. An alley snaked around on both sides of the mini-castle. I swiveled on my heel into it and away from the chattering crowds. This sidewall of the butcher’s shop was old and crumbling. Spiky vines crawled up the bricks. I counted the windows. There were five in total, three shuttered and two open. The fourth window was the only one that mattered, though. 

A pile of crumbled stone formed a lumpy staircase to the fourth window. I carefully climbed upward, trying to keep my feet from getting trapped in a dark hole. The stones were wobbly, and I felt like I was walking across a tightrope in a windstorm. I’d seen Ivo climb up these rocks before. He made it look so easy. When I reached the windowsill, I peered through a slit in the blinds. The crunching sound they made at my touch was deafening. The small room was empty, as I had expected. Ivo was downstairs in the shop with his father. 

It wasn’t a bedroom like John had told me. He said that the butcher lived in luxury. I had imagined a huge, silk bed with embroidered drapes and velvet-smooth cushions like the fancy ladies in the castle. This was not that. The room was small. The threadbare, gray bed took up most of the space. The nails in the walls looked like they had been crying reddish rust. A white apron hung from the door. There was a stack of clothes in the corner with a book on top. I frowned. 

The scissors weren’t under the bed or the pile of clothes. They hadn’t been hidden behind the apron or under the loose floorboards. I made my search as quiet as possible. I picked up the little book and tucked it under my skirt. He didn’t deserve it. The scissors just weren’t here. I cautiously pushed the door open. Its hinges creaked horribly loud. This room was bigger than Ivo’s, with an animal skin carpet and a big writing desk. A woman sat in a nice chair beside the desk. She looked up from her sewing in surprise, but her expression soon softened to a welcoming smile. A red-brown tunic was draped over her knees. Her face was warm and round, freckles scattered like stars across her cheeks. Her long, dark hair hung loosely around her shoulders. 

“Are you one of Ivo’s friends?” she asked. Probably reading the horror on my face, she tilted her head to the side and a cascade of dark waves followed. 

“Yes…” I stammered. “Uh, no. I mean, yes.” I panicked. I scanned her up and down, looking for signs of anger. Instead, my eyes caught on something that glinted in the dusty light. A delicate, golden, shimmering thing was laced between her fingers. She had used them to snip the thread. The swan. Mother’s swan. Our swan. 

I pointed at her hands. She looked confused. 

“The – the scissors.”

She held them up. “These?” 

“Yes, yes!” 

“What about them?” 

I wrinkled my nose. 

“Ivo took them from our house!” I yelled, smashing my boot into the wooden boards. “He stole them!”

“Ivo?” She tilted her head some more. “He stole them from you?” 

“Yes!” I stomped again. “I came to get them back!” 

“He said he found them on the street, along with some coins in a little embroidered purse,” Ivo’s mother said. She fingered the tunic’s hem. 

“He is a liar!” I crumpled my hands into fists. 

“No. He lied. There is a difference.” Her tone had grown building-stone rough. Her smile straightened out into a disapproving line, cutting lines under her eyes. “Sit.” She motioned to the wooden bench by the hearth. I sat, but only because her face looked like my mother’s face when she was mad. 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I crossed my arms into a stiff X.

“I believe you.” 

“Then give me back the scissors!”

“I want you to understand what Ivo must have been thinking when he stole.” 

“I don’t want to understand! I hate him!” 

“What he did was wrong, yes, and he will be punished, but I need you to understand why he did it.” 

“Why?!” I kicked the bench’s leg. 

“He was hurting. So he wanted to pass that hurting along to someone else.” She sucked a breath in through her freckled nose. “My mother, his grandmother, died last week. The plague.” I imagined the curved beak masks and the black cloaks and the smell of wounds and the screams from the tents. I winced. “You may have known her only as the flower seller.” I remembered a warm smile and fresh crimson blooms. “She and Ivo were very close. It, of course, hurt me, as well, to see her pass. I believe that Ivo thought the scissors would make me feel better.”

I was chewing on the pink insides of my cheek, tapping my toe on a loose nail.

“I’m – uh, I’m sorry.” I looked only down. The fiery anger was somehow nothing but thick smoke clogging up my throat. 

“Take them all back.” She handed me the swan and the little bag embroidered with sloppy roses from my unsteady needle. The coins inside jingled merrily. I took them back and clutched them tight under my arm. “You can go,” she said, pointing at the door. A little smile had come back over her round face. 

I walked with my head down to the door. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

“I never got your name.”

I turned. She had returned to her sewing in the nice chair, with a pair of dim, gray scissors. 

“Adelaide,” I said. 

“Jacquette.” 

The little book burned through my skirt with every clunk of boot on stone. I ignored the people chattering and didn’t run my hand along the walls of the alley. I helped my mother hang the laundry, clipping lines to the skinny trees. The book still burned. I put it under my too-small bed and tried to forget it was there. I could feel its smoldering warmth against my back at night. 

Ivo was crying. I ducked back into the market swarms, hiding. I felt the book under my bed burn the little cottage down in a blazing bonfire. It still burns me sometimes, but I don’t want to put it out. It will just sit under the too-small bed in the too-small house. I don’t think I could bear touching it. I want to forget it all.

Aubrey

Editor’s note: This wonderfully creepy story contains violent imagery that may be disturbing to younger readers.

“You guys, I don’t think this is a good idea.” I hate the dark. And the woods. 

“Don’t be so stuck-up, Mae,” Dillan says. “It’s the last week of camp. We’ve got to do something fun before we leave.” 

My friends woke me up in the middle of the night. They told me that one of our camp counselors, Aubrey, had snuck out of our cabin and that we needed to follow her. 

“It’s none of our business. Let’s just stay here,” I told them. Yet they insisted, practically dragging me out of bed. 

“Maybe Mae is right,” Chris says, holding out his flashlight over his feet. 

“Shut up, Chris.” Dillan turns, flashing his light in Chris’ face. 

We spend the next five minutes looking left and right for Aubrey. I’m not sure what they think we’re going to find out. Aubrey plays the guitar and has a peanut allergy. I doubt she has much to hide.

It’s too quiet. We all walk slowly, afraid that if we put too much weight on the ground, it’ll snap beneath us. Suddenly, there’s a squishing noise behind us. We all immediately turn around to face Imani, who’s lifted up her right foot and is gagging. 

“I stepped on something…” she says, covering her mouth. I hear a loud, relieved sigh from Chris. 

***

We walk for another ten minutes before Imani says she’s getting bored. 

“If we don’t find her in five minutes, we can go back to the campsite. Okay?” Chris says. 

The rest of us nod. Suddenly, there’s a light that starts flickering. 

“You guys…?” I say, beginning to shake. We stop and look around. Chris lets out a loud sigh. 

“It’s just my flashlight. I think it’s dying,” he says. 

Dillan rolls his eyes. “You know what? Let’s just go back to the cabin.” 

I groan.

“Finally,” I say, a smile appearing on my face. We start walking back in the direction of the campsite. It seems like it got even darker outside. In a flash, we hear another squishing noise. I don’t think Imani stepped in something this time.

The hairs on the back of my neck stick up. 

“What was that?” Imani whispers. I let out a shaky breath. 

“Do not say anything,” I utter, barely loud enough to be a whisper. I turn around, slowly. 

“Mae – ” Chris begins. I raise my hand to shut him up. I walk towards the continuous squelching, kneeling down to hide myself behind a bush. 

“Oh my God.” I shoot up almost immediately. “We have to leave right now,” I whisper. 

“Why? What is it?” Dillan asks. 

I shake my head in response, a tear slipping down my cheek. Dillan shoves me aside, peeking behind the bush. More tears escape my eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell I’m not the only one who sees it, because Dillan starts breathing heavily. 

Next thing I know, I’m crying hysterically. I shove my hand against my mouth to stop myself from making noise. 

“Aubrey…” Dillan says, facing the rest of us. He’s crying, too. “Do any of you have your phones?” 

Chris and Imani haven’t seen what we saw, so they are visibly confused, but they check their pockets anyway. 

“No,” Imani says. Chris shakes his head, too. 

I need to calm down. I squeeze my eyes shut, but no matter – I can’t get the image of her limp body out of my head. Her blonde hair was bright red as she lay in a pool of her own blood.

Aubrey was stabbed

“She needs help,” I say quietly. “Someone call for help!” I yell, snapping to my senses. 

There we were. Four teenagers standing before their dead camp counselor, screaming for help. 

Let’s just say this is not how I would spend my summer.

Too

The world had progressed to develop many great things in technology — the self-writing pen, light-weight bulletproof clothing now available in regular day fashion, food production from oxygen, and now this: your very own “fear in a box” — an internet sensation so big, its producer, Mike Hentalburg, had overcome even Jeffrey Bezos. It was advertised only by influencers with the biggest follower counts. I heard they didn’t even get paid — it was all for the chance with the box. 

The box, I guess, was a way to identify your biggest fear, so you could later face and eliminate it. Apparently you just entered this kind of… void where you see it? I don’t know, I wasn’t really interested in all this stuff. Not until one day, when one of them showed up at my door.

I guess I had somehow signed myself up for some sort of giveaway, at least that’s what all the people with the cameras said. I didn’t know what to do with it. Did I really want to use this? How could there be so much in a normal-looking box? The packaging was kind of rough too. 

The thing is, I lived alone — no close friends, just neighbors. No coworkers too. I worked for myself. An introverted little writer, with no friends or immediate family. Seems sad. Well, I liked it, but it didn’t solve the problem of what I should do with this box.

Hmm. Might as well then, right? Could be fun, who knows. I opened the box, and I looked up to see my biggest obstacle. 

It was… myself.

“What? You have got to be kidding me. This is so cliche,” I groaned. 

“Who, me? Oh, I’m not your biggest obstacle,” Myself said with certainty. “That is.” Myself pointed somewhere else. I turned to see what he was pointing at, and I saw… a speck of light in the distance.

“So my biggest obstacle is a little bit of light off to nowhere?” I asked mockingly. Was this a joke? I thought I was going to find out my biggest obstacle, for it only to be a far-off light.

“Oh, no. That’s not it. It’s just really far away,” stated Myself, suddenly intensely eating yogurt. “Mmm, cherry.” He then looked at me in a what-are-you-still-doing-here type of way.

Great, now I had to do cardio.

I started running, wanting to make this quick. I had to stop a few times (chronic back pain).

I finally made it to the light. Why was this so hard?

“I have no idea,” Myself said, calm as always, answering my inner question (I guess he was myself). I still jumped back what seemed forty feet. Great, more running. This time Myself came along with me. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. To be fair, I also dropped my yogurt from your reaction…” I kept running, ignoring Myself. I needed to find out what this light was.

As I got within fifteen feet of it, I had to go closer because I didn’t bring my glasses. At two feet, I started to make out what it was. I slowed to a light jog. 

“A computer?” I whispered to myself. “What?” I looked back at Myself, and he was looking back at me with the same lightly confused expression, eating what seemed to be a banana yogurt. 

I went to open the laptop a little more. I then squinted as the light from the laptop tried to blind me. Forcing myself, I reached for the brightness button. Thankfully with just one click it adjusted perfectly. 

“It’s just… a Google Doc,” I mumbled to myself, and I guess also to Myself. I looked closer — it only had one word. “And it’s the only tab or anything,” I added. Huh.

“It’s only the word ‘to,’” Myself said to me over my shoulder, intrigued. I furrowed my brow. “‘To’ as in T-O.” I looked at the keyboard and found the pad. 

“How can the word ‘to’ be your—I mean, our greatest obstacle?” I slowly moved the cursor towards the “to.” “How — wait.” I clicked the end of the “to.” “Wait, wait!” And I went to press the space button. “WAIT, NO!” 

*Click*

My world imploded.

Too

Just Like Clockwork

Anita didn’t gain consciousness until the inventor’s Abilene was already gone; crippled with grief, the inventor took to improving his clocks. He worked day and night. Anita saw glimpses of the dusty old room, littered with scraps of metal where he worked. She heard stories about Abilene, the inventor’s late wife, and as time went on, Anita took on the personality of Abilene. The inventor made Anita on his honeymoon. On the inside of her lid was a piece of glass webbed with cracks. It showed an image of a young man and woman in a loving embrace in front of the Eiffel Tower. When Abilene died, the inventor, who once explored the seven seas and could never stay in one place, shut himself up in his house at the top of the hill, away from civilization, away from the past. He told himself every day that it was for the best, and eventually, he believed it. He forgot about the things he loved.

Anita set out to change him, make him happier, just like Abilene did. She started out by whispering to the inventor while he slept. He thought he had finally found a way to talk to Abilene, and he was ecstatic. She told the inventor stories about him and Abilene, stories that he once told her as she was being built. She had made a connection. Anita carried on and got the inventor to send a message down to the docks to buy tickets on the next ship. He was going back to Paris. Anita had seen the picture of the couple every day, and she knew that she had to see the Eiffel Tower, and so did he. So the next morning as they left the house, she felt relieved she had accomplished her first mission; she was going to see the places Abilene cared about, the places the inventor cared about.

When they got aboard the ship, it was a whole new world. One full of chaos, yelling, and many people. Anita wasn’t used to so many people — the only sound she had heard for the past eleven years was the ticking. The inventor made his way to a beautiful stateroom, and there was a large porthole that looked out on Nantucket. As the ship slowly pulled away from the coast, a feeling in the bottom of Anita’s gears started to grow. It was nervousness. She had never felt this before, but she liked it. It was new, refreshing compared to the boredom she had felt so far. The ship was far from the coast now, and Anita turned her attention to the inventor. He unpacked one of his bags, and to Anita’s dismay, it was full of metal scraps. Not a stitch of clothing. He had buried himself too deep in his work. Anita took this on as her next stage in the mission: the inventor needed compassion, other people, although this could wait until France.

The boat was lush with life. A whole new social scene that Anita had to become a part of. But while at the beginning it was magical and beautiful, the boat became a mess. After four days on the sea, it became wet and smelly. Children screamed with glee and ran about the deck as frantic parents ran after them and sailors skidded and jumped out of the children’s path. People were less enchanted by the sea as they were at the beginning of the journey. To make matters worse, the only view Anita got anymore from the porthole was people constantly leaning over the side of the boat, so green you could see it in their ears. Anita longed for the rose gardens back at home, the peacefulness of just her and the clocks. It was lonely, but it was controlled. But she made up her mind, there was no going back.

Meanwhile the inventor was still tinkering with scraps of metal. He didn’t know what to do with himself; he had Abilene talking to him back at home, but ever since he had gotten on the ship, he hadn’t heard a peep. What if he was going crazy?! He couldn’t go back to France, it would be too painful. As the boat finally moored on the docks of France, Anita and the inventor stepped off the ship with completely different feelings from each other. Anita was ecstatic but her nervousness was growing, while the inventor was plotting, plotting a way to go home. He had had enough of traveling and ghosts.

They were ushered off the boat and onto the mainland, where the inventor called for a carriage. The carriage was pulled by two beautiful black horses, and Anita was mesmerized. The horses’ coats were shiny and smooth. If Anita’s hands could come off her face, she would stroke them. But the inventor was unimpressed; he just climbed into the carriage and told them to go to the Hotel de Crillon. When Anita saw the horses, she was taken aback, so you can imagine how she was when she saw the Eiffel Tower. The glass on her face fogged up, and the cracks spread, almost impairing her vision. The inventor winced and looked down at his hand where a shred of glass had pricked him, and where Anita lay.

She tried to hold back her feelings, but she was too proud of herself. The tears in the inventor’s eyes told her enough, and as the carriage turned around the corner away from the Eiffel Tower, she sighed. But when Anita opened her eyes, she almost screamed. The inventor was looking at her, really looking at her. He had heard her. Anita went stiff and started to pray under her breath, and the inventor’s eyes widened. He knew it, he was going mad. Anita fumbled over her words, trying to explain herself, getting louder and louder. The chauffeur turned around and asked the inventor who he was talking to. The inventor’s ears went red and he quickly cast his head down.

“Pull over,” the inventor grumbled, “now.” Once the inventor was out and the carriage had left once more to take his luggage to the hotel, he turned back to her. “You can talk.”
For the first time in her life, the chatterbox clock was silent, but not for long. “You can hear me?” Anita’s breath got caught in her gears, making her voice sound deep and gruff.

“Yes, apparently everyone can. I’m guessing you’re the Abilene impersonator. That is why we are here in France. But I don’t understand why or how. Let’s go somewhere private.” They moved across the plaza and into the shade of a tree out of earshot and sight from people walking by.

“I am sorry for tricking you. Your life is just so sad, all your friends left you when you moved up the hill, and you just talk to your clocks, and they don’t talk back. Plus, you used to have an interesting life full of adventure. Yes, I know you are grieving, but you need to get back into the world… ” Anita stopped rambling on when she noticed the inventor’s face. He looked sad, embarrassed. She couldn’t have felt more terrible about herself.

“I have a life,” the inventor said quietly. “I talked to the milkman just last week. Plus, I didn’t know the clocks could hear me. There is nothing for me to do. My only plan of what to do when I got older was derailed when she died.” His words slowly died off, and he looked into the distance, blinking, trying to get rid of his tears. Neither of them expected the trip to go this way, and it was very unsettling. An awkward silence fell upon them, and they just walked. The inventor held Anita by her chain instead of her base like usual, and she tried to stay as still as possible. Finally, after a couple of minutes that felt like hours, they arrived at the hotel.

The Hotel de Crillon was rich with history, and the life around it was still lively and diverse. Even though it was everything Anita had ever dreamed of, she couldn’t help but feel detached from the whole experience. Like she was watching it from afar. The walk to the hotel confused Anita, made her question who she actually was and if this was what she wanted. She wasn’t Abilene, she couldn’t mend the inventor, make him happy, give him purpose. But without Abilene and her mission, who was she?

Meanwhile, the inventor was having his own midlife crisis. He couldn’t help but feel tricked, but he felt like he had been deceived. The whole charade made him feel like Abilene was there again, helping him, but he knew it was fake. The feelings that he buried alongside Abilene rose to the surface — grief, loss, love. He couldn’t give up the opportunity to get closure, to forgive, forget, and move on. As Anita lost her sense of self, the inventor found his, and as he strode out of the hotel room for the first time in eleven years, he didn’t feel lost.

Anita sat on the dresser, forgotten. The inventor had left her there. She tried to think on the bright side. She had made him happy, he had to forgive her sooner or later. Anita’s day was slow, agonizingly slow; the only interesting thing that had happened all day was the luggage being brought up. Anita tried not to worry about the inventor, but when he walked through the door, she felt more emotions than she ever had before. First she felt relief, but anger burst through her before she could even stop herself.

“Where were you?” she screamed. The inventor slowly turned around with a small bag in his hand.

“Buying some accessories, would you like to see?” He slowly pulled out a bracelet and turned it to face Anita. “It’s a wrist watch, they are new in fashion. I needed an upgrade, my old watch was… faulty.”
Anita was furious. She hadn’t changed, he just started to pay attention, and he was going to replace her. The inventor just chuckled to himself and slowly walked towards Anita. He slowly picked her up and dropped her in the hotel trash.

“I have a life, unlike you, and I intend on living it without you,” he said, stalking back to his bed and strapping the monstrosity he called a “watch” on his wrist. Anita tried to stay awake and watch the inventor to make sure he wouldn’t leave again, but once again a new feeling crept up on her: tiredness.

Anita missed the days where she was simply Anita, when she couldn’t feel, couldn’t get hurt. When Anita finally woke up, she was all alone, just as she had suspected and prophesized. Someone knocked on the door, and Anita’s gears skipped a notch.

“Room service!” A maid around the same age as the inventor walked into the room cautiously and looked around. When she was positive no one was home, she quickly made the bed and grabbed the trashcan where Anita lay. The maid looked into the basket and saw Anita and took her out carefully, holding Anita so she wouldn’t get cut by the cracked glass. Anita saw her chance and took it.

“Hello! I’m Anita, and I need your help. Who are you?” The maid screamed and flung Anita across the room. As Anita collided into the wall, she felt the remaining glass shatter and fall off in pieces. “Well, that was rude.”

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.” The maid ran over and knelt down to hold Anita. “What are you?” She slowly turned Anita over and opened the lid. Glass sand fell out onto her apron, but she was more taken by the image on Anita’s lid. “Frederic?”

“Who? Do you mean the inventor? Do you know him? Can you take me to him? He is probably at the Eiffel Tower, please… ” Anita was stumbling, words were pouring off her tongue faster than she could think of them. The maid didn’t respond; she just gathered her skirts and pocketed Anita and walked out the room, shutting the door behind her. Together, they practically ran to the Eiffel Tower. They crossed across the Seine, and eventually they arrived.

The inventor wasn’t that hard to spot. He sat on a bench staring at a sketchpad, a charcoal pencil held limply in his hand like an extension of his hand. He was so completely lost in his art that when the maid ran up to him, he didn’t notice. The maid tapped him on the shoulder and when he looked up, recognition flooded his eyes.

“Jeanne.” He quickly stood up, and his papers slowly fell to the ground. He was so caught up in the moment, a flash from the past. Anita, on the other hand, wasn’t as taken by the moment. While she was happy about the inventor, she was fixated by the sketches that lay on the dusty road. They pictured a beautiful statue with her arm raised above her head holding a torch. The inventor had sketched a name at the top of the paper: Lady Liberty. Anita longed for it. She always knew there was more meant for her, she was destined for something more, this was it.

Fredric and Jeanne sat on the bench, hands clasped together as they reminisced about when they were young. When they were in their teens, they fell in love, but it didn’t work out. The inventor fell right back in love. The hole that had eaten away at his heart was filled. He felt complete, truly happy.

***

After a couple years of traveling the world with Jeanne, the inventor proposed, and they moved back to Nantucket where they lived out the rest of their lives as key members of the community, happily in love. Anita got her wish and was built into the Statue of Liberty, where she welcomed people from all over the world into America, and even as hundreds of years passed, she remained a key symbol of freedom and opportunity. As for me, I remained where I had been since the beginning of the story, and where I would stay forever, part of something bigger, no longer the Abilene of this story. But I will always love him, which is why I have been watching my dear husband fall in love, and the impersonator who I can’t help but feel indebted to for making the love of my life happy once more.

Dear Little Ladybug

Editor’s Note: Content warning — Suicide

***

Dear little ladybug, 

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I didn’t mean to leave you. I love you, but I won’t be coming back.

Sincerely,

Friend 

Laura

Friend was always going to go this way. I mean, if she was going to go at all. At least she had left a note. She probably wasn’t going to leave one, but then maybe she thought of me, and maybe that tempted her to write one more thing.

But not suicide? When I found this note taped to my window as I woke up this morning, I thought the worst had happened. I mean, as soon as I had read it, I ran the ten blocks down to her house as fast as my legs would carry me. My short curls flew behind me, and I nearly fell on my face running up the four crooked steps to her door. I had run up those steps my whole life, and I’m sure I have tripped over those rotting boards countless times. But this time, it felt like it wasn’t me. Like I was out of my own body. Almost like I was watching a stranger run up the steps to her friend’s house, just to find that she had killed herself.

Robson came to the door, as usual. He appeared in his normal disheveled state. His hair was in its state of permanent messiness and his tank top was untucked from his dirty jeans. He probably had just woken up. I knew I hadn’t woken him up, because if I had by knocking on the door, he sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for that. But he would have recognized by now how I knocked on the door, and he usually didn’t answer the door for anyone else other than me and Friend.

He took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke in my face. Ugh. I didn’t check the time before I ran out of the house, but I knew it was too early in the morning to be smoking that shit. 

“What are you wearing?” he asked, as he looked me up and down with an expression of amusement on his face. 

I must have been a sight. I wanted to get over to Friend’s house as soon as I could, so I didn’t even change. I was still wearing my feathery nightdress, and I had squashed my feet into my rain boots that were lying next to my bed on the floor. I was wearing an old jacket that had actually been Robson’s at one point, but eventually wound up with me when Friend didn’t want it anymore. 

“Is Tuesday awake?” I asked impatiently. 

“You know she wakes up at the crack of dawn. That little shit made such a racket going out the back I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up.” 

That’s when I realized how she had left. She didn’t want anyone to know, so she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It was probably just our secret. Friend and I had a lot of secrets that were just for us, and I knew when Friend wanted to have a secret kept. Didn’t mean I ever knew why, though. 

“Sorry, umm,” I fumbled, trying to come up with a lie. The thoughts and questions swirling around in my head weren’t letting any coherent sentences come out of my mouth. “I just wanted to give this back to her.” I took off my jacket and handed it to him. 

“I haven’t seen this thing in a while,” he said almost wistfully. “Why are you giving it back?” 

“I just thought she might want it.” My little lie was coming apart. 

“What’s actually happening, bug?” he tilted his head and looked at me. Not too many people called me “bug.” He was one of the few. As far as he was concerned, that was my actual name. I mean, he knew my given name. But he never used it. 

“Just take the jacket.”

He rolled his eyes, took a drag from his cigarette, and closed the door. I shakily sat down on the steps, even though they were still wet from last night’s rain. Where did she go? My mind continued spinning. She didn’t tell anyone, she just left. We had both gone through our fair share in life, but what in her finally snapped? What made her go? But I knew one thing. Tuesday Adelson didn’t kill herself. She couldn’t have.  

***

I walked back up the street to my house, slowly. Stepping in all the puddles I saw. It had started to rain lightly, wetting my face and hair. The early morning sunshine cast its light onto my bare, freckled arms. It was raining, but it wasn’t overcast. That was my favorite weather. Sun showers. No one was outside yet except for one or two cars driving down the street.

I tried to clear my mind, but how could I? How could I calm my thoughts when every spot on those streets had times spent with Friend? Times spent with Tuesday. Now that she was gone, all the memories of her were flooding my head all at once. I mean, it would have been one thing for me to have just found out that she had left. Robson probably would have come to tell me or asked me if I knew where she was. But it was just that she left a note. She confirmed it herself that she wouldn’t come back. And I was the only one who knew. It hurt a little more this way. A lot of things had hurt both of us, and it was all good and well for her to run away from it. But then she left me with it. Damn her.

I stopped walking and looked down at the small handprints on the sidewalk. This was where I first met Friend. I walked by these handprints every day, but I never stopped to think about the past. To go back in time. It was raining harder now, but I still sat down on the wet sidewalk in front of the hollow hand prints. My hands were so much bigger than those prints were. I couldn’t remember life before Tuesday, but I remembered the day I met her so vividly. 

I think I must have been four or five. It was raining just like it was now. The sun was out, but it was pouring. I remember running out the back door of my house. This part is a bit more hazy, almost like a dream. I mean, you would probably think you were dreaming if you found your older sister hanging in the basement. I didn’t know what was happening — I was only four, after all. I just remember being scared. And running out into the crying sun. I hid behind a big tree where I sat for hours in the rain. I didn’t cry. I just watched the little ladybugs march along in the wet grass. They didn’t care about the rain. They were just enjoying the golden glow before the sun was going to set. I was sitting there for so long. They must have thought I was a part of the grass and the trees and the flowers littered around my feet. If I had stayed there forever, flowers might start to grow and blossom up through my skin. And the grass would grow up, entangling with my arms and legs, rooting me to the ground. And I would have remained a little girl, frozen in time and in the earth. I may have stayed there forever.

If it weren’t for Tuesday. I remember hearing yelling coming from a block or two down. And then I saw her. She was spinning around in the middle of the road with flowers and grass tangled in her hair. But she kept looking back over her shoulder at where the yelling was coming from. Almost like she was trying to ignore it or hide from it somehow. She kept getting closer and closer to me, when all of a sudden, she tripped and fell on the grass. I watched as she slowly picked herself up and looked at her hands. I finally decided to pipe up. 

“Are you okay?” I asked in my timid voice. 

She jumped at the sound of my voice. I think I had startled her. But she took a moment to carefully look at me. 

“Why are you hiding?” 

I didn’t really fully realize I was hiding until she asked me that. I didn’t know how to answer that question, so I just shrugged my shoulders. She looked at me a little longer, so I looked at her. I remember first noticing her golden hair glowing in the light and her hazel green eyes that have not aged with time, even today. You can still see a child’s soul in those green eyes now. Then I remember she reached out her hand, the hand that was scraped and bloody from her fall. I took it, and she pulled me out of the shadow of the tree. I still had ladybugs crawling on my arms, and by now the rain had stopped, but I was still soaked to the skin. 

“Little, little ladybugs,” Tuesday started singing lightly to herself. “Little lady…” 

She sort of trailed off there. She was in a daze. Being four, I didn’t really think there was anything unusual about her behavior. Kids were supposed to play and act like they’re in a dream. I couldn’t believe I even remembered this much about meeting Tuesday, but the whole memory still felt like a hazy dream anyway. We sat there for a little while in silence, just being in each other’s company. Watching her golden hair, watching the ladybugs on my hands, seeing the scrapes on hers, watching the sun sink further into the sky. The day my sister killed herself was beautiful. Maybe that’s why it felt like a dream. Eventually Tuesday broke the silence. 

“Come with me.” 

She stood up and walked over to the sidewalk and sat down on the edge of the grass. I stood up, feeling the ladybugs fly off me when I stood. I sat down next to her and looked at her, waiting for her to say something, which she eventually did. 

“If you put your hands on the sidewalk, they’ll stay there forever.” 

The sidewalk in front of us had just been filled in. The cement was still wet. I remember putting our small, little hands out on the sun-kissed sidewalk. The wet cement felt weird, but we just sat there together. Sitting in silence as we made our mark on our block. The blood on her little hands mixed with the wet cement. We would never stop to look at those handprints. But they were always there. I don’t remember much of anything else about that day or the days after. I don’t remember the funeral; I don’t remember my mom’s endless tears; I don’t remember meeting my dad at that funeral; I don’t remember when my grandmother sank into her own grief. I know it all happened. I just simply don’t remember. All I remember is walking back into the house, shaking from the cold of the rain. I remember my mom wrapping her arms around my little body and crying into me, as if she were a child. I just remember saying in my little baby voice, “I found a friend.” 

And now where is she? How will I find her again? 

The Senseless Request

“I find a pleasing humor in that fruit bowl. And the hanging lantern. And the — what is that vast… thing… over there?”

The juvenile servant rushed to the rich man’s side. “It is the ocean. Quite beautiful, if I may say?” 

The rich man squinted his eyes, then clenched his fists, resisting the impending irritation. “Well, it was not there yesterday.”

“It was, you just did not perceive its presence.” 

The rich man paced back and forth to the patio door, then to the fence overlooking the ravine. He raised a hand to the sky, feeling the breeze of the ocean against his hand. Bringing it down to his eyeline, he furrowed his eyebrows.

“How greedy of it to consume so much land! I do not like it. Have it removed by sun up tomorrow.” 

The servant sighed, then hesitantly nodded, brushing his fingers against the darkening sky. The rich man turned and left for the house without another word. The servant remained, his wide, nervous eyes motionless. He perched on the wooden rail of the fence and dangled his legs off into the ravine. The only thought in his mind was, How will I go about this? Will I be sent home if I do not follow through with his request?

The servant finally gathered the courage to reenter the home. These long hallways are beginning to nauseate me, he thought as he made his way to the dining room. 

The rich man finished his meal, enjoyed the comforting glow of his fireplace, then made his way to a door in the back of his home. As he slept in his palatial bedroom without a single fret, the young servant crept out of his corridor, pulled on a long jacket and fedora, made his way outside to embark on his journey, and alas, found the sun resting beneath the horizon. 

“Ma’am! Good morning. You seem to have overslept.” 

The sun flicked her eyes open. “I never oversleep! Read me the time, please!”

The servant peeked at his watch, and read a bold 11:00 PM. “It is 11:00 AM,” the servant lied.

“Well, thank you very much. I will begin getting ready so as to not set the entire world into a state of panic. Whatever can I do to repay you?” the sun asked, trembling her fingers as she carefully brushed her golden locks. 

“Well, there is one thing. Would it be too much trouble for you to evaporate the Pacific Ocean?” 

The sun tilted her head in confusion as she tugged a yellow sundress over her head and fixed a sunhat on her head.

“There is an odd request, if I’ve ever heard one! But of course, anything for you.”

The sun guided the servant to the horizon door as she busily attached her earrings and jewelry. Thanking him for coming, she rushed up into the sky as swiftly as possible. Better late than never! she blithely thought.

The servant returned to the rich man’s home and let his eyelids drop as he rested on his metal-wired bed. The sun ascended the sky and took her place next to the moon.

“Thank you for covering the sky for me. I seem to have overslept,” the sun said, graciously shaking the moon’s hand.

The moon had a suspicious look in her eyes. “Is it really 6:30 already?” the moon interrogated. 

“11:00! If you can believe that!” the sun blurted.

The very much confused (but naive) moon bowed her head and descended down the sky below the horizon. 

The rich man awoke at 7:14 AM and consumed his usual breakfast of grilled tomatoes and mushrooms. The young servant eagerly stood in the doorway, concealing the thrilled expression on his face. 

“What is it? Why are you staring?” the man demanded crossly. 

“Have you forgotten? Come take a look outside!”

The man pushed his stool back and followed his servant out to the patio.

“The ocean. Where has it gone? What have you done with it?” the man shrieked shrilly.

“You requested its removal. Remember? Do you?” A smile slowly faded away.

“Look at the land it has left! How barren! Where is the life? The joy? Bring it back now!”

“But I cannot… The sun has taken it. I am afraid it will not return.”

As the days flew by and the sun and moon rose at peculiar times, people in the world were split. A message from God? A punishment from Satan? The Earth falling off its axis? Nobody knew why but some chose to pay no attention. The rich man, for one, did not question the sun and the moon. 

The once beautiful, thriving ocean had gone away, and the rich man began to absorb his surroundings and enjoy every charming aspect of it. Although he consumed his nightly tea while the sun still beamed and enjoyed his usual breakfast as the moon patiently shimmered in the sky, the man could not complain. He made it his moral obligation to not question anything. Not to complain, not a single word. Everything is just heavenly. Oh, just heavenly!

“Look at the ivy growing from the trellis! And the flowers growing from the cracks in the dirt! Oh, how I love the way the aged wood of the railing feels against my fingers and how the clement air touches my face ever so gently! Don’t you just love it?” the rich man howled. “Well, now I will not act on my impulses. There is just too much beauty in everything to want to rid anything!”

The servant just nodded, a broken smile pasted across his face.

Mission Ten

In a world of 7.8 billion people, 5 nonillion germs exist. And many are yet to be discovered. And one was eradicated due to the brave actions of I. Cannabreeve and Jack Hesber. Or so they thought. A year ago they had died trying to subdue a disease; no one knew what, but half a year later they had revived, throwing a mysterious orb to one side. But now, they were all going to be destroyed. Destroyed!

“Doomsday in 10 days, 10 hours, and 10 minutes,” the loudspeaker in the town square announced, causing the 101st flurry of panic that day. 

“Nooooo! Doomsday is one minute closer now!” 

“God save us!” 

“Mummy, I’m scared!” 

Half of the population was at home. No one went to work now. People were buying as much food as they could so they could hunker down at home and eat and play as much as they could before they died, due to a recent collision of the Andromeda Galaxy with a new galaxy called Poseidon TTR-67. This had caused a massive speed-up in the speed of the Andromeda Galaxy, making it at least a billion times faster than before, causing it to arrive 3499999996.5 years ahead of scientists’ original predictions. What was worse was that, due to the massive speed-up, the humongous black hole at the centre had somehow been thrown to one side. It was a bit like a ball on a string that has been swung around a lot of times (centrifugal force). The only thing was that IT WAS THROWN TO THE SIDE THAT IS FACING EARTH. Scientists had predicted that the solar system, along with Earth, would enter its event horizon in ten days, and they had set up a loudspeaker in every city to let the world know. 

I. Cannabreeve, after his revival, trained to be a kung fu master and he had an awful lot of chi, an important life force, and determination in him, causing him to reach that position in 3 years. Meanwhile, Jack Hesber dreamt of E.A.R.T.H. (Earth Anonymous Risk Team Help force) again. “You and I. Cannabreeve have to go through the black hole and collect all ten of The Objects and use them to save the world. You will also need ten other people to help you. Their names are Planeton Block, IT specialist, Adventurista Hey, ex-pilot, Spacerista Hey (twins), writer, Andromedarren Collide, clothing manufacturer, Saverbo Earth, paper manufacturer, Blacn Hole, theoretical physicist, Vacuumeta Travel, astronomer, Hugo Weight, 3-time weight-lifting world champion, Timadeto Ishiguto, watch-maker and horologist, and Drawstuff Air, world-famous artist. You will need objects to collect objects. You may have the dust blower. I shall give you the ability to wish for anything and it will come true. But beware, you cannot use it more than three times, so use it wisely. Now go. You will find them in the town square. When the day comes, the twelve of you must jump into the black hole (called Quiescent) willingly with no doubts or you shall be spaghettified (meaning that when you jump into a black hole, you will be stretched out until you pop) and killed. This is Mission TEN. Now go.” 

Jack Hesber woke up to find that it was already morning. He rushed out of bed and hurriedly dashed to the town square. There, he found I. Cannabreeve standing next to a bunch of people, one that looked humongous and three that just looked plain weak. “Huh. Took you a long time. This E.A.T.E.R. thingummy just told us to go to the town square and whaddayaknow, boom! The huge dude just bumped into me, and after that we fell flat on the face and these bros just fell onto us! Is that crazy or what?” 

“It is E.A.R.T.H.!” one of the weak people corrected, looking exasperated. 

“Jumping into a black hole, eh? To not be spaghettified, and instead get teleported away, there is only one explanation. That black hole must be a wormhole, but that exit can only be accessed by tremendous energy! Which is magic! Yes! To have so many people dreaming of the same thing is already a miracle, and to open the wormhole in the black hole, it must be magic! After all, magic is just science we don’t understand yet! Maybe it is just another form of energy!” 

“Oh yes, I concur, but maybe they don’t need that much energy. If your hypothesis is correct, then magic is a form of energy. The E.A.R.T.H. council might just have to draw energy from the black hole! Quiescent has plenty to spare. It is 100 times bigger than the sun, far bigger than Sagittarius A*, and the amount of Hawking radiation and leaked energy must be amazing!” two of the weak people suggested, looking dead brainy. 

“We don’t even know each other’s names! Wait, we do, but we don’t know who is who. So, can we get that straightened out first?” Jack cut in, slightly annoyed that the only thing he understood from Blacn and Vaccumeta’s lecture was that this black hole was very big. 

One by one they introduced themselves. I. Cannabreeve’s self-introduction was the most exaggerated; he made sure the whole town square could hear him. “I am Inston Cannabreeve, kung fu master!” He paused for added effect, waiting for the applause that never came, so he continued, convinced that they were secretly impressed, “And we, the I. Cannabreeve team, shall jump into Quiescent 5 days from now!” 

He was met with people shouting, “No! You will be killed! Early! It is better to die later than to die early! What are you thinking?” 

“But we won’t get killed!” I. Cannabreeve argued, looking confused. I. Cannnabreeve might have become a kung fu master, but he definitely had not gained any common sense. Jack had enough sense to cover I. Cannabreeve’s mouth before he leaked out anything else, but it was still too late. 

There was one person in the crowd who had heard that they would not be killed, and he happened to be very power hungry, by the name of Hack Ohm, who was extremely good at electronics. He thought, I’ll jump in with them, and then infect them with the disease, and then go out again, and make the people think that only I can survive a black hole! And then they will all want to learn how to survive a black hole and I’ll tell them something made up and they will kill themselves. I am going to die in ten days anyway. At least I should live out my last five days as the king of the world. Oh, this is such a great plan. I’m surprised by my own genius!

However, Hack Ohm had a few associates, whom he could not help but boast to. “Yes, I am clever, aren’t I?” Hack Ohm finally concluded his long-winded explanation with what he thought was flair, but was actually the throw of a toothpick into a bin, missing, and then flying back at him. He assured them, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a fair share of the loot once I am done with them. OW! That hurts!” he said as the toothpick struck home in his thin arm. And one of them thought that maybe, just maybe, he could finally overthrow Hack Ohm after working for him for 10 years. 

5 days later, Jack met up with the others in spacesuits that Vaccumeta had managed to “borrow” from his lab, and, ignoring the cries of the people, they braced themselves and jumped, only to disappointingly land on the ground again. “Wait, how are we going to get there?” 

“Let me try!” I. Cannabreeve shouted, rolling up his sleeves, not in the least undaunted. He grabbed a nearby stick and took a few steps backward and took a running leap, sticking the stick into the ground with the expertise of a pole vaulter, but chickening out just as he was about to fly, and ended up standing on one leg at the top of the pole, looking much more like a kung fu master now. Adventurista could not help but give the stick a little nudge, attempting to make I. Cannabreeve fall, but I. Cannabreeve’s training had not gone to waste, thank god, and he leapt onto the nearby roof 8 metres away. 

Timadeta suggested, “Maybe you are supposed to use one of the wishes now?” 

Jack thought, Ok, here goes. Please teleport us to the event horizon of the black hole with all our things, like the stick and the dust blower and the spacesuits

Sure enough, the next instant, they were floating in the vast world of endless space. But, in their excitement, they did not realise that they had two stowaways. At the last moment, Hack Ohm had put a finger on Jack’s spacesuit, and Plane Mitchell had put his thumb on Hack Ohm’s spacesuit, and they were all teleported to space along with the others. But since Plane Mitchell was attached to Hack Ohm instead of directly to Jack, the connection was weaker and the teleportation caused a huge strain on his body and caused a cell mutation that turned him into a flying expert and a very, very arrogant person. 

A minute later, Spacerista started to feel a bit stretched out, and he looked down and screamed. “AAAAAH! I’m spaghetti!”  However, the radio transmitter was affected too and all the others heard was “Ha! I spat greatly!” The others were starting to feel the strain too. Slowly, they started to get taller and taller. Drawstuff was now two metres tall… 2.5 metres… 3 metres… 5 metres… but just as they were about to go “pop!” there was a brilliant flash of light and then they shrunk back to their original size and the black hole, like the mouth of a monster, rushed up to swallow them. They rushed through the endless black tunnel and then suddenly a brilliant flash of colour struck each of them like lightning, and they felt squeezed, so tight they could not breathe… and they were out! 

They were wearing their normal clothes again and the stick was lying on the ground. Thump! Boom! They heard the rustle of a bush and a little elk made of licorice emerged, eating the gumball berries growing on a candy cane bush. Seizing this chance, Hack and Plane made a plan and split up. Hack had realized they had no way to go back so they had to develop a new plan. Which meant splitting up.

“Whoa!” Andromedarren exclaimed in surprise. Blacn and Vaccumeta had already got out their scientific equipment that they had snuck into a rucksack and were analyzing all the things they could. 

“This world’s atmosphere is similar to Earth. Oh, if we make it out alive, I am definitely going to bring a sample of the dirt back!” Vaccumeta exclaimed. 

Saverbo and Planeton rushed around exploring. “Look! Hamburger trees! Grass fries! Pizza flowers! Chip leaves! Baguette twigs! Sandwich bushes!” 

Jack joined them and gorged everything in sight. Every plant was different and every bite was delicious. When he was thirsty, he would go to a nearby stream and drink the soda water that ran through, hoping to catch some barbecued fish to go along with it. The lamb and beef were easier to catch. They were made of lamb chops and steak and barbeque, each one hot and flavorful. Chickens and turkeys were grilled to perfection. The others naturally could not resist that and they all stopped what they were doing and scoffed all they could.

They slowly lost all memory of why they were here and how they got here. Only when they were full did I. Cannabreeve say, “Eh? I wonder how we got here. Eh, who cares, I don’t want to le — AAAA! We are late! OH MY GOD WE FORGOT TO COLLECT THE OBJECTS!” 

This got them all to their feet. They immediately stepped on the gas and started packing. Before they left, everybody made sure to stuff their bags with every food they could. They walked forwards, hoping that it would take them somewhere. After a while, it started raining fried rice. 

They entered a thick forest, filled with vines of pasta and noodles and tree trunks made of the cleanest water you had seen. They stood up by themselves instead of sploshing around, and if you punched it, you would get quite a shock as you found that your hand hurt all over and that nothing had happened to the tree. However, if you put your lips to it and sucked, the water would just enter your mouth and the tree would gradually get smaller as you drank more water.

There was a light in front and they rushed to it, but stopped in their tracks when something black rushed around them, so fast it kicked up a huge wind and blew them to their feet. A grim reaper rose from the darkness. It had 2 arms, no head and no legs. It was wearing a cloak and the hood floated as if there was a head. Its arms were wrapped in a broken chain, and a lantern glowed ominously on the cloak. It removed the huge scythe from its back and floated closer to the gang. I. Cannabreeve was not scared and took a step forward, contrary to the rest of the team. 

“You wanna fight, huh?” I. Cannabreeve taunted. He did a right heel kick but the grim reaper opened a wormhole and teleported away. The grim reaper struck out with the scythe from behind, and I. Cannabreeve ducked just in time. He plucked out a surprisingly strong pasta vine, looped it around the scythe and pulled hard. The scythe flew out of the grim reaper’s hand and into I. Cannabreeve’s outstretched arms. However, the grim reaper raised 2 fingers and the scythe caught fire without burning down. It flew around, controlled by the reaper, trying to hit I. Cannabreeve. The reaper decided to take a smarter approach. The scythe flew to the group huddled into a corner, making them huddle even closer to one another. I. Cannabreeve gave a loud cry and half-commanded, half-begged, “Hey, don’t kill them! Kill me instead! You can take my soul! I don’t care as long as you don’t hurt them!“ 

But the reaper did not relent. The scythe went on a merciless journey to the necks of Jack and the rest. 

Saverbo took a deep breath and stepped forward. “If you are going to kill us, kill me first.” 

Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed Saverbo. The hulking figure of Hugo appeared from the back of the group. “Me! I am not good at studies, I can’t help with anything.” 

The rest of the group echoed a chorus of “me”s and suddenly the scythe stopped in midswing. 

“You have passed,” the reaper said. 

It stepped back to reveal a large pile of gleaming objects. When they got closer to it, the dust blower also started glowing. Suddenly, the objects stopped glowing. Two figures emerged from the trees, snatched up two objects and hightailed it out. 

“Hey!” I. Cannabreeve yelled, chasing them, jumping from branch to branch. He was gaining ground slowly, but suddenly the forest got denser and he lost sight of them. He returned to the others and forlornly told them that they had escaped. They grabbed all the objects so nobody could take them. 

“Well, at least we got most of it.” Andromedarren said, trying to brighten up the atmosphere. They thanked the reaper and continued on their way. An hour later, I. Cannabreeve, Hugo, Adventurista, and Jack were dragging Blacn, Andromedarren, Drawstuff, Timadeta, Vacuumeta, Planeton, Spacerista, and Saverbo out of the forest. Once they got out, those who were not on the ground already fell onto the ground with a dull thud. The leaves of the forest shook as the wind blew through them, as if mocking them for being so weak. After ten minutes, Timadeta got up. He stretched and announced that he was all refreshed. 

Adventurista snorted, “You should be! You were the first to faint! We had to drag you 34742 steps!” 

“You were counting?” Blacn said in surprise. 

“Welp! Let’s get on our way!” I. Cannabreeve said. He jumped up to his feet but his bag was loose and fell off his shoulders, spilling out the contents. 

“Hey, shouldn’t we see what they do first so we can use them later?” Saverbo suggested.

So they sat on the floor again and started poking around with the objects. 

“These are pretty normal things, ” Hugo observed. 

“Hey, this lamp operates without electricity!” Blacn said. Jack half-expected him to dig out a microscope and examine the lamp but he didn’t. “Eh, you get used to it,” Blacn added, as if reading his mind. Blacn pointed it at the ground and disappointedly said, “That’s all?” 

But a few seconds later, he was proved wrong. The ground suddenly shook, and the circle of light turned into a large hole with the forest and them in it. They all let out gasps and peered into the hole. As they did, the duplicates of themselves did the same. 

“Let’s go in!” I. Cannabreeve said adventurously. They packed up their things and looked at their duplicates pack up their things. Planeton put a stick in and watched it slowly drop. Suddenly, there was a whoosh and a tunnel of purple light that just slowly floated about. Then, they heard a stick drop behind them, and turned around to find that it was the exact stick that Planeton had used. There was the hole of purple light floating in the air. Blacn was so shocked that he accidentally turned off the lamp, and at the same time the hole disappeared with a pop. 

“A wormhole!” Vacuumeta exclaimed. 

Next they tried closing the wormhole while the stick was still inside. The hole disappeared and the stick was gone. They opened the wormhole again, and the stick was still inside. They found some words carved onto the lamp. 

“What does it say?” Jack curiously asked. 

“Dunno. It’s all Greek to me,” Andromedarren replied. 

“That’s because it is Greek!” exclaimed Spacerista as he finally recognised the strange text. 

“You know how to read it?” everyone asked in surprise. He explained that he had learnt it when he went to university as it was in Greece. 

“The long one is ‘i trýpa den tha katastrépsei poté ton idioktíti,’ the hole will never destroy the owner. The second one is ‘o chrónos eínai ousiastikós,’ time is of the essence. Hey!  I know what they mean! The hole will never kill the owner if the owner goes into it, so that means there must be a time limit, which is why there is the second one! But how long is the time limit?” To figure it out, they sent Jack in with the stick and also the lamp as an extra precaution. He jumped into the hole and closed it.

Jack looked around and saw the purple tunnel. The moment the wormhole was closed, he felt a tingling sensation, and a black hole appeared at the end. He felt himself being pulled to it against his will. The stick and lamp were floating around, slowly being attracted to the black hole. He snatched them up and told the lamp, “My friends and I are the owners. My friends and I are the owners and I’d like to keep my stuff, thank you very much.” 

The lamp glowed as it processed the new information. When it was done, it emitted a hum and the pull on Jack and the stick disappeared. Jack slowly counted the seconds, noticing that there was also a tuft of grass, presumably from the first wormhole in the ground. Jack asked the lamp, “Hey, how do you destroy stuff? Can the owners go into the black hole and go out?” 

The lamp glowed, humming and aahing as if it were thinking very hard about it. Then, as if answering his question, Jack saw the tuft of grass get sucked into the black hole, and the lamp emitted a blast of light that formed a word. See? And then, Jack felt that he was being sucked into the black hole. Before he could react, he was inside it, and grass floated in the empty black space before him. For something called a black hole, the interior was relatively bright, since the black hole had absorbed so much light, and even looked comfy. He arranged the grass and found that they stuck together and actually joined up as if they were being magically welded together, which they were. He lay down on his new bed of grass and rested. He thought, Time to go out. Suddenly, a black door popped into existence, and upon opening it, he realized that it led to the tunnel. Another see? popped up from the lamp. He decided to tell the others and opened a wormhole to his friends. 

He climbed out and reported, “It’s super safe, as long as you are the owner. Anyway, you can keep stuff inside forever, as long as you tell the lamp that you want it. By the way, I have something to show you. Come on in!” They hesitantly packed their things and clambered into the hole. “These are my friends and they are owners too. And keep their stuff,” Jack told the lamp, and then addressed the rest of them. “Alright guys, swim to the black hole at the end. That’s how your stuff gets destroyed if you don’t claim it.” 

He led them to the black hole and they stopped, apprehension etched on their faces. Jack assured them that it was safe and led them in. They were very amazed, judging by the fact that their mouths hung down so big that someone could have stuffed a whole egg in with space to spare. I. Cannabreeve recovered the fastest. 

“All right gang! This is a world class boot hole, 5 star, 100 out of 100, the best of the best, the super, the ultimate, the great, the excellent, the superior, the numero uno, the superb, the rad, the tip-top, the up to snuff, the prime, the first-rate, the primo, the premium, the big shot, the big cheese, the platinum choice, the first-class, the sans pareil, the — ” I. Cannabreeve had to cut out his dictionary lecture as he had run out of breath, his face already purple from the effort, and they could have sworn that his head was one round bigger. 

They figured out the rest of the objects were relatively straightforward: the book let you jump into books. The shirt turned the wearer invisible. The unbreakable paper made the stuff you wrote on it appear next to you. The mini drawer and pouch let you put anything into it and it would never run out of space, and as long as you carried the pouch with you, anything you needed that was in the drawer would appear in the pouch. The clock let the person who owned it control time. The pen allowed the owner to draw in midair and the drawing would immediately turn solid. Slowly, under I. Cannabreeve’s fanatic command, 12 beds, 12 recliners, a huge sofa, a wireless WiFi producer and everything you would find in a house appeared in the special area of the black hole. In short, the black hole turned into their house. I. Cannabreeve had even gone to include an Olympic-size pool complete with a water park and wave pool and an ice skating rink. 

Slowly they exited the boot hole hotel and opened a wormhole to “wherever the people who took the objects are.” They emerged behind a bush, and cries of pain and gunshots rang out. They peeked out and saw one of the people who had taken the objects shoot the other with a PKM machine gun. Hack Ohm was killed, and the computer that he had was thrown to the side by an arrogant Plane. He threw the gun into the air and it suddenly turned into a full sized deadly looking spaceship with 20 nuclear thrusters, an on-board nuclear generator, a backup fan generator, and ten missile tubes, and it seemed to be the type of spaceship that had many weapons on board. Saverbo saw his nametag, and informed them that he was called Plane. After he boarded the spaceship, they opened a wormhole to the computer, but instead of hole in the air, it was a hole in the ground, and the computer fell into their waiting arms. The objects glowed again — could they sense that victory was near, could they sense that they only had one last sibling to reunite with? 

They formed a plan. Planeton would stay behind with the computer and hack the spaceship’s onboard computers, making the doors open. Then, the rest of them would rush in and defeat Plane and get the last object.  They jumped out of the wormhole, and the doors of the spaceship opened. Plane was sitting in the cockpit, desperately trying to close the doors, but he was locked out of the system. The others first used the clock and stopped time, and they used the paper and wrote “a really strong rope that nothing can untie or break.” Then, they tied up Plane, and I. Cannabreeve took advantage of the fact that Plane could not move and slapped him as many times as he could, saying, “That will teach you not to mess with us!” 

Then they shrunk down the plane to object size and claimed ownership of it. They started time again, and carried Plane around like a trophy. They grabbed the objects and brought them together. 

They emitted a brilliant flash of golden light and then disappeared. 

“So…that’s it? That’s it?! We did all this just for them to evaporate?” But no sooner had he finished his sentence than they were teleported back to Earth, everything was normal and the Andromeda Galaxy was far away, and no one else remembered what had happened.

The End.

Half Bloods and the Time Traveling Pen

“Catch him!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. My fellow ninjas and I jumped from house to house to catch a villain that is my best friend! His name is Tom, and he used to be in the V.S.C. We used to work together very well.

I think I will introduce myself first. My name is Jerry, and my animal is a wolf. Now, you might be wondering about a lot of things, like why I have an animal and what the V.S.C. is. Take it easy. I will be answering the questions. So, every member in the Villain Slayer Corps (aka. V.S.C.) is a ninja and has an animal and its power. Scientists inject the animal’s blood into our body first. After that, he will seal the blood inside our body, and we can even talk to the animal spirit inside. We can also use the power of the animal, and the spirit can go out of our body and fight along with us.

I also have to tell you about the Ten Sages, which are ten animals that are the strongest among all the animals. The owners of those animals can unleash the energy sage mode. Only when you are really angry will you be able to unleash the energy sage mode. Now, I will tell you my animal’s power. Wolf-White Flame Power, Mist Power, Ice Power, and Power Claws. My animal is in the Ten Sages. After saying so much, now I would like to take you back to catch the villain — my best friend, Tom.

It started to rain, which made it hard to see where Tom was going. Tom became a villain because his parents were accidentally killed by the V.S.C., so he hated the V.S.C., and then he quit. He was so angry with how life treated him, he started to do bad things with his powers. His power is Black Panther-Power Claws and Dark Fire Power. His animals are also in the Ten Sages.

After a long time of chasing and fighting on the roof of houses, Tom was nowhere to be seen. We went back to V.S.C. HQ and declared that we failed the mission. When I got back home, I took out a pen, but it was no ordinary pen. It could time travel! I thought I should go back in time to stop the V.S.C. from killing Tom’s parents. With any luck, history would be changed, and then he would not be a villain.

Just when I was about to enter the black hole produced by the pen to go back in time, my neck was strangled with one hand, and I fell on the floor half conscious, half unconscious. I saw Tom standing in my room. He was the one that had strangled me!

Tom picked up the pen and said joyfully, “Thanks for the pen, Jerry! The V.S.C. members can never catch me! Bye, Jerry!” I went into a coma and did not know what happened later.

When I woke up the next day, I was lying on the floor. I quickly got up and thought about what had happened the night before. Tom took the pen! I wanted to find Tom quickly, but I remembered that I was only able to go out at night, and I had to act like a normal person during the day.

After a long time of waiting, it was finally nighttime. I went to V.S.C. HQ and gathered all the Sage of Ten Path owners. Then, we set out to find Tom. Before finding him, I had to locate where he was, so I used one of my skills that I never introduced you guys to. Spatial Awareness! This helps me to find the person I want to find in an instant. “Jump!” All of us jumped. We saw a big claw-shaped mark on the pavement where we had been standing. “I am going to kill him!” He destroyed my favorite pavement, which is owned by the HQ!

I saw Tom using his power claws, but we were also not weak. Jimmy, who has the power of Gorilla-Power Fists and Rock Power, used his power fists and punched where Tom was at, but Tom moved too fast. We formed a circle to see 360 degrees to find Tom. Ben suddenly saw Tom, and Ben used his power. Ben has the power of Cheetah-Lightning Power, and Speed and Power Claws.

“LIGHTNING POWER! FIRST FORM, ELECTRIC ARROW!” As Ben pointed two fingers at Tom, Ben’s two fingers formed a ball of electricity, and an arrow-like electricity beam shot out and traveled at a blinding speed. When the arrow was about to hit Tom, “DARK FIREPOWER! FOURTH FORM, FIREWALL!” Ben shouted.

The lightning arrow was rebounded back to us! We quickly jumped up, but before we could react — “DARK FIREPOWER! THIRD FORM! FIREBALL” — balls of flames charged at a blinding speed towards us. 

Just when the ball of fire was about to hit us, Chris, who has the power of Polar Bear-Ice Release, Water Release, and Power Palms, said, “WATER POWER, FOURTH FORM, WATER JET!” A jet of water shot out of Chris’s hand and put out the fireballs. We continued to fight against Tom with all our might.

George, who has the power of Rhino-Shield Power and Horn Power, shot out horns which made Tom jump up into the air. Bob — who has the power of Crocodile-Teeth Power and Water Power — and John — who has the power of Shark-Teeth Power and Water Power — shot out sharp teeth at him.

Tom shouted out, “Do not underestimate me! Firewall!” He used the same move this time again, and the teeth rebounded at use, but what he did not know was that while he was using the firewall, Ben was using his speed skill. He sneaked up to Tom’s back and kicked him to the ground.

Jayden, who has the power of Eagle-Feather Power and Air Power, exclaimed, “AIR POWER, FIFTH FORM, CYCLONE!”

As Tom was pushed back to Ben, Ben said, “LIGHTNING POWER, FINAL FORM! DANCE OF THE THUNDERGOD!” Dragon heads started to appear on Ben’s hands, and lightning appeared on the dragon head.

BOOM! Tom was hit by the dragon heads with so much force that Tom made a hole on the ground when he crashed into it. Steven, who has the power of Snake-Venom Release, Poison Gas Release, and Teeth Release, released poison gas at Tom while he was flying onto the floor.

Just when we thought that Tom was dead, Tom jumped out and hit the ground with his dark flame ball. It felt like an earthquake, and the ground started to crack, with a black aura appearing out of the cracks on the ground. “This is a new move I made with Black Panther. Hope you enjoy it!” he said. The dark flame started to erupt from the cracks.

Chris and I put both of our hands on the ground, and we both shouted, “ICE POWER! SIXTH FORM! Freeze!” The ground turned into ice, flames erupted out of the cracks, and heavy smoke appeared. In the smoke, I saw Tom running away. I ran through the smoke, but it was too late. Tom had gotten away with the pen.

The End.

Jackson Opus

Jack sat hunched miserably against the morning wind, which threatened to blow his cap off. He pulled his cap lower, hiding his dark orange eyes. “Who can compete in a basketball competition at seven in the morning?” he grumbled unhappily.

I can, Jackson Dopus.” Benjamin Todds, from the opposing team — Black Panthers — stalked up to Jack and sneered. “Why can’t you? Oh, I just forgot! You guys are weaklings and absolute losers!” Smirking, Benjamin leaned his burly form closer and stared Jack in the eye, saying softly, “Want to know why? Because of you, Dopus.”

Jack glared at him with a molten gaze, feeling his ever-changing eyes turn from orange to deep angry violet, and seethed, “My name is Jackson Opus. And maybe this time around the Thunders will win. We train hard, at least, unlike the Black Panthers, who only rely on size for advantage. I would love to see your face when your team loses!”

Until then, Jack had not realised that Benjamin’s beady eyes had clouded over and a melancholy look had settled on his face. Jack, squirming uncomfortably, pulled his cap down again and growled, “Go away.” Surprisingly, Benjamin did just that. Jack mused over this strange exchange. Why didn’t he continue to taunt Jack as he had always done before every basketball competition? And why did people have that faraway look in their eyes whenever Jack had a conversation with them?

“Opus! Warm up!” His pondering was rudely interrupted by Coach Sean’s impatient bark. Everyone from the Thunders had arrived and Coach Sean, as usual, started bossing them around, yelling orders and regarding them with a disapproving gaze. Perhaps Coach wished he had a better, tougher team to handle, Jack thought. And who could blame him? The entire population of Greenhill Middle School (and probably other schools too) knew that the Thunders had not won a single competition in two years. Not since the Black Panthers came, anyway.

Jack jogged over to join his teammates. However, coach Sean, arms akimbo, stood blocking his way. “Hey kiddo, what do you think you’re doing with that damn cap on? Take. It. Off,” he said commandingly when Jack was about to put up a protest. Jack sighed and took his cap off, making sure to keep his eyes averted to the ground. It was embarrassing being so different. Why couldn’t his eyes keep the same colour like everyone else? Then he wouldn’t need to wear a cap all the time just so others wouldn’t see his eyes. He could try to reason with his teachers, but arguing with the ill-tempered basketball coach? No thank you. Not at all. 

After the warm-up, the two teams went up to the court. The spectators cheered a little. Jack looked over at the spectator stand and spotted his parents. Both of them had smiley-frowny hybrid smiles on their faces. Jack grimaced. The Thunders must have looked puny compared to the burly forms on the other team. It should be the Puny Prey against the Black Panthers. They could probably squash the Thunders with their little pinkie fingers.

In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, it was game on. As always, the Black Panthers managed to score first. The cheering in the stands got louder. The coaches got louder. The thumping of Jack’s heart got louder. His desperation grew too. The score was currently 6-0, in favour of the Black Panthers. Was there even a point in competing? 

The ball bounced from one of the opposing team’s hands and into Benjamin’s. Benjamin, usually the most aggressive player on the court, took the ball in his hands and turned slowly around to shoot it into the hoop. But his movements were almost toddler-like, as if this was the first time he was trying out basketball and was unsure if he would be able to score successfully. Confusion swept like a wave among the spectators, who had noticed him as well. The moment the ball left Benjamin’s hands, Jack knew it was never going to make it. The ball flew in a graceful arc then suddenly dropped onto the ground, missing the net by more than a foot. The Black Panthers’ coach started yelling colourful language at Benjamin, face turning red and purple from the effort. But the match must go on.

During the most intense part of the game, Jack noticed that Benjamin seemed to be avoiding the ball. He was certainly not like his normal self. And where was his aggressiveness? He was playing like a newborn kitten compared to the rest of his Black Panther’s teammates. Recalling the strange exchange before the match, Jack wondered queasily if it was anything to do with him. Or perhaps Benjamin was feeling nervous? Unlikely. The game continued and was nearly reaching the end. Only less than a minute left.

The score was 23-24, in favour of the Thunders.

A loud “ahh” was heard when the Thunders received two penalties. Two, Jack thought bitterly. We were almost winning. Almost! We really need a sharper referee. The opposing team would never miss a free throw. Unless by some chance, the thrower was…? In a twist of fate, the coach did choose Benjamin. Protests were made but the coach stood his ground, reasoning that “my big boy was a little nervous during this match, ain’t got no nothing to worry about.” Jack felt the corner of his lips turning upwards.

Benjamin lumbered onto the court and held the ball stiffly to his chest. He threw the ball, but it was almost as if the ball threw him. He landed on his face and the ball landed a few feet away from him. The crowd booed. The coach grew purple again. The Thunders all did a little victory dance. Benjamin did it in a similar fashion on the second throw. The Black Panthers spewed expletives at everyone and anyone. However, the numbers on the scoreboard didn’t change and would never lie.

26-23. The Thunders had triumphed.

When the spectators and players were filing out, Benjamin walked up to Jack and scowled fiercely, then said monotonously, “This is how my face would look like when my team loses.” He turned and walked away. Jack stared, utterly confused and perplexed, not to mention pretty freaked out as well.

***

At the feast Coach Sean had prepared, everyone was having a great time. Except for Jack. He sat in the corner of Coach Sean’s yard, munching on a slice of pizza that tasted like sand. This wasn’t a fair game. Something’s up with Benjamin, and I think I may be the cause. It was not an honourable victory. Something had been nudging at the back of his mind since the match. Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was something important. Just out of reach yet very close. A memory? Then an avalanche of scenes bombarded his head. A split-second decision which he had made, running onto the road while a bus was driving towards him. The immense relief he had felt when the bus didn’t run over him. A tingling sensation when Jack made eye contact with the bus driver to tell him to drive faster in order for him and his best friend, Tommy, to reach school on time. And the mad charge-through-the-red-lights and don’t-stop-at-any-other-stop drive the driver had given that allowed him and Tommy to reach school on time. Was there something wrong with Jack? Why did things go haywire in his presence, yet allow him to achieve a miracle that was seemingly impossible?

Just at this moment, his shoulder was encased in an iron grip. A narrow man’s face loomed into view: a sharp, long nose, a tuft of jet-black hair, black suit, black shoes, a pale complexion, and finally, piercing frosty blue eyes that bored into his. Jack was so startled that he dropped his slice of pizza onto the grass. Who is he? Why is he here? What does he want with me? Why… Before he could think much further, he felt a familiar tingling sensation from the back of his eyes. The strange man’s eyes were focused on his own. Jack suddenly felt a surge of anger. What right did a stranger have to come in the middle of a celebration to mess with him? He glared right back at the man, feeling his eyes turn from calm green (his usual eye colour) to nervous dark orange, then to stormy grey, and finally, to angry deep violet. He was about to give this weirdo a piece of his mind when the man said in a calm and reassuring voice, “You are very calm and relaxed.” I am not calm or relaxed! How can I be… But the man’s voice was so convincing, so strong and powerful. Jack’s mind numbed. Of course, I’m calm and relaxed. Of course. Wait, why? I still don’t know who this stranger is…

“I am your friend, and you feel happy with me.”

Jack frowned. No! He is not my friend! A stranger only… Right?

“You are feeling very content.” 

Hmm, I am content. Why am I trying to fight with him? He is my friend, isn’t he? Or is he? 

Suddenly, the strange man closed his eyes. Jack lurched out of his trance-like state, gasping and panting for air like a drowning man. The man opened one eye and introduced himself to a very disoriented Jack. “I’m Dr. Mako, founder of the Institute of Hypnotism. I have devoted my whole life to building the Institute. Today, I came here especially to tell you that these skills are those that you possess.” Dr. Mako smiled very slightly and pointed a sharp finger at Jack’s face. “Yes. You. In fact, you come from one of the greatest Bender bloodlines. The Opuses. There weren’t any Benders in this family line for a few centuries due to some unexplainable medical or otherwise natural complications. You are more powerful than you realise. It is a great honour for me to have a match with you just now. And, of course, you would be welcomed into the Institute. There, instructors — or me, to be exact — would hone your skills in hypnotism. Then, once you are powerful enough, we will put that skill to good use. How does that sound?” Totally bewildered by the information overload, Jack stared blankly at the psycho in front of him. Seriously? Hypnotism? What was this self-proclaimed “Doctor” talking about? Did he know that Hypnotism doesn’t exist? He probably just escaped from a mental hospital. Jack chuckled at his own joke. And this “Doctor” even went as far as saying that he, Jackson Opus, came from a great line of Benders (whatever that was)! Jack didn’t want to sound rude, of course, but he had to say something.

“Umm, Dr. Mako, I think you found the wrong person. That man over there,” Jack gestured in the direction of a random stranger walking his dog, “is probably the person you are looking for. I am certain…” Before he could finish, Jack already realised that he himself was indeed the very person “Dr. Mako” was looking for. Because, why else would “Dr. Mako” know his name? And surname. 

Dr. Mako, who seemed to have read his mind, said smoothly, “No worries, Jackson, I know this may sound wild and made-up to you, but it is true. My fellow employees and I myself have searched high and low for decades for a single Bender in the Opus family. You would receive the utmost respect from us, the Benders at the Institute, without a doubt. And I would personally make sure you do not undergo any stress during your training sessions.”

Jack bit his lip. Maybe Dr. Mako was really mentally ill. He might have just heard someone call him his full name just now. No way was there an “Institute of Hypnotism.” No way was there a search for an Opus. No way. Nuh-uh. Nada.

But, Dr. Mako, having seen Jack’s expression, heaved a sigh and said, almost exasperated, “Well, how do you explain what happened just now? When I tried Bending you, you almost gave in. In other words, you were almost hypnotised by me. I understand this must be very hard for you to accept, so what about going home and asking your father about your ancestry? Jackson, I am sure there are some hidden facts you do not know yet. I’ve kept an eye open and, just like you, witnessed the strange happenings. They were simply a result of Bending some people unintentionally. So, yes. When you have found out more about your family line, come to 5th Avenue 110th Street, and there, you will not miss my magnificent Institute. I would issue someone to see to that.” 

Dr. Mako, who had a habit of communicating in large chunks of authoritative speech, regarded Jack expectantly. Jack, once again flustered by information overload, said, “What?” 

Dr. Mako exhaled deeply and walked away, handing Jack a business card at the last minute, and said, “We also need to work on your hearing skills, I’m afraid.” 

Jack surveyed the business card. Fancy Chopin Script font was printed all over the small 3.5 inches by 2 inches piece of paper. Surprisingly, the name was simply Dr. Mako, without a first name nor a middle name. The description read “Dr. Mako has devoted his whole life to the making of the unparalleled Institute. This world-class academy has educated many generations of young people and taught them the moral ways to handle their special skills.” How old is he? Many generations of young people? That must have been decades. Does that mean that by the time the Institute was established, Dr. Mako was already after me? He said his employees and he himself searched for decades. Was the Institute founded for the sake of trying to find this very member of the Opus family? It was a creepy notion for sure, sending chills down Jack’s spine. This whole business sounded more like an unhealthy obsession. Jack didn’t want anything to do with hawk-like Dr. Mako. But he was intrigued by his ancestry. He could actually hypnotise people? This thought was so outlandish that it was impossible to believe, but what if it was true? That must be why Benjamin and that bus driver had acted so weirdly. There was only one way to find out. He walked purposefully toward home, in the meantime forgetting to inform the partying basketball team that he was leaving.

***

“Well, Son, I’m not sure why you ask, but,” Jack’s father cleared his throat and pursed his lips, “you see, my parents were, uh, very… persuasive people. Extremely eloquent and convincing. They could make you think white was black if they wanted to.” Jack narrowed his eyes. It did sound like his father knew something but wasn’t comfortable talking about it. And I wonder why. Jack took a deep breath and recounted what happened, from the strange incidents to the run-in with the mysterious Dr. Mako. Jack’s father listened, eyes growing wide, lips twitching intermittently. Jack handed him the business card as well.

After Jack had finished, his father said threadily, “I don’t have it, and I thought you would be spared the hokey-pokey too.” 

Just at this moment, Jack’s mother entered the living room and announced sternly, “Jack, it’s past your bedtime. Although your team won, it’s no excuse to break the household rules. To bed. Now.” Jack stood up slowly and made his way to his room, but not before narrowing his eyes at his father, a warning to not tell his mother.

The next morning, as Jack plodded down the stairs, overly-cheerful voices echoed down the hallway. Curious, he hid behind the wall that separated the dining room and hall and peered into the dining room from behind the wall. A horrifyingly ghastly sight met his sleep-blurred eyes. The black suit, the black hair, the black shoes, the sharp, long nose, the pale, vampire-like complexion, and finally, the very same piercing blue eyes that had once stared ominously into his.

Dr. Mako.

What is he doing here?! It is creepy how he knows so much about me. My name and surname. The strange happenings that he would never know of unless he was there himself. The place I would be after the basketball match. And now, intruding into my home? Jack looked on in dismay as his mother said, unusually friendly and with a magazine-cover smile, “It’s really nice to meet you Dr. Mako. I’m so glad you were able to make it today. Yesterday, Jack came home with your business card and told his father a little about you and your Institute. I think it’s a good idea if he can attend classes there since, you know, these special skills would really come in handy if he, uh, knows how to use them! We live close to 5th avenue, so I’m sure Jack can make it on time after school!” So, Jack’s father told his mother. And Dr. Mako was not intruding. 

“My parents actually invited him. Why? Why? Why? Mom and Dad, don’t you realise how much Dr. Mako is like a stalker? And I don’t want to have anything to do with hypnotism or his dreadful Institute on 5th street or whatnot,” Jack moaned miserably as he tiptoed back to his room, hands covering his ears. He hated it when his parents made decisions for him without notifying him first. But nothing, absolutely nothing, was stopping them when they had made up their minds. Well, since a stubborn streak did run in the Opus family, maybe Jack also had a trick or two up his sleeve.

Soon enough, Jack’s mother climbed up the stairs to Jack’s room, only to see him sleeping peacefully. Or so she thought. She “woke” him up and nagged at him to hurry up. Jack pretended to be groggy and washed and changed, then cautiously proceeded down to the dining room for breakfast. Was Dr. Mako still there? Fortunately, he had already left. While Jack was eating his breakfast, consisting of stale commercial orange juice and over-cooked bacon, his parents sat themselves down at the table. Jack noted with annoyance that they looked almost… relieved. Then, a fake smile that his mother always used when she wanted to tell him something that she believed was good news but knew he would not like was plastered onto her face. Jack called that particular smile “Falsehood in Childhood of poor Jack” (FCJ). That being said, his mother had many different smiles that she used on different occasions, some of them more deceiving than the others. However, this time around, Jack knew what was coming up. And he was not the most eager about it.

“Well, honey, we have a little surprise for you this morning! Guess what?” 

Jack looked at his mother vacantly while he counted to three silently in his head and continued stuffing dry bacon into his mouth, mumbling, “I don’t want to know.”

The FCJ smile on Jack’s mother’s face wavered a little. However, if she was feeling sorry for Jack, she did not show it. “So, last night, your dad told me about Dr. Mako and how you had hypnotism skills! It is really amazing! I’m sure you would find useful purposes for it! So that’s why we decided to sign you up for The Institute’s classes with Dr. Mako!” She then flashed a thumbs up and grinned, showcasing her two rows of perfect white teeth. Jack cringed inwardly at his mother’s forced cheeriness. She knew he hated it. Jack thought, Step one, Plan A. 

He took his time eating one of the two pieces of bacon left on his plate, put down his fork and knife, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and said pitifully, “Maybe you signed me up ’cause both of you think I’m just a burden in the house.” Jack’s mom’s smile disappeared and was replaced by an exasperated frown.

“Jack, you are old enough to know that that’s not the reason. I know you hate enrichment classes of any sort, but maybe it’s time for you to grow up and face the world. It’s good to acquire skills, and you cannot always shy away from what you do not like.” Jack’s mother glared at her husband, who sat leaning weakly against the table, not taking any sides in the argument.

“Or maybe it’s because you all think I’m too dumb and don’t have any skills.” Jack said mournfully, standing up and pushing the plate with a single piece of untouched bacon as far as he could toward the other end of the table. Jack’s father gulped and looked ready to run away. His mother, on the other hand, glared at Jack and bit her lip, as if trying to figure out another way to torture him as a punishment for disagreeing. She said firmly in a tone that did not allow for protests, “We invited Dr. Mako over this morning and have already arranged your lessons at the Institute for you. You should be grateful. Dr. Mako devoted his whole life to the making of the unparalleled Institute. This world-class Institute has educated many generations of young people and taught them the moral ways to handle their special skills. Be a little more appreciative, Jackson. We signed you up for your own good. Go to your room. You still have homework to do.” Jack pondered what his mother said. Did she just recite word for word what the business card read?

He pretended to walk towards the stairs, defeated and utterly flattened by his mother’s perfectly “logical” argument. When he was sure his mother was not looking at him but was still within earshot, he said, “Well, what does Mom know? I signed up for my school’s Photography Club to pick up some skills like she advised me to. But all I received was a tongue lashing and another program at the Institute. I suppose it is useless trying to please her, or Dad, for that matter. All I ever will be to them is a skill-less and useless son.” Jack was sure his mother heard him loud and clear. He really hoped Plan A worked, or he would have to turn to Plan B, which might not work and should only be tried as a last resort. Then, he purposely stormed up the stairs to his room and slammed the door shut. For even better effects, he switched on his computer and found a video on YouTube: a 15-minute long audio track of someone sobbing. Jack made sure that the audio on the computer was turned all the way up and clicked play. Jack’s mother would now know that Jack was very upset indeed! 

At the other end of the house, Jack’s father lay slumped on the couch, listening to Jack’s “cries.” His son really was upset. But it was for his own good! Couldn’t he see? Dr. Mako’s Institute of Hypnotism was definitely the most elite one in the whole country! And sending him there wasn’t even cheap. The Bentley dealership Jack’s father worked at was not faring very well recently, and that resulted in a pay cut. However, sending Jack there certainly was not a mistake. Dr. Mako must be a great instructor!

After the 15 minutes long audio track, Jack was surprised that neither of his parents came to comfort him or at least reason with him. His mother might be out of the question since she was always stubborn as a mule, but what about his father? He was always a bit softer than Mom! What’s wrong with him today? He would usually give in to whatever my choice is after seeing that I’m upset. He was about as soft as mom was strict. 

Hatred

There was this cube. This specific cube that almost ended the universe. Well, if it could destroy the whole mighty universe, it was no ordinary cube. Believe me, not ordinary. You may ask, who was the owner? Here’s the thing, it didn’t have any. Maybe it did, but the owner did not know it. It was just an ordinary Rubix cube to normal people. See, I said normal people, so, there were, of course, not-normal humans. One really specific one was Johnny, Johnny the “King.” He was feared by not only humans but half the universe, the half that was still not conquered by him. He had learned dark magic. The ability to breathe a type of gas was one of the powers. Another was to hate. He hated all human beings, infecting all living things, even though he himself was a human. He was already the master of half the universe, but he wasn’t satisfied, not nearly satisfied. Not nearly. 

Learning that the cube was the key to his success, the King charged into the owner’s house and snatched the cube. Holding up a cube for a moment, nothing happened. Nothing. Just as Johnny started to believe he had gone after the wrong cube, the cube shook. It shook. Believe me, it really shook. Now, if the “King” of the universe couldn’t hold it, nobody could. The cube rose rapidly towards the sun. Nearing the horizon, it glowed. Without warning, it opened up what looked like eyes and spit out a laser ray. With a horrible-looking hole in the middle of the Earth, Johnny laughed. He laughed like a savage man. He was laughing at his own home. Floating towards the cube, it landed comfortably in his strong hands. Johnny had dark power. Really, really dark power. After he ran away from Earth, he was the faithful student of a powerful wizard — an alien. When I say faithful, he was really faithful. He stayed until his Sensei’s death. Actually, he caused the death, however without an ounce of remorse in his heart. Just because of a trivial matter, he killed his teacher. This was Johnny, the King, and the mad, savage man. With a single tap on the cube, the Earth exploded, exploding into nothing. However, before he could react, a sudden streak of light blinded him. Floating in the middle of the debris of the destroyed planet was a man, a tall bulky man with milky white blazing eyes. Hands on fire, feet frozen, mouth spitting venom, eyes shooting lightning. This was the human brother of the cube. Although similar, the brother was weaker, much weaker than the cube. The only advantage he had now was that he had a heart, a real one. 

This man, the only survivor, wanted, yearned for revenge. He yearned for it. Johnny had destroyed all, all of his loved ones, his friends, even his children. His home, the home he loved the most, was also reduced to nothing but dust. He could not accept seeing Johnny taking another half of the universe. With the determination of love, he set off with a fatal mission of taking down Johnny the King, the King…

Standing, still staring right at Johnny, both men were still, but their hearts thumped furiously, however, for different reasons. If you thought they were going to fight right there and then, well, you are wrong. Now, the man who lived, named Cooper, was smart. Not like normal smart, but overpowering smart. The genius cells speeding around in his huge brain, he decided to hide first, then fight. Johnny was already starting towards him. One step at a time, the radiation of the cube became stronger and stronger. With a silent snap, Cooper disappeared into thin air, leaving Johnny looking wild, twitching his head, eyes swirling around, searching for the man who lived. Well, of course, it was to no avail. The cube had already fallen deadly silent, not moving, not making a noise. Neither did it glow nor send out heat waves. It was just like an ordinary cube, waiting for someone smart enough to turn it vigorously to its original 6 brilliant colours. 

Letting out a loud groan, Johnny flew away with a heavy heart. Without speaking to that mysterious man, he knew. He had a weird feeling that he was an enemy — not a normal enemy like the rest of the universe but an enemy that he needed to put up a fight to conquer. He sat on his jewel throne, face ashen, hand still gripping the Rubix cube like it was his life string. Well, as you can see, it was kind of like his life string. 

Meanwhile, at the very corner of the universe, Cooper landed soundlessly onto a planet, not a centimeter touched by Johnny. Don’t ask me how I know, ask Cooper. He had all the power you could want. He would know how I know that it wasn’t touched yet. Yet. Snapping his finger once more, Cooper was nothing. Nothing as in “invisible.” Not only invisible but also “untouchable.” He was just air, floating around the place. 

It was like a futuristic world with all the cool technology. It was a small world, very small indeed — it was the size of the moon. (Well, don’t ask me how I know how big Earth 01 was. I told you Cooper was the brother of the magic cube.) Walking around, minding their own business, were human-like beings, maybe real humans. Looking just like everyone else, nobody noticed him. Of course, nobody could — he was invisible and “untouchable.”

 Eyes zooming around the place, Cooper noticed something, something worth talking about. It was an alien world after all; everything was strange, even fascinating. The buildings were tiny but big. Let me explain. The building seemed only two times taller than Cooper himself. Once he stepped in, it turned out to be the biggest shopping mall he had ever seen. With each store as big as a land property’s total area, there were at least thousands of shops. Looking straight, Cooper could not see the end. Better still, that small world seemed to be money-free. The natives took things and left, without even going to the cashier. There wasn’t even a cashier. Basically, it was just like a buffet without the expensive prices. Well, maybe then there would be no thieves. Sure enough, there were plenty of buffets, and of course with no price. Piling in a long neat row were billions and billions of different foods, all looking better than the ones on Earth. Well, even a superhuman could not resist this. Mouth watering like a fountain, he teleported from place to place, snatching up things, gulping down delicious food, even sometimes stopping to visit the casino.

After all these surprises and shocks, the death of the world started to slip out of his mind. Bit by bit, piece by piece, they started to disappear, disappear into thin air. With another gulp of food, one bit was gone. With another new piece of clothing on, one piece was gone. Soon enough, only a tiny, mini section of the scene and memory was left. Fatigue started growing into his bones. Exhaustion loomed over him. Eyelids starting to droop, Cooper finally, finally decided to teleport out of the massive shopping mall. The moment his feet touched the cold damp ground, a weird, dreadful, painful feeling smashed into him, giving him a vigorous shiver. Eyes looking around blankly, the little segment of memory burned in his brain. 

“Cooper Grandsir! There you are enjoying yourself while the universe’s fate is at risk! It’s fate is in your hands! In your hands! You better start training, yes?! You need to kill Johnny. Kill him. Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Your children died, you can still save them. Your friends died, you still can bring them back. Your wife died, do you not want to serve justice?!” A shrill voice screamed, really screamed the life out of Cooper. With that, he fell to the ground, of course soundless, falling into a deep coma.

Magical things happened. Still laying there, unconscious, the little piece of memory started to grow. It glowed golden light, filling up his whole head. It was a memory, right, so it should replay the past. Like a film, every moment Cooper spent with his three dearest sons was shown before his eyes. Before Cooper even knew he had the power, he was a free man. Playing with his sons every day, laughing and cackling. Next came his wife. Every night he spent his free time watching movies with her. Every morning, he woke up extra early to finish all the household chores before rushing to work just to save his beloved wife’s energy. 

Next came his two best friends, always driving to work together, always buying lunch for each other, always, always lending out a helping hand to each other in times of need. His life was packed full of love, fun, excitement, until — there was always this until, always — until he acknowledged his powers. His luck was not bad. He learned his powers at the exact moment the Earth exploded, just enough to get him out of the debris safe and sound. 

Now, you are probably shouting at this paper, screaming why I am still talking about Cooper. Where’s Johnny? Now, I am going to hop right into the opposite end of the universe now. Come on, stop grabbing your hand, fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride. 

Ability to teleport is one thing; riding on a pegasus, flying seven times faster than light is another thing. Now, even if you couldn’t really see the horse in motion, let me tell you, it was extraordinarily beautiful, more beautiful than you can imagine. You can guess that ugly King was riding on that glorious pony, trying his best to look more handsome. It was quite a ride, quite a ride. Now, he didn’t have seat belts, not like you guys, so he was thrown off plenty of times. Screaming at the top of his lungs, arms flailing like jelly sticks, he was like a huge block of dirt striking across the cosmos; whenever you thought it was going to crash, boom, something would catch him, throw him straight back onto the whining pegasus’s back. Wait, how are you supposed to see all this? He was faster than light. No, no, no, you know what, you all just picture this scene in your mind. Now that was Johnny’s one little activity to spend his time. Fun? 

The rest of the day was filled with this kind of activity, this kind… Did he give food to his people? Nope. Did he follow the rules? No. Did he try to rule the planets that were his? No. Did he go around doing crazy stuff and try to get himself killed? Yes. Only on some days, some days as in once a month, he would do something useful — not useful to others, but really essential to him. Battle. 

No, he didn’t charge into battle like a mental person, no; he sat, eating McDonald’s on a chair, shouting at his army through a huge speaker. A huge one. Not only was it huge, but the voice that came out of it was even more gigantic. That itself would kill half the enemy. Now, you are going to ask, how did his army not die? Easy, they all were robots — no eyes, no brain, no heart. Only a pair of ears and the ability to fight was installed into the human-like robots. Now their ears wouldn’t break, at least not that easily. I must say, Johnny’s method was pretty impressive, able to conjure, destroy ten planets at the same moment.  

But there was something that always bothered Johnny. Every time before battle, a deep wild voice would warn him in his ears.

“Johnny, be careful, stop and think. Do you really think killing so many aliens is fun? Stop your war and return back to your Sensei. Come on, Johnny.” The voice sounded dangerously like the Sensei that Johnny had murdered. Most importantly, after asking all his generals, Johnny confirmed that only he could hear that annoying instructing voice. Even before he set his heart on the magic cube, the voice alerted him to think twice. But, of course, he didn’t listen to a thing the scary voice said. Shaking his head vigorously, Johnny screamed in his head to ask the voice to leave. Every time was similar. However, every time, it just got more serious and harder to get rid of. This was the sole thing that kept Johnny from perfectly killing all the aliens.

Now, where was the cube? Of course in his clumsy hands, glowing, showing off, duh. One special occasion, when he got a bit tired of spectating aliens’ heads, getting brutally chopped off, or getting run through by a shotgun, he just gave the glorious cube a little shake. As silent as nothing, another hundred planets were gone. Let me stop for a moment because you guys probably have questions again. Right? Why did Johnny destroy the planets? I thought he wanted to take over the world and be king? Is that your question? Now, I forgot to tell you that his cube, the cube again, already sucked all the jewels to his gloomy castle. So now that he was rich, why would he want the useless planets? He only left behind the beautiful ones. That’s it. That was Johnny. Basically a planet killer. 

Riding his winged horse, Johnny shuddered. At that precise moment, he became an absolute genius. The brain cells swam around the head faster than he was flying, having 0.00001-second meetings here and there, discussing an idea, an absolute genius idea: to take over the world in less than 1 hour. Good thinking, right? Good idea, right? It would totally work, right? To him, an absolute yes. To you, I hope it’s a yes. If now you are thinking no, and your name is Johnny, switch your brain right now, this very instance. Go! Now the rest of you, please, please keep your pure brain with you.  

After rewarding himself with another ten hours of speed flying, he was tired, alright. Throwing himself onto his sofa, he called for his generals. All of them came in unison, speaking in unison, taking action in unison. 

“Master, how can we help?” Imagine ten similar voices speaking in an enclosed toilet, that’s how Johnny liked it. Weird? Do I still need to answer that question?! 

“Destroy any planet at will. Destroy everything in one hour. Go. If you fail me, well, we have plenty of hungry Johnnys here, they will love to eat you.” With that, the echoes of steps rang in the room, but of course still at the same frequency, at the same time. None of the generals dare to defy the King, not even showing the slightest displeasure. 

Still in his room, Johnny switched on the television. Itching with eagerness, Johnny was twitching and spinning on the cushions, waiting to watch his favorite movie: chopping off aliens’ heads. Fist clenching and unclenching, he tried to suppress his thirst. Finally, with a deafening bang, the great battle began. Robots charged into the cities, catching the aliens by surprise. Chopping off every head that came into vision, even ten at a time, the army advanced. One by one, the planets fell. One by one, the planets disappeared. One by one, the universe was becoming Johnny’s. Laughing his stomach out was Johnny on his sofa, tearing up (of joy, not any other reason) at the scene of innocent aliens screaming halfway.

That was a huge break from Cooper. Let’s go back to Cooper, shall we?

Gliding through the universe as a group of mist, he visited every planet that was still active, still alive, not destroyed by… him. You know who “him” is. Every planet was different, very different. Some were small, others were big. Some were inhabited by robots, others inhabited by aliens. Some were glorious, developed, others rundown, rural. So on and so forth. However, there was one similarity, just one single factor: all were quiet, all were dead-like. Anxiety hung in the air. Guns, lasers, bombs, rockets were lined up every few kilometers. All planets, no matter good or bad, small or big, poor or rich, were preparing for battle. 

After at least half an hour of gliding, inspecting all the depressing planets, Cooper reached his home. His long-lost home. His favourite home. His only home. Looking at the unknown debris, floating around pointlessly. Just as he wanted to reach out and feel the leftovers of his home, with a dangerous flash, a knife swung towards Cooper’s neck to cut cleanly through it. Head sliding off his shoulders, Cooper froze for a split second, then as quickly as the knife came, he dissipated into nothing. 

With a sharp, uncertain breath, Cooper lifted his head slowly, eyes still fixed on the orb. Letting out a second shaky breath, he was in deep thought, cells spinning faster than Johnny was flying.  

“It seems this will be a really tough century. This student is a bit of trouble.” Exclaiming to himself, Cooper paced around the room, eyes focused on the ceiling, hands behind his back. Even the greatest wizard was having trouble handling this boy called Johnny. 

Twelve years have passed. 

His shabby clothes flagging behind him, Cooper journeyed towards Johnny’s comfortable sofa. Entering “Mr. King’s” house rudely, he passed right through the still blaring television, always screaming painful dreadful shouts of terror. 

“Sensei? I thought you were dead. I killed you. You should be in hell!” With eyes three times larger than usual, Johnny exclaimed, still lying on his leather sofa. 

“Allow me to trespass upon your hospitality for a while more. I came here for just one thing. Please listen to me. It is crucial to you, and only you. Listen up Johnny.” Without stopping to wait for a response, Cooper continued rambling in his deep, dangerous tone. “Do you remember the curse you placed on everybody? Anyone who spills blood will die a pitiful death. I am sorry, and grateful at the same time, that you have accidentally placed it on yourself too. And I daresay you have not only spilt one person’s blood but millions. Now Johnny, I will give you one more chance to stop all you are doing and come back with me. You will be a great leader, respected by all, if you allow me to purify your heart. The curse still can be lifted. This is your final chance. Do you realise every time you wanted to start a war, a voice would ring in your head? The voice was mine. I was a teacher, and now a guide, in the future even a partner. I always wanted to guide you back to the right path. But it seems that I have failed to do so. Even I cannot do so. This is your terminal, ultimate chance to clean your heart. Please, Johnny. I promise you you would be more respected, more loved and more happy, more powerful than this present state. I will give you one ending minute.”  

Sneering at his long-ago teacher, Johnny kicked the stool nearby, shooting straight up, coming to the same height as his Sensei. 

“You really think I would listen to all your rubbish. I hate the human world. They never treated me well. So why should I be good to them? You are no longer my teacher, just like you said. I am the king of the universe. Nobody gives me advice. Vacancy is sweet, indeed. All my hate is helping me. I will conjure the world before you even leave here — that is, if you even ever set foot out in the open again.” These words trailed out from Johnny’s mouth like a snake, smooth but surely venomous. Drawing out a blazing silver sword, he got ready to strike. 

“Let me say one last word before you leave; the world you have been destroying was a fake one that I created just for you. I hoped and expected you to change, to return to the good side. You would be a great help to humankind, to all living things in the real universe. Now you have missed your last chance, you will disappear. I am sincerely sorry for not being able to help you more. Johnny, always remember this. Your hatred has overwhelmed you. Never let the hatred control, always control it. That was our very first lesson together. I hope you will remember…” Tears started pouring from his shriveled eyes as Johnny started to fade, so did the rest of the universe. With a bellow, Johnny disappeared, swallowed by his own curse, wasting his whole life, his powerful magic on destroying the fake universe, totally conjured by the hatred to mankind.

The Field of Sorrow

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

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

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

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

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

“Does something… feel weird?”

“Yeah, I dunno, I feel… uneasy.”

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

“What is that?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know,” Emily replied.

“Should we check it out?”

“Yeah!”

“What if it’s dangerous?”

“Come on, don’t be a wimp. Race you!”

“Fine!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The girls shakily nodded.

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

He lunged at Olivia, and everything went black. 

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha-what?” Emily sputtered.

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes sir,” Olivia whimpered.

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

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

“There is no mercy.” 

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

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

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

There was a long, tense silence.

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

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

The girls sat there in silence.

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

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

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

“But how?” Olivia replied.

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

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

“You have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Run!” she croaked out.

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

Tender

Editor’s note: This is a wonderfully creepy horror story that may be disturbing to younger readers.

As Jac swung open the heavy front door, an aroma of blood and flesh seized his unprepared nostrils. He slightly winced but he knew the smell was promising. The more rural the town, the better the meat, he decided. Fresh meat from the outskirts of Wales.

Jac examined the place. Before him, there was a counter display case with bright lights shining on glistening meat behind glass. The shelves weren’t full, but the slabs were large, damp like morning dew and appetizing even in its raw state. A small radio sat atop the glass counter that played Christmas Welsh opera from barley caught radio signals. The place looked to be aging with uneven and beaten tiled flooring but it “had character” like the barber shop your father has been to for the past four decades. Jac’s eyes met a hunk of a man that stood behind the counter. He had broad shoulders and a wide torso with rolls of fat you could see through his apron that was stained from the aftermath of which needs no explanation. He had a roughly shaved beard with slits from his razor littered across his neck and cheeks. He had droopy ears that had heard decades worth of squeals and wide eyes that had seen a lifetime’s worth of struggles and intestines. However, he wore a small smile when his eyes meant Jac’s. 

“Dine in or take out?” he said. 

“Dine in,” replied Jac. 

The butcher laid out his hand pointing to a high stool in front of the glass case. Jac awkwardly walked over and sat on the stool. His weight slightly pushed down the seat, making the already giant butcher tower over him even more. Next to the glass case, the smell of flesh and blood was stronger. Jac shuddered as he wondered what smelling the intense smell of fresh meat all day would do to someone.

“We only have pork today,” said the Butcher with a voice as cold as a pond in December.

“Fine by me,” said Jac. 

“Five and a half pound sterling for a cut.”

“Alright.”

Jac reached into his winter coat pocket, took out the money, and placed it onto the awaiting leathery hands that laid before him. The butcher then placed it into his apron pocket, looked down, and took out a butcher knife, and a large slab of meat from the glass case. He put it onto a cutting board and cut. The knife slid through the slab so effortlessly like a scissor slicing tissue paper or a needle piercing skin. Jac began to grin. Welsh pork was a must-have, of course, every Welsh man or woman knew that. Oh, so flavorful and covered in fat too, not too little and not too much. 

The butcher laid the large slice of meat onto the grill behind the counter. It sizzled loudly even without oil and overpowered the opera playing from the radio. Jac felt his tongue roll around his wet mouth, his twitching eyes fixed upon the browning meat.

A minute or two went by which, to Jac, felt like thirty seconds. The butcher took out an old porcelain plate and placed the meat onto it, pulling the plate across the counter toward the eagerly awaiting customer.

“Thank you,” said Jac as he immediately dug into the meat.  

He stuffed a big portion into his mouth and began to chew. It wasn’t tender but it didn’t matter. Each time Jac took a bite, a flood of juices filled his mouth. It tasted as fresh as it gets, a little under done if anything.

“Do you like it?” asked the butcher.

“I — It’s great. Really great,” said Jac through a mouth as stuffed as a goose inflated with apple stuffing.

“Fresh is the key really.”

“I’m sure.”

The butcher turned off the radio. An uncomfortable silence filled the shop interrupted only by Jac’s loud and childish chewing noises.

“Fine pork is best in silence,” said the butcher.

“Agreed,” said Jac as he swallowed.

“Say, do you know about vegans?”

“Sure.”

“Few in the Welsh countryside but still existent. No harm in it. I just think it’s wrong.”

“Yep,”  said Jac, a bit confused about the sudden change in conversation.

“It really is quite silly. I’m telling you from life experience that cows and pigs are stupid. Incompetent organisms really. Can’t tell night from day, and even if the animals were a bit smarter, they’re providing me a business right?”

“Right.”

“Of course. We’ve been eating animals for as long as we’ve existed. Some people just don’t see the greater good in things. Sure, it’s the death of an organism, but hell, it’s keeping me alive. What’s a few lives if it keeps business aflowing?”

“Right.”

“The only animal I can second guess about killing is monkeys. Chimps. Some attributes of the chimp are smarter than some attributes of the human.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I think it’s the ability to lose empathy when needed for survival. Many humans lack that and it makes the chimp in some ways better at surviving than the human.”

“Hmm.”

“How bout this, a chimp’s diet is mostly based on fruit and insects. Chimps go out of their way to get the fruit and the insects,” said the butcher as his voice started to grow playful. “But, let’s say that there’s a sudden decrease in insects. Let’s say that the fruit that their diet is based on starts growing elsewhere. The chimp realizes the only source of food that could keep himself alive is his fellow chimp. What do you think he should do?”

“E-eat the… chimp?” said Jac with an empty mouth.

“Exactly. Eat the chimp. The chimpanzee does not think twice about eating one of his kind when needed. He knows that one in the end will survive and that one will be him. With empathy, the chimp will die, but without it, the chimp will thrive. How about another example?”

“I — I… I don’t… ” said Jac as he laid down his fork.

The butcher leaned towards him.

“Let’s say there’s a man in the meat business. He’s known around the neighborhood but the winter months come and business comes to a sudden halt. He’s not making enough money to afford the number of cows and pigs that he needs.” 

 Jac wanted to get up and dash out of the shop, but his muscles couldn’t move, like he was tightly stitched to his seat.

“Then the man realizes,” said the butcher as his eyes widened and a twisted smile grew across his face, “that the perfect solution has been sitting right across from him all along.”

In a swift motion his arms reached out to Jac’s neck and squeezed. He grabbed the rusted butcher knife and Jac realized why the meat wasn’t tender. 

The Witch Girl

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

But we can’t just start here, can we?

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

A witch, you ask?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom?!” I called.

“Yeah?” said my mom from the basement.

“You better come see this,” I called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A ghost’s mark, Mir.”

I stopped cold. “A… A what?”

“A ghost.”

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

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

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

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

“Mom,” I said, “where are we going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…” I was getting a little lost.

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

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

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

“What is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tat’s mom ushered me in.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” she asked absently.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I exchanged a terrified glance with Tat.

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

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

“Eep!”

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

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

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

Mine.

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

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

And… that’s where I am now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom!” we both call.

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

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

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

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

“Witches?” breathes Tat.

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

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

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

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

“Why would you think that?” asks Mom.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Customized Future

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, the fetus communication device is all set up. We’re ready when you are,” the doctor said, while double checking that all the wires were in the right place.

“I think we’re ready, doctor,” said James Gardner, the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Clutching his wife’s hand, he whispered something in her ear, which made her frown mildly. The screen powered on, and James and Mary could see their fetus. Excitedly, Mary grasped her husband’s forearm, as they had been trying to have a child for a few months, with no success until then. It was a long and painful journey, but they had finally succeeded. 

“Hello? Is this my customization?” asked the fetus. The doctor gave a microphone to the couple so that they could talk to their son.

“Hello, my beautiful son. Shall we get to it?” asked Mary, wanting to get on with it.

“Yes, sorry.” The doctor opened his laptop. “Let’s start with a simple one, what are you thinking for height?” 

“I was thinking maybe 6’5, 6’6,” James said. 

“No, that’s too tall. The Inspector will see him as a freak! He’ll get sent straight to the Ugly House. 6’3 will do just fine,” said Mary, arguing with her husband, just as always. The doctor typed on his computer, inputting the requested height.

“Alrighty, now, how about eye color?” the doctor asked, still typing at his keyboard.

“We were thinking about blue, not very dark, but more like an ocean or sky blue,” Mary said, and James nodded, for once agreeing with his wife. The doctor typed some more on the computer.

“Hair color?”

“You better make me blonde. Not too yellow though, more like a pale blonde. I’ve studied the current beauty standards,” the fetus said excitedly.

“I don’t know, I was thinking brown hair, but I guess you would know better than me,” Mary said, debating whether or not to trust her child-to-be. The doctor typed that information in the computer. 

They stayed there for another hour or so. Whenever James tried to bring an idea to the table, Mary shot him down with some excuse. Eventually, James got sick of it and just let Mary and the fetus choose. He didn’t want his son to get sent to the Ugly House. He had heard about what happened there. He had heard that the Inspectors were very harsh. He had heard the rumors. He was nervous. 

* * *

Mary had given birth to Liam Gardner after 16 hours of being in labor. The Inspector was due any minute now. James had to leave for a meeting halfway through Mary giving birth. She was not happy about it. He was always leaving her to do some sort of work thing that she didn’t understand. Well, at least she now had a baby. A beautiful baby boy. Or at least she thought.

“Is this Liam Gardner with James and Mary Gardner?” a deep, booming voice asked. Mary turned toward the door. She saw a man dressed in a black and gray vest with a scar on his face. He was donning a black baker boy hat.

“Yes, I am Mary and this is Liam. James could not be here, unfortunately,” Mary said, a little bit snarkily. 

“Liam Gardner, what an interesting name.”

“Oh, the name is not final, we can change it if you think it’s odd.”

“That will not be necessary.” The Inspector walked toward Mary and the baby. “What a tall little man. He appears strong as well. He will be helpful to fight in our armies, if he is deemed satisfactory, of course.”

“Notice how beautiful his face is!” Mary said, trying very hard to get her son deemed satisfactory.

“It will not help you nor the boy if you try to convince me. I have made my decision. You will be sent a letter in the mail with instructions.”

“Instructions? For what?”

“For how to get your boy to the Ugly House. And for what to do from there. Please inform Mr. Gardner of this decision and read the letter together when it arrives.” 

Mary was shocked. Her son, going to the Ugly House? That didn’t happen to the wealthy folks. Liam had studied the beauty standards, and she had trusted him. Now he was going to be taken away. She had to speak with James about this. 

* * *

Mary stormed into their home. 

“James. Our sweet Liam is being sent to the Ugly House. I know this was all your fault, you in those meetings, when you told me in the customization that you had to sort a matter with the doctor, you knew he was going to be sent to the Ugly House all along!” Mary screamed at James, sobbing. 

“I did that to protect you, dear Mary. I knew I wouldn’t be able to help you raise a child. I was barely there when you were pregnant, I could never have time for our son,” James said, a lot calmer than his wife.

“And you thought that sending him to the Ugly House would be an appropriate response? You couldn’t have just been there for him?” Mary was really yelling now.

“Mary, you are acting obtuse. Do you not realize I was just trying to help? God, Mary, you’re impossible sometimes.” James was starting to get more aggressive.

“I’m impossible? I take care of our child, I cook, I clean the house while you just go to work all day! I don’t see you ever, and I’m the impossible one? You’re insane, James! You know what? Don’t come to our room tonight. I need my space from you.” Mary picked up Liam and went to their room. Liam’s crib was already set up in there, at least James did one thing. Mary had just gotten in bed when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.

“Hey, Mary, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I know it won’t help but I just wanted you to hear it. This came for us, I thought you might want to look at it first.” James slipped a letter under the door. It was addressed to both of them. 

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Gardner,

On the next page are the instructions for how to get your son, Liam Gardner, to the Ugly House. You have three days to get him there, or he will be forcefully removed from your household. 

Sincerely, 

The Inspectors

Mary skimmed the instructions and then opened the door. James gave her a hug, and then took the letter from her. They would take Liam to the Ugly House the next day.

* * *

The instructions had been very clear. Liam was to be brought to 151 Applebaum Street, and he would be taken to the Ugly House. Mary and James took their relatively-newborn and got into the car. They passed Bananabaum street, Pearbaum street, Grapebaum street, until they finally got to Applebaum. 147, 149, and then finally, 151 Applebaum street. The house was painted a turquoise color, and neither Mary nor James could say that they liked it very much. It looked very old and run-down. Almost abandoned. The instructions had said to leave Liam on the porch and not to hover. They did exactly that. Mary and James had driven home, and didn’t see Liam again, at least not for a long time. 

That’s where their stories end, but Liam’s story, well, that one is just beginning.

* * *

Liam was lying on the porch for about 15 minutes before an elderly woman came out of the house and got him. She brought him inside and gave him a bottle of milk. Then, as standard procedure for all incoming Ugly children, she gave him a dose of a serum made from maple tree bark that allows him to talk. 

“Hello, Mr. Liam Gardner. You are here because you have been deemed Ugly. Do not be alarmed, you will not be harmed just yet. You may call me Mrs. X,” the elderly woman, Mrs. X, said.

“So, I was deemed Ugly, why am I not in the Ugly House?” Liam said, confused.

“Currently, you are in what is called the ‘transition period.’ You will be transported to the Ugly House in about 30 minutes. This talking serum will wear off in about two minutes, so if you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. Don’t worry, this is standard procedure.”

“What is it like in the Ugly House? Will I be treated poorly? I’ve heard rumors that it’s terrible there.”

“I apologise, but I’m not allowed to address that. Oh, I think the serum has worn off. Unfortunately, I cannot give you more. Here, play with this.” Mrs. X gave Liam a baby toy to play with until the Transporter arrived.

30 minutes later, Liam was picked up. The Transporter put him in a seat in the back of a truck. The ground was damp and it smelled like mold. The Transporter was not a good driver. He kept on swerving and hitting potholes. About 15 minutes into the drive, the truck stopped. Liam was taken out of the foul-smelling vehicle and put into a baby carrier. He was handled aggressively and carried until he saw a mansion. If someone had asked Liam to describe what he saw in that moment, he would’ve just said scary. The mansion was huge, and looked amazing, but Liam knew it was the opposite. The whole thing was very eerie. Liam was taken inside. He was greeted by an incredibly ugly young girl. She seemed about seven years old. Her family must’ve been poor, Liam thought. Come to think of it, all of the children in this home were not from a high income family. Liam was the only outlier. Liam thought it was kind of horrible how only the poor got sent to the Ugly House. Well, mostly the poor. The girl took him to a room that didn’t have any windows. The only source of light was a small lamp in the corner. There was a black crib in the room that Liam assumed was his. Sure enough, he was placed in the crib. The ugly girl gave him a small bottle of milk that she had hidden underneath her bed. 

“Drink up. I’m Susan,” the girl whispered to him. She seemed cautious, as if something or someone was preventing her from talking to him in full volume. Liam drank the milk. Susan watched him drink, and then took the bottle from him when he finished. Liam thought this was a bit odd. This whole place was kind of odd. But it certainly was nothing like the rumors, at least not yet.

“The guard will be here any minute. I should go,” Susan said anxiously. She left the room. 

“Liam Gardener?” a woman’s voice came from outside the room. “I am here to introduce you to the Ugly House. I need to give you an injection so that we can… communicate with you better. Don’t worry, it’ll only be a pinch.” The woman came inside the room with a needle and a bandaid. She gave him the injection and put the bandaid on. Liam felt different. He felt older. It’s not possible that that injection made him older, right? It’s not possible…

“Great, it looks like the injection worked. You are now 11 years old. Can you speak?” the woman asked.

“How – how did you make me age ten years with only an injection? Why am I suddenly 11 years old?” Liam asked, confused.

“This is a standard procedure for all incoming Ugly children. Do not be alarmed.”

“That’s not possible, the girl that greeted me, Susan, she was only seven. It’s not possible for her to age ten years.”

“The injection works differently for different people. That ugly girl only aged five years. Now, let’s take you on a little tour, shall we?” The woman grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the room. She took him to a room that again didn’t have any windows and sat him down at a metal table. The chair legs were uneven, and the table was sticky and smelled of orange juice. Sure enough, the woman gave him a glass of orange juice. When he finished drinking it, the woman took the glass and put it in a bin on the table. There was a small side room, which she went into and took out a pen and a notepad. She then looked at him and began to write something down. Liam was curious.

“What are you writing?” Liam asked, anxiously.

“That’s none of your concern! Don’t be so nosy, or you will not enjoy your time here. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Um, I guess not.” The woman continued to write. About ten minutes later, the woman had stopped writing and took Liam out of the room. She instructed him to follow her and took him to another room with no windows that had a chair and a barber smock in it. She told him to sit down and grabbed an electric razor from a side table. She then gave him a haircut.

“Nice hair makes someone look more Satisfactory. You stay here for three months so that we can mold you into a Satisfactory child. We transport you back to where you started, 151 Applebaum street. Your parents or whoever can come get you from there. Unfortunately, the injection never wears off, so you have lost a few years of your life. Oh well. Get up and follow me please.” She walked to yet another room. This was going to be a long three months. 

* * *

Liam looked in the mirror. I guess I’m, Satisfactory now? He thought. The Inspector was supposed to come today to reevaluate him. Liam was not sure if he was excited or disappointed. The last three months were something to say the least. He enjoyed his time here overall. He made a new friend in Susan from his room. He was considered attractive now. But despite all this, he still felt incomplete. He skipped ten whole years of his life. Ten years that he would never get back. Well, at least he would see mom and dad again. He heard a knock at the door. 

“Come in!” said Liam.

“Hello, Mr. Gardener. My, you’ve grown a lot since the last time I saw you,” said the Inspector, shocked.

“Yes, well I was given an injection which made me age ten years, as per your instructions,” Liam said, passive-aggressively.

“Do not put the blame on me, boy. I only deemed you Ugly because my boss had told me to. I have to reevaluate you now. You are a very good height for your age. And my-my, very strong too. Hair looks great. I deem you Satisfactory. Goodbye now, Mr. Gardener.” The Inspector left the room. Liam was in shock, that all happened so quickly! The woman who had given him a tour (whose name he still hadn’t learned) came into the room. 

“I’m here to discuss the details of your departure. You will leave our facility in half an hour. Please go pack your things now,” the woman said, without an ounce of emotion in her voice. Liam packed up his stuff and went to the exit of the Ugly House to be picked up. Again, he was put into the back of a truck. The ground was not damp this time, but it still smelled of mold. After a 15 minute ride, the truck stopped at 151 Applebaum street. James and Mary Gardener picked him up. They went back to the house. Mary had decided to get a divorce from James, so she took Liam and they got their own house. 

That’s where this story concludes. 

It was Him

Editor’s Note: This story explores darker themes and mentions violence & self-harm.

ONE

It’s the alarm that woke me up that morning. Not my clock that’s seemingly harmless, but the Imperial Alarm. It has never been used before. 

When we first moved to the Triwall Sector, the second thing our family was taught about was the Imperial Alarm. It’s reserved solely for emergencies such as natural disasters, and the unexpected death of a high ranking member of the Imperials. I remember the man who gave us a tour of the place, carefully pointing every single thing out. He had led us to the pedestal, holding the huge bell shaped alarm. “It’s never been used before and it never will,” he said. I guess that man was wrong. 

The bell rang, and it’s been ringing for the past half hour. It seems like no one knows what to do right now. Everyone’s scrambling around outside, frantically searching for some guards who know what they’re doing. I yank on my socks and slowly open my door to reveal the bare hallway. One step at a time, I pound down the stairs to find my family huddled around our Slim Screen that displayed the town square. The Slim Screen is honestly an extremely helpful tool. It broadcasts channels that play on TVs, and it translates over 6000 languages.

 My family’s faces are expressionless, but I see the fear beneath their eyes. I walk over to them and slip my hand in Mom’s. My mother, with her beautiful blond hair and blue eyes, the traits I inherited from her, is waiting with a worried expression and her level signal over her head. 153. Like Mom, I have her ocean blue eyes, yet take my thick, curly brown hair from my father. Mom rubs my back like she always has since I was little. I feel her hand, comforting me, and soothing me. “It’s going to be okay Alana, everything’s going to be fine.” When my mom says something, you have to believe her. The compassion and sympathy in her voice stay with you wherever you go.

 She’s squeezing my hand now too, and I can tell she is unhappy with the situation. My dad pulls me in for a side hug, and this time I didn’t resist. I mean, usually I would because who even hugs their dad when they’re 14? My head leans against his broad chest and I feel his chest muscles tense. He breathes in and out, in and out. I concentrate on his breathing. It’s ragged and heavy. I pull away and cover my eyes with my hands. I want to fall asleep. We stand there in muddled silence for about 30 seconds. The Alarm is still ringing, and it’s hurting my ears. Then, the Imperial Alarm lets out one last earsplitting shriek and falls quiet. Timmy squeaks out a sound. He moves to hold Mom’s other hand. Then, everything goes pitch dark. Even our levels are gone. 

The first thing we learned about when we moved to Triwall Sector were the levels. When you performed tasks the bots were happy with, the icons over your head gave you points. Having points gave you advantages which helped you lead a better life. As a pay salary for jobs each week, our levels go up by .25. Mom and Dad’s levels are really high for commoners, so we get lots of luxury. For example, our family, we all have levels in the hundreds. So, we are able to access the uptown of Triwall while the middle class can only visit Midtown and Downtown. For the people that have low levels, they can’t access the elevators, the cars, the luxury objects in everyday life. Points are like health levels as well. Your arm broke? Your neck broke? The levels above your head carry a value no one can imagine. They slowly drain while you’re getting better, while you’re summoning enough strength. After you’re healed, work harder. You work harder until the levels are gained back. That’s just how it is. Well, all that’s gone now. There are no more levels. There are no more levels. No matter how many times I repeat that to myself, I can’t seem to fully wrap my head around the fact that there are no more levels. 

My brother, Timmy, looks around with fear in his eyes. He’s only nine. I’ve always protected him. He’s like the best friend I’ve never really had. But now that the world is out of control, there is nothing I can do to make Timmy feel like he is safe. Because in fact, he isn’t really safe at all. I see my parents exchange that look that means, “Uh oh we’re in trouble.” But to us, they only give positive and supportive looks. Mom wrenches her hand from mine and Tim’s grip and hurries to the windows. Her forearms rest against the metal windowsill. My mom stares at the crowd, and turns to report back.

“The whole level system is gone. It’s chaos out there.” 

And indeed it was. I rush over to the window to see for myself only to find disaster. The usually lit-up streets were dark. The level symbols above our heads used to keep the streets glowing. There are no levels now. My hands fall on the windowsill. Without the level system, everyone can go anywhere. They don’t need to keep in line as they won’t be punished. I force myself to drag my feet back to the rest of my family. Timmy whispers, “Are we gonna die?” Feet shuffle, and finally, my mother says in her sweet voice,

“No, Timmy, we’ll be absolutely safe. We’re here for you wherever you go.” But somehow, even if Mom’s voice sounds exactly the same, for the first time, I don’t actually believe her. 

TWO

Mom starts soothing Timmy, who begins to cry. I can’t listen to this anymore, I’m way too tired. I’m tired of living in this world where levels control you, I’m tired of the levels malfunctioning. My feet drag with every step I take. My arms hang by my sides, like limp spaghetti noodles that Timmy throws under the dinner table. 

“I think I ought to get some sleep,” I say weakly. I mean, there is nothing I can do at this moment anyway. Mom nods, and Dad says,

“I’m heading up too, you guys should also catch a nap.” He gestures to Mom and Timmy. 

“Wait it out till the morning, nothing much can get worse from here.” Dad grins, puts an arm around my shoulder, and starts guiding me towards the stairs. Oh boy, is Dad wrong. 

We reach the top of the stairs. I leave Dad standing in front of his room and head to mine. I can barely keep my eyes open, my eyelids feel like weights. I sink down on my bed. I don’t even take off my socks. Pulling my blanket up to my chin, I immediately fall asleep and get greeted by a memory I don’t want to rewatch. 

“Alana Wilkson, walk up here please.” The levels above my head are rapidly shooting down, lower and lower. I want to stop them, but I can’t. The rest of the class is staring at me, laughing and pointing. My level is down to 33. I shouldn’t even be in school with a level that low. You need at least a 50 for that. Six, five, four, I feel myself losing strength. So this is how it feels to die. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper to Ms. Johns defiantly, while I fight for my eyelids not to close. She stares at me, daring me to lie. I want to sink into a small puddle, a puddle where no one knows who I am. Eventually, my levels were sorted out. I woke up in the office to find the most important man in the Triwall Sector waiting for me. That was the time I met the Elector Imperial. He drove me to his private quarters and then hired his team to fix the numbers. I watch as the symbols light up and my level is soon back to normal. The Elector Imperial fixes me with a smile, his ice cold eyes piercing into mine. “Sorry for causing you any trouble, Alana dear.” But even at the mere age of nine, I could tell he doesn’t really mean it. 

My forehead is beaded with sweat when I bolt up, wide awake. The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared of the levels. When I used to wander downtown with Mom where the river is, where we saw the different boats coming in with shipments, I saw those homeless people, the beggars on the street. Their levels are low, really low, and their faces are blank. Like they’ve given up. Because once you’re down the ladder of levels, there’s really no going back up. Our lives are shaped by levels, and levels are vital to living in Triwall. It’s that important. So I’m scared. I’m scared because without levels, we’re nobodies, we don’t have a place in the world above anyone else. And I’m scared for my neighbors, my friends, and my family, but mostly, I’m scared for myself. 

THREE

I’m too startled. I don’t think I can go back to sleep and relive those unpleasant memories again. I walk to the bathroom quietly, as my whole family seems to be asleep. Peering into Mom and Dad’s room, I see Timmy snuggled in between them, smiling in his sleep. He’s probably thinking of good memories. Wish I could relate. I splash cold water on my face and pull on my boots. I am going outside. I am going to see for myself.

I open the door and fresh air hits my face. I need that. Walking to the Imperial Alarm, I see many people huddled in groups, even this early in the morning. It makes me uneasy, because usually no one’s around this early. It makes me scared. I pick up my pace to a jog when someone runs into me. I jump back in surprise. Without meaning to, my face lights up. He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Pushing those thoughts away, I analyze the person getting to his feet. He’a a carpenter, someone who fixes things that go wrong in the Triwall Sector. His badge gleams on his chest.  Can’t even call him a man, he’s barely 18. He looks flushed. Almost as if he’s hurting inside. Guilty for doing something wrong. “Sorry,” he mumbles, while averting his eyes and continuing on his way. I think I will remember that boy. With those looks, I don’t think I could forget him.

***

Wow. The space around the Alarm is packed four deep. People scrambled and shoved, trampled and tripped each other. Many people stay on the sidelines though. Without their levels, if you get hurt, there’s no telling what could happen. Of course, the risk takers wanted to see the Alarm for themselves. People touch it, bang it, or simply just stand in front of it. Normally, with the presence of levels, people wouldn’t dare. Points are taken off in big chunks for approaching the Alarm at all.  But now, you can do anything you want to, if you are okay with the possibility you may be in pain for the rest of your existence. After all, there are no more levels. Then, after an eternity of physical violence, people gasp.  Their faces are frozen with shock. “No!” someone screams, and all of a sudden, the Imperial Alarm rings again. Standing less than 30 feet away, the bell’s intense ringing hurts my head. I have no idea what’s happened. 

“The Elector Imperial is dead,” someone shouts while others repeat those horrid words. “Dead in his bedroom, throat slit.” 

My stomach hurts. I feel lightheaded. The world fades to black.

FOUR

I wake up to Timmy’s face hovering over me.

“Alana, you’re awake! Thank goodness!” my Mom says happily. Dad hovers over her shoulder, his eyes brightening the moment he sees me smile. Timmy dances around the room, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Mom, what happened?!” I gasp, finally finding my voice. 

“Nothing you have to worry about now, honey,” Mom replies, clearly hiding something she doesn’t want me to know. 

“Mom, I want to know. I deserve to know.” I sit up and pain hits my temples. It’s like a blinding light I can’t close my eyes to. Timmy shouts and screams. As much as I want to tell him it’s okay, I don’t have the strength to do it. I see Timmy’s hazy shape over me, and a memory hits me again. The day Timmy came home.

I see my old doll Betty in my hands. I’m pacing around the same table that’s still here now. Mom and Dad should be home anytime soon. I’m so excited. I get to meet Timmy. I’m with my old babysitter, Gerta. She’s gorgeous. Her level states 72. She got a job after graduation apparently, and then became my babysitter. There’s a knock at the door. I rush to open it, but Gerta beats me. She swings it open, and smiles brightly at Mom and Dad while I stare at Timmy. My eyes are only on him. He’s adorable. I make a move to grab his torso but Dad puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. 

“Sweetie, move to the sofa, you don’t want to drop him, not when he’s this young.” I sit down on the sofa and get comfortable while Dad sets Timmy down on my lap. He has blue eyes, the same as mine. I watch with huge eyes as a level symbol starts to form over my brother’s head. I swatted it, determined to see my brother’s full face and take in his face. The symbol stays put. Timmy starts to wail and scream. Mom takes him back hugging and rocking him. As Mom heads to her room, I stare at the hovering level signal with confusion. It’s always been there, and somehow, even now, I still can’t seem to get used to it. But now, as the levels are gone, it’s even stranger to not see the flickering blue digits above someone’s head. 

***

I’m conscious again, and Timmy runs over to me. I think I’ve gotten used to seeing our levels over our heads because looking at Timmy now, the space above his head just seems so empty. 

“Alana’s awake!” he says enthusiastically to the whole house. Then, to me, he says solemnly, “The Imperials want to talk with you. They wouldn’t tell us why. Mom pestered and pestered, but no one told us why”

The Imperials. That means the government. What do they want from me? A fourteen-year-old girl who fainted at the site?

Timmy tugs me up to a sitting position while Mom strides into the room. 

“Hey, hon, glad you’re up,” my mom says with her sweet voice like silk. She moves around, taking my temperature, and brushing my hair. When she’s satisfied, Mom sits down and sighs. 

“I’m taking you to Imperial’s Head for questioning, I’m sure Timmy has told you. Ready in ten.” Mom pecks my cheek and walks out. 

FIVE

We pass the Alarm as we head to the Imperials Headquarters. There’s caution tape around the site, but otherwise it looks the same.  Now, looking at the Alarm, it looks identical to what it looked like yesterday, but I know so much has changed. 

Mom pulls up to the huge cement block of a building. It doesn’t even have any windows. 

“Head in hon. I’ll wait for you outside.”

I’m numb as I pass through the endless metal detectors, walk by the countless stares the guards give me, and finally, when guards escort me to an office, my eyes snap open. 

There are two men sitting straight up in chairs. One is a general with badges all over his uniform. And the other is the beautiful boy I met this morning. 

***

He flashes a small smile, then returns to his poised state. I blush. Before I can move my mouth, the general saves me. 

“Glad to see you joining us, Ms. Wilkson.” He turns the corners of his mouth up, as if he’s teasing a smile. I nod tentatively and sit down in the chair the general points at. Once I’m seated, the general starts to talk. 

“I heard you were at the alarm early this morning. Is that correct, Ms. Wilkson? Yes, I assume that is. Judging by the face you made at Mr. Thomas Oberchy’s presence, I see that you two have met?” 

I nod again, and the general is silent. I’m still confused about why I’m here, but the general says no more. The silence is unbearable. I am here watching two men glare at each other with much hostility, and the reason? No idea.  

“Mr. Oberchy is suspected of the murder of the Elector Imperial,” the general finally says. I see Thomas clenching his fists. He must be instructed not to talk. 

“And as of now, you, Ms. Wilkson, are the only person Mr. Oberchy has interacted with this morning. I say, let’s begin. No need to make that face, Ms. Wilkson, this will only take about half an hour or so.”

The general really was trained for this type of questioning. Question after question, he shoots at me like bullets you can’t avoid. 

“Have you met this man before?”

“No.”

“Do you suspect there are other people involved?”

“Um, no.”

Tens of questions later, I find myself faced with one last question. This is where I make my mistake. 

“Was there any suspicious behavior from our suspect this morning?”

“He was worried, I think, and… and, he was heading away from the Alarm.”  My voice quivers and wavers in uncertainty. The general is still sitting up ramrod straight, but he smiles. 

Thomas’ eyes snapped open. The blase look behind his eyes is gone. For the first time, he speaks up. “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. I was heading home to see my parents and my sister. I really swear I didn’t.”

His voice is like Mom’s. Smooth as silk, and it makes you want to fall for him. He seems so genuine, and his words seem to come from his heart. 

The general winks at me and steps out of the room to talk with his elders who are waiting outside. Thomas looks at me with wide eyes. He is only a few years older than me. His expression is so innocent, so real, he just doesn’t have the capacity to kill someone, especially in front of the Alarm, where there were hundreds of people present. 

When I first saw Thomas, I thought he was 18, but now I see the youth in his eyes, the sparks of joy. He can only be about 16, and as we sit here, in this cold cement block of a room, the youth in his eyes fades away. 

“Please,” he says. “I have family at home. They need me. My sister needs me the most. If there were anything more I had to say to make you believe me, I would.” He looks so vulnerable, so fragile. He looks away, then turns back. 

“I really don’t know why I’m begging you, but you are the only person who can change his mind. So please, help me, please do.”

I look over his face one last time, those deep blue eyes, flawless skin. His face is the definition of pain. It breaks my heart to see someone in that state. It hurts more to leave them like that. And even as I will myself to believe this boy is a criminal, I can’t bring myself to. “It was him,” the boy says. I shake my head. Is he talking about the general? His position is already so high, I doubt he would risk his own life to kill someone important like the Elector, I think to myself. My heart aches for Thomas. Turning away, I walk out the door, but not before whispering to myself that I was going to make sure I would do what’s right – not for the government, but for my heart. 

The general is talking with his elders in a room that looks executive. Even royal. Unlike the rooms they use for investigating people, like the one I just walked out of. He tells me, “We’ve all agreed! 10/26/47, we’re executing him.”

He chuckles, apparently proud of himself. I glance at him, disgusted to see this man. This man who has just dished out a death sentence without remorse.

I have just given a boy death, when I just as easily could have let him live. This boy could have been the man to find the cure to cancer. He could have been the president of the world. But most importantly, this boy will not be able to give his family love. He will not be able to love his mom, his dad, he will not be able to love his sister. His sister who needs him the most. 

SIX

Mom’s car is waiting idly in front of the building. I walk up to the car and knock on the window. 

“Mom, please unlock the car.” 

My mom gives me a thumbs up and I swing the door open. 

“How’d it go, hon?”

“It was fine, Mom.” I sink into the cushioned seat of the car. She stares at me pointedly as if urging me to tell more. I close my eyes and remember how easily the government was able to give a death sentence. The general too. And me. Can one person just end someone’s life? The general was so precisely trained, taught everything he needed to know to become as high-ranking as he was. And yes, you can train people to learn things, but you need to be born with a heart.

***

The citizens outside their homes are doing things they wouldn’t have dared to when there were levels. Why did the levels just vanish? Who would know how to start ringing the Alarm? And more importantly, who killed the Elector Imperial? In 27 days, a suspect who may be innocent will leave this world forever. We drive home in silence. 

Pulling up to our condo, I see Timmy and Dad waiting for us outside. Dad looks so worried. I give him a reassuring smile and tell him, “I’m fine, Dad, nothing to worry about.” But inside, I am hurting. I am hurting for Thomas, because if he is truly innocent, he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of it. 

I sit on my bed for what feels like forever. When I will myself to get up, I remain sitting. Now the level crisis and Thomas’s dilemma add to my problems. It’s all weighing me down. The problems are holding me under water and won’t let me breathe. The problems I don’t have 

time for. 

SEVEN

Thomas was arrested yesterday, right after I left the Imperial’s Headquarters. He is being broadcasted on Slim Screen. He doesn’t even look mad anymore. His eyes hold the pain he is forced to bear. Looking at him reminds me of someone who has given up. Someone who has decided that there is no reason to live. He fidgets with his hands. He moves them around in a pattern. I do that sometimes too when I’m nervous. It makes me feel more connected to him. It makes me happy. Happier to be sad. 

The camera switches over to the general in his office. His jacket is adorned with badges that gleam in the light. “It’s honestly an accomplishment that we found the culprit who killed our dear Elector. We are working on making him talk about the damaged levels. The suspect remains quiet as of now. We still wonder why he would… ” I turn the volume on the Slim Screen down. 

He keeps talking. He looks like a goldfish. Spitting out words with no value.

***

Laying in bed that night, I realize something so important. The levels prevent you from dying. The levels are now gone. And the Elector is gone as well. Is this a coincidence? I think of what my dad told me when I was only a little kid. “There are no coincidences in the Triwall Sector.”

Hurriedly, I sit up and turn on my lights. I swing open the door to my room and start making my way to my parents’ bedroom. Inside, it is peaceful. The dark curtains cover the windows, blocking the chaos in the outside world. I gently prod my mom with my hands. Bleary, and annoyed, she opens her eyes and stares at me, confused. 

I start, “Mom, the Elector couldn’t have died if the levels were intact. That means somebody who – ”

“ – knew how to wipe out the levels murdered him,” she finished, the twinkle in her eyes grows. This excited her, I can tell. 

“Then. Then, that means someone with access to the level system must have murdered the Elector Imperial. Someone on his side must have ended his life.”

EIGHT

It is October 26th. Thomas will be executed today. I spend the entire morning staring at the bright, flashing screen of the Slim Screen. The news stations broadcast Thomas’s face, bored and restless. His hands are moving again. Constant fidgeting. Almost like defined movements. Tears roll down my cheeks every time I hear someone reporting facts about Thomas’s would-be death. 

Now, you may be thinking, Thomas will live. The general is responsible for the death of the Elector, and Thomas won’t die. However, if you are thinking that, you are wrong. In fact, Thomas will die that day. In fact, I will visit Thomas’ family that day, his sister, his mother, his father, all blue eyed and blonde. I will comfort them, hug them, cry with them, despite barely knowing them at all. I will learn Thomas’ mother’s name, Lindsey. His father’s name, Landon, and his sister’s name, Anna. The sister who will get robbed of Thomas’s love because of me. 

Thomas’ family and I grieve over him. We sit in silence, the absence of sound addressing our feelings of how unreasonable it is for the General to give a death sentence merely based on my word. 

“I don’t think Tommy’s life was worth only a few words from a teenage girl. I really thought it was more,” Lindsey says, her voice cracking. Tears brim in my eyes, and threaten to spill. I glance at Lindsey, and she looks away. My heart convulses in pain. 

I watch Thomas’s family in silence. I cannot bear the responsibility of his death. I stand up, push in my chair, and I tell them, “I am truly sorry. I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.”

Thomas’ parents give me a small nod. It’s Anna who speaks up. “It’s okay.”

The most meaningful words I have ever heard. 

Lindsey comes up and wraps her arms around me. I used to think that sadness brought people apart. Now I know that sometimes, sadness brings people together. 

***

At home, I take a long shower, trying to wash off the grief I hold inside me. It doesn’t work. The shower thunders down in streams. My tears do too. 

***

I stare at the Slim Screen and the General talking like a goldfish. Spewing out lies of Thomas’ crime. He’s literally dead. Don’t pick on him more than you have to. I turn the volume down. His hands stay still, like a professional. Why were Thomas’s hands moving with so much certainty? What is he trying to tell us, and what do I need to know?

I ask the Slim Screen, “Pull up all clips of Thomas Oberchy.”

Seeing the more recent clips, I smile. His hair. His eyes. 

I scroll down the list of crammed letters and words until I’m at the year 2037. Thomas sure does have a lot of articles about him. None are particularly interesting. The math award in 2nd grade, the art competition he won when he was 5. I scroll back up. And then, something catches my eye. October 26, 2042. 5 years ago to this date. My face blanches, and I breathe in sharply. 

11-year-old Thomas Oberchy Volunteers to teach kids American Sign Language.

NINE

American Sign Language. Oh my god. I frantically order the Slim Screen to play the clip of Thomas’s last appearance on camera, and zoom in on his hands. It makes sense. His hands move with dominance, while trying to be subtle. He is trying to tell us something. 

I tell the Slim Screen, “Translate American Sign Language to English.” I hold up the video of Thomas signing. The device processes for way too much time, then finally says, “He did it himself. He did it himself. He did it himself, is the translation of the clip you have ordered me to translate.”

***

I sit there for a minute, trying to make sense of what Thomas was saying. Then, I shout, “Mom! Dad! This is so urgent. Come here!” 

I hear their footsteps plodding along. Like they’re on a walk! Like they are lounging by the pool and getting pina coladas for me and Timmy. No, Mom, no, Dad. This most certainly is not the time to be drinking sweet pina coladas while dipping your feet in the pool. 

“Hurry! Hurry up!” I shout. The door to my room opens slowly, and my parents step in.

“Ok. Ok! Are you listening? You know I was watching the news clips of Thomas before his execution, right?”

At this, my parents nod. 

I continue, “And, I noticed, his hands were moving very, very much. I do that too when I talk, but not to the extent of what Thomas was doing. So I thought, maybe I would figure out more about who Thomas is. I scroll back to 2042, and golly, there’s an article about Thomas teaching sign language!”

My mom turns to me. “Honey, I am impressed by what you have uncovered, but do you think there’s a chance Thomas did it? I mean – ”

“Mom. Are you serious right now? You have got to be joking.” However, my mom does not seem to be joking at all. 

“Dear, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but the people who have captured him are trained professionals. Surely they would know and can tell if someone is truly innocent.”

“Dad. These people killed a boy with their only evidence being my word. Do you understand how unreasonable this sounds?” I say. My fists are clenched. I already talked to Mom about the killer being on the Elector’s side. Just what could have made her change her mind? My mother, who I relied on, who is my most trusted human on earth. What has happened to my mother? Can’t she see she is wrong?

“Thomas said, ‘He did it himself, he did it himself, he did it himself,’ in the translation. Do you see how big this is?” 

Unfortunately, my parents do not see. I sat up, “You don’t get it. He’s innocent.”

Yanking the doorknob open, I storm out of the room.

TEN

Who knew how to disable the levels? And what does Thomas have to do with this at all? Why was he randomly taken into custody? I decide to visit Thomas’s family once again. 

***

Knocking on the door, I fear I have made a mistake. Thomas’ family certainly would not want to see their son’s cause of death in the flesh. Before I can turn back though, the door opens and Lindsey peeks out. 

“Hi! I just wanted to ask a few questions because Thomas’ death is so confusing and does not make sense at all. I hope I’m not bothering too much, even though I know I am.” My brilliant idea suddenly turns not-so-brilliant. I should not have come here. Lindsey opens the door fully, allowing me to come inside.

I follow her to the living room, and watch her as she takes a seat on the stiff orange sofa. I follow suit.

She asks me, “Would you like anything to drink?”

Even though my throat is burning with thirst, I cannot take more from this family. “I’m okay, thank you,” I say.

Then, I proceed, “I was just thinking about Thomas’s death, and I thought why him? Because there were certainly many other people around the Alarm. There were so many other people who actually knew how to disable the levels. But Thomas was selected for a reason.”

Lindsey sighs, her eyes red and puffy, and quietly starts telling her story. 

“Thomas was selected for a reason. But not for the reason you think. You see, Thomas was one of the few carpenters chosen to feverishly work for four whole days, to end the idea of levels at all. They were told that the levels were unhealthy for society and the growth of humans. They poked and prodded with wires, changed the programs of the levels to allow them to be permanently discontinued. There were five of them. Everyone else but the Elector and those five carpenters knew zilch about this plan. When they finally succeeded, they were to report to the Elector himself. But those four other rats of people fled, leaving Tommy the only one to report to the Elector. Those four people literally left Triwall Sector. We still don’t know why. Anyway, he was driven to the Elector’s private office, where he told him they were successful in disabling the levels. The Elector flipped the switch that would wipe out the levels totally. Tommy left the office, proud of his accomplishment, but scared of the chaos that would happen.”

Lindsey clears her throat and wipes her eyes.

“This is where things go wrong. On the way out of the office building, Tommy said there was a thwack on the floor. A thump. He rushes back to his personal room where guards are already surrounding it. He stands on his tip toes and sees a petrifying scene. The Elector’s body is in a pool of blood. A slit in his throat. A knife lying next to his limp hand. The rancid and rusty odor emanated from the blood. Thomas tried to rush away, but someone grabbed him from behind, and told him to change, then come right back. He left, and then that’s where he ran into you, Alana. And so, Thomas’ death is not actually your fault. The Elector was not supposed to end his life. Thomas was not supposed to see that. The reason Thomas was given a death penalty is because he had seen the true cause of his death and was deemed untrustworthy to keep the secret. My husband and I, now you, are the only people who are aware of this. But it still saddens me. It really does.”

My eyes are overflowing with tears. I give Lindsey a hug. Thomas was right. It was him. “Him” could be anyone. It could be Thomas, who was part of the Elector’s death. But I will choose to think of Him as the Elector. The Elector did it himself.

The Passenger

A soft pinging plays as the stewardess who’s probably been working in this airport for far too long asks, for the third time, for a passenger to give up their seat on the overbooked plane. The terminal is cold and stiff, unlike the hot and stuffy air awaiting me in 600 miles and 4 hours. I look out the large windows facing the tarmac. The sun is shrouded in bright white clouds and a murky snow coats the grass. In the distance, an outline of my big gray city is barely visible. A line of older people begins to form in front of the desk of arguing flight attendants. I sit and stare at the bustling terminal until the same stewardess grips the intercom again and for the fourth time pleads, “Ladies and gentleman… This flight has been overbooked. If no one chooses to give up their place, the flight cannot leave. Southwest is willing to give away a 500 dollar voucher to another flight, if no one takes this we will randomly select one passenger.” 

She puts the microphone down and I see her begin to lecture a much younger, and likely more patient, flight attendant. The terminal falls to low chatter and the piercing screaming of three toddlers. Every person in the terminal knows someone would have to be crazy to willingly give up their spot on the only flight to Key West 12 hours before Christmas Eve. I whip out my phone and check the time, 12:22. The flight was supposed to board 30 minutes ago and now it seems that I’ll never get to escape this stiff bench and give my ears the relief of silence 10,000 ft in the sky. 

My eyes adjust to a rapidly darkening room as the layers of clouds thicken just outside the glass. I can understand why someone would want to leave Minneapolis in December. I don’t blame the passengers or the flight attendant for being so stubborn. Still, the tension in the room is tangible and all I want is for someone to just give in and let the rest of us leave. After not even a minute, for the fifth time in 30 minutes, a chiming plays again.

Instead of the gruff voice of a weathered old woman, a warm, eager voice of a man begins to play with the intonation of a grade-school PSA.

“Hello ladies and gentleman, this is Captain Pearson speaking for flight 2869. I hope you are all having a wonderful Christmas Eve with us at Southwest airlines.” 

He leaves a bit of space after an idiotic chuckle for a laugh but the room rings silent.

“Anyway… I am obliged to alert you all that a severe winter storm is approaching, and with this delay, there is the possibility of cancellation. I encourage anyone to please give up their seat so we can all go about our trip without further disruption.”

I can feel the collective stomach of the room drop. Instead of the sunny beaches and glorious sunsets of Key West, one of us will be stuck in the luxurious Minneapolis airport during a blizzard. 

How cliche, I think to myself with a grin, what Hallmark plot is this?

The minute that follows is one of the most tense moments of my life, second only to the time at work when I made an ill-timed joke about one of my colleagues’ late mother. In my defense, I didn’t realize she was a late mother at that time.

I took a week off work for this trip; I really could not miss this flight. The decision was pretty spontaneous. I was sick of the same routine over and over and I remembered how my parents would take my brother and me to Key West every winter vacation when I was young. Maybe the change of scenery or the déjà vu from my childhood would help me… 

The fluorescent lighting above seems to get stronger and stronger by the second, and the processed air seems to become more oppressive by the instant. The older people preemptively standing in a line like silver generals on a hill look around as if telling us that we were selfish for refusing to give up our seats that we paid for. I begin to think about why I’m really taking this trip.

Help me what?

Suddenly, the intercom screeches back on and Captain Perfect’s voice begins to replay like a scratched record. At this point, it probably would make sense for someone to just give up already instead of a random selection. Someone like me, I conclude. I mean, I’ll leave it up to another 5’11’’ guy on an irrationally expensive trip for no reason with a bit more honor than me. 

“Okay… since no one wants to give up their seat, uh, we will commence a random selection,” the captain states. I should interject, but I don’t. The odds I get selected are low anyways, and honestly some of these entitled rich people on their vacations should be humbled a bit. But then I kind of feel like this is some sort of Hunger Games drawing. A part of me is sure my name will be the one read out. 

“Marissa Waltzon, would you please check in at the desk to receive your flight voucher,” the captain states.

I quietly grunt a, “Yesss!” with a celebratory fist. As if I would actually be chosen at random. I guess this isn’t really a Hallmark film after all. 

I look around as the room releases a sigh of relief and the stewardess begins to check people onto the flight. I don’t really feel bad for this Marissa. She’s probably some Karen who’s been harassing the airport employees like most of the women here. 

“Sucks to suck.” I mindlessly let out with a grin as I gather my bags to board the plane. 

I then notice the woman next to me, a very young woman actually, and she seems equally offended and heartbroken. She gazes up at me like a wounded street cat. She’s an attractive woman unlike the others in the terminal. She seems to actually take care of herself. 

Her mouth hangs open as if debating whether she wants to say something or not. She definitely is one of those types. I prepare myself to back off and apologize to avoid any confrontation when she looks me up and down and scoffs before turning around to walk over to the desk. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t incredibly offended by that gesture, but I guess that’s women for you. I definitely need to go up and apologize. I’m above that. I speed over to the desk with my backpack in hand.

Right before approaching her I realize, Wait, what do I even say? Oh, sorry for having the maturity of a twelve year old boy. I hope you have a lovely Christmas Eve in an airport… There is no reason for me to even have to apologize. This is stupid.

Before I can turn around to retreat, Marrissa begins to talk to the flight attendant and I can’t help but overhear.

“Are there no other flights to Key West tonight?” she pleads.

The flight attendant shakes her head before tapping her iPad screen with ridiculously long, grotesque pink nails. 

“Ma’am, all flights for the next week are fully booked,” she nonchalantly says, not even bothering to glance up from her screen.

“How about Tampa? Tallahassee? Miami? Orlando?” she says, exasperated. Each time, the flight attendant shakes her head. “Well, is there anything you can do? Please, my mother is on her last legs and she has no one,” she begs. The flight attendant looks up at her, flaunting her wrinkled pale face and obvious wig that’s a bit sideways. 

Annoyed, she says, “Ma’am, it is Christmas week. All direct flights to Florida are booked, you should know that. The best I can do is fly you out to Missoula and get you on a flight to Miami from there in about 36 hours.” She looks down and starts typing before concluding with, “Unfortunately, the voucher can’t fully cover that and you’ll need to pay about 400 additional dollars.”

“Where the hell is Missoula? My mom doesn’t have two days, and I don’t have 400 dollars. This is ridiculous, aren’t you supposed to help me?” Marissa cries.

“Montana,” she replies, not even batting an eye. Marissa’s jaw drops and she stares at the stewardess in shock. “You can always drive,” she replies as if it were some sick joke.

Oh great, now I feel like a double asshole. This has to be some movie plot somewhere. Okay… I need to step up and help this poor woman. She’ll appreciate me so much. 

Nobly, I step up, struggling to find the words.

“Hello ma’am, uhm I’m sorry about your predicament and uhm, uhh,” I stutter.

She turns to look at me like she’s about to kill me before immediately turning back to the attendant.

“Wait no, uhmm, uh, do you wanna trade spots?” I manage to get out. Wow, this is pathetic.

“Huh?” she blurts out.

“I mean if you want to take my place… I can use the voucher,” I try to say as calmly as possible.

Before she can reply, the attendant working the line states that this is the last call to board over the intercom.

Panicked, she looks at me and gives me a nod of approval, and I try to flash a smile but it seems to fall a bit flat.

She whispers a brief, “Thank you,” before hurrying to the line and walking through the tunnel to the plane. I’m shocked. 

She’s walking through my tunnel to my plane to sit in my seat. Is that really all I get? She didn’t even ask my name or insist otherwise. Did I really give my vacation plans to a woman who didn’t even ask my name? Aren’t I owed at least that? That’s it, last time I’m being noble…  Totally unfulfilling… I really didn’t get any credit at all. Zero?!

I snap back to reality when I begin to think about my hotel reservations and my car rental. Oh my God, what have I done? I realize.

I talk to the flight attendant and she redirects me to another desk. After maybe an hour of frustrating back and forth with a much kinder employee, she issues me that ticket to Missoula and Miami for an additional 150 dollars. I go to my stiff bench to hunker down for the rest of the day as it begins to snow. The plane lifts off and here I am, still waiting to board, like I always am. As I sit and wait, I think about Marissa and her mom and the flight of ungrateful passengers and rude attendants, all waiting to get to the next place and do the next thing, moving from one boarding terminal to another while I’ll be sitting on this uncomfortable-ass bench. 

I guess that’s how the world works sometimes… 

Huh.

Why You Should Love Your Kids More than Your Hat

“Passports.” 

“Here are ours. My wife, Meena, my daughter, Adrika, and my son, Ravi.”

“Okay,” the customs agent replied with an eye roll. 

He was thanked for his tireless work nonetheless, and the family continued on their way through the seemingly endless Heathrow hallways. With their flight leaving at 8:00 AM, everyone was exhausted, so the nice, cool airplane that had softish seats with a small yet noticeable recline seemed like the perfect compensation.

This was no normal family though. With Siddarth leading the pack, carrying 3 ridiculously large black suitcases in his hands, his already impossibly large size doubled, he took up half of the hallway, causing all of the passengers to stare. His gorgeous, premium suede baseball cap with luxurious foam inner linings gave him a suspicious air that he loved and the cap lived for, but which the family was forever embarrassed of. 

The rest of Siddarth’s family seemed to have all gotten his wife’s more normal, though dwarfish in comparison, dimensions. Adrika, 16, was a solid 5 foot 8, almost a foot shorter than her dad, causing her to have a weird combination of love, admiration, and nervousness whenever she got to spend time with him. Sometimes, she felt that the hats he was always wearing got more attention than she did. I doubt she was wrong.

Ravi was a baby, only 2. Adrika, being 14 years older, had her doubts about him, but she was slowly coming around. Ravi was lucky enough to be gifted with one of the Siddarth’s prized possessions: a limited edition Gucci baseball cap that he got as a wedding gift. He was wearing it today, because, as Siddarth said, “It always is good luck when father and son are matching-matching!” With the eye rolls going unnoticed, he danced around joyfully the whole morning. Yes, it did look as weird as it sounds. 

“Should we find somewhere to sit?” Meena asked her husband. 

“Of course, of course. These bones need to rest someplace. Look at me carrying all these suitcases while you guys just lounge around.” 

His rambling went ignored because no one wanted to remind him that he was the one that had insisted on carrying the bags. 

With two hours still left until boarding, the family of four managed to find an empty row of 12 seats, and filled up the middle 8. 

“It’s a good thing that no one’s here in the morning,” Adrika said. “We can get a whole row to ourselves.”

“Yes, yes,” Siddarth huffed.

 “Attention, attention! Flight Number 457 to Boston is boarding. I repeat Flight 457 to Boston is boarding. All passengers must report to the gate!”

“Oh!” Siddarth woke up with a start. “Okay. Let us go now.” With a mighty heave, he lifted himself up, grabbed the suitcases, and pushed his family to the line. 

As Adrika walked with them, she already began to dread the moment ahead, the moment where her father would embarrass them even more. 

“Boarding passes please,” the bored security agent said.

“Okay, sir. But how much can we get an upgrade for?” Siddarth asked kindly.

“You can’t do that here, you should’ve just chosen a first class ticket when you bought your tickets,” the man replied, eyeing his cap, the bags, and the whole family’s clothes. “Or when you checked in.”

“But, sir, how about you check if there are some empty seats, and maybe we can squeeze into them?” He ignored the chuckling behind him.

“I’m afraid that is not possible. You will have to sit where you were assigned.”

At this point, another security guard came up, and even though he was big, he was no threat. 

“I’m gonna have to ask you to keep it moving, you’re holding up the line.” His thick British accent made Siddarth take a second before understanding what he said, and by this time he was fuming.

“You know, I am a high-class banker! I can make you pay for what you are doing to me!” His kind tone was replaced with a loud, obnoxious one.

“No one is doing anything to you sir,” the original agent said nervously. “You’re just holding up the line, so we’re asking you to just get on the plane.”

“This is outrageous! I was only asking for an upgrade, no need to belittle me!” He always threw in some big words when he was in this situation, hoping to impress the common folk. 

“Let’s just go to our seats,” Meena said softly to her husband. “No need to create such a big scene.” Even though she usually said these things to him, and he usually ignored it, this time it was different. This time, he sensed that his entire family, not just Meena, wanted him to stop (and maybe he did too). He immediately put down all the suitcases and just left the line, walking off with his head drooped and shoes dragging. It was like a flip had been switched; what was on full blast a mere moment before was now very suddenly completely off. This shocked everyone, and when I say everyone, I mean everyone. No one knew what to say or do, because it’s not every day you see a 6 foot 8 man become a depressed shell of a person in an instant.  

“Should we follow him?” Adrika asked nervously after a moment.

“Um, yes,” Meena said determinately. 

As they walked past the shocked security guard and boarding agent, with the suitcases in tow, they all thought to themselves (except Ravi, of course) that maybe they had had something to do with the meltdown. Maybe if they had been more supportive of the move to Boston, he wouldn’t have stormed off. On the other hand, since no one had wanted to move anyway, this might’ve been their lucky break. I guess we’ll see when we get there, Adrika thought to herself.

Even though I was very much ahead of them by this point, from the corner of my eyeline I could’ve sworn I saw a smile come quickly and quietly across Adrika’s face. She wiped it off her mouth in an instant, but it stayed wistfully in her eyes. 

As Siddarth moved surprisingly fast through the airport, I felt myself struggling to stay balanced on his head. At first I didn’t know why, then I realized it was because he was sweating. If I’m not mistaken, this might’ve been the first time he had ever sweat, or at least this much. The other three were seemingly not in the biggest rush of all time, and the suitcases certainly weren’t helping with that. They were catching up though, since even though we were running, he wasn’t at all fast.

Suddenly, he stopped. He bent over and panted; he was out of breath. He looked at his watch, then quickly turned it away to not be reminded that he was only “running” for four minutes. He managed to find a place to sit and sat there, hoping his family was coming after him.

When they finally arrived, they sat next to him, and without saying anything, he immediately felt more at ease and more comfortable. They were all silent, with only the occasional boarding announcement to fill up the peace. I wasn’t surprised, since if there was one thing that I knew about this family, it was that they weren’t talkers. They were more of a keep-quiet-and-think-to-yourself kind of family. Now, that was something that I actually didn’t mind, since I used all that empty space to come up with my own ideas about their life, and why I was even there. 

Hats are for heat, the rain, the cold, or for self-conscious people. With those options, I can make a pretty good choice as to why I was perched on Siddarth’s head, and it made me think even more as to why. What did he have to be self conscious about when he had everything? He had an extremely well paying banking job, a great house, nice cars, and a family. What else does one need? 

That’s when it hit me: he had a family, but he didn’t have love. He barely saw his kids, his wife was annoyed at him half the time (and vice versa), so then what? What else do you have when the only things that you love are things that you bought, not things you made? 

Well, I guess then you have nothing.

It was at that moment, when an Aha! expression formed on Siddarth. He had realized what he was missing! Previously, he thought moving to a new place with new people and new things would bring his family closer together, but it was all right here. That was shown in the way they didn’t all board the plane when he stormed off, but they came back to him, because at the end of the day, they wanted his approval and his love. 

Love. The one thing missing in his otherwise perfect life.

So for the first time in public in probably forever, he took me off, sat me down on a dirty airport chair, and embraced his family in one gargantuan hug that seemed to last for eternity. His smile plastered wide over his chubby cheeks, he whispered the three magic words to his family, and I swear some sweat dropped down onto the chair from the top of me. 

He looked at me and smiled, and we both knew that this was the last time we’d ever see each other. 

Data Log 0003

When you live on Jupiter’s coldest moon, Europa, it takes a lot to make you lose hope.  Like if a neighboring moon, Io, were to or by chance began to deteriorate and rain chucks of itself onto Europa causing mass spread destruction. Another piece of Io came crashing down in the distance. People around me fell into a state of anarchy. From the hardest working businessmen to the pettiest thug, everyone despaired. The never-ending cold felt unbearable, more now than ever. Another meteor fell and as if waking from a daze I took off like a bullet. Where I was going, I couldn’t tell you. Away from here was the only place I wanted to be.

I made it out of the city with relative ease as the rest were trying to find a way to escape through means of spacecraft. Only the wealthy would be able to board through. The rich live on as the poor get crushed by the weight of a moon. Poetic, or maybe it just sounds that way with no real meaning. Regardless, I’m now miles away from the once flourishing city of Cryosthesia. I decided to rest. Not out of exhaustion but to internalize the spectacle around me. The city falling to its knees, much like its people in the face of their inevitable destruction. Though there is a way off this frozen wasteland, a mothership known as The Beyond. A space shuttle that is unbiased towards its passengers and through a complex algorithm chooses those who get a seat in its hull completely randomly. My last hope.

 It leaves in 10 minutes and is only a few miles away. I can make it. Once again, I fly off towards my destination. The icy lake is no match for my legs. Prosthetic, of course. If they weren’t, I don’t think I could have made it out of the city if I didn’t have them. It’s a shame more people refused to go through with the vessel project. They might have a higher chance of getting through this global cataclysm. My mad dash to the neighboring city is almost complete by the time I finish that thought. This city is in even more chaos than Cryosthesia, people crowding around the ship futilely trying to overpower the heavily armed guards in an attempt to get on the ship after presumably losing their spot on The Beyond by cruel fate. 

I go up to one of the guards and ask him for a chance to get on. He smirks, saying, “It’s full, no space for any more civilians.” Using my enhanced vision, thanks again to the vessel project, I spot more than enough seats. When I confront the guard about this, he tells me, “You think us guards would protect this ship for free? Then again, you were dumb enough to give up your humanity for a couple of upgrades.” He laughs. “Our payment is a way off this hell hole,” the guard says before seemingly disappearing into the crowd.  I feel my world start to collapse in on itself, my eyes start to blur. There is no escape. The mourning of my own life is interrupted by the thrusters on The Beyond lighting up as, in record time, it blasts off into the atmosphere. 

As I watch it leave the ground and fly up into the sky, I turn around in defeat only to hear a deafening sound. Quickly spinning around, I watch The Beyond having a mid-air collision with a colossal piece of the Io, splitting into two before crashing in a fiery end. There is no way out. 

As the other people like me fall to the ground in despair, I begin to hear something. It sounds like ringing. 

“Return to t-the, the l-l-last failsaaaaafe.” I whip around to no avail. Nothing is there. Others like me begin to look around, as confused as me. The voice sounded strangely familiar for a voice in my head. If hearing a voice in my head wasn’t strange enough, seeing a beacon shoot up from a mountain was the cherry on top. I figure I have nothing left to lose, so I begin to follow the beacon. Others of my kind follow me, bounding across the ice with such speed that the ground shook beneath us. Reaching the source of the beacon, we see what looks to be a man-made cave in the said mountain. 

 Entering it with caution, a meteor lands behind us sealing us in. The cave is nearly pitch black, though we are still able to see fine. As we travel down, we enter a strangely well-lit room? It looks like a factory. This feels like something out of the dream. Suddenly, a voice comes up over the intercoms.

 “Hello, I’m The Architect. And this is the factory where you were all made. I made you. I am the creator of the vessel project.” This is the part where I mention that not just my legs are prosthetic, but my entire body. The vessel project allowed humans to partake in putting their subconscious inside an android. However, the creator of this project died thousands of years ago. “I have truly died, just like yourselves, I transcended to a higher life form The only difference between me and yourselves is that I did not put my subconscious in a mechanical exoskeleton and instead placed it inside the factory itself. The very ground you are walking on is me.”

“That’s great and all, but it doesn’t matter as we are about to be crushed by another planet!” Yells out one of the ways to survive through anything and everything. 

“I am the greatest Inventor of all time, do not doubt my creations.” Suddenly, I slowly become almost tired. “You may feel consciousness slipping away. That is because in the end you are still mine and I will keep you dormant until you are needed by the next civilization that comes to Europa. Your memory banks will be wiped as they have been many times before. Sleep well.” 

>End of Data Log 0003

Gateway to Heaven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I smell humans. Top grade humans.”

“There are no humans here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A much smarter friend,” he joked.

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

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

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

“Take the lantern, Emma.”

“Where are we going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go. We have to keep moving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you savor it?” I laughed.

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

 I shrugged, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Superhero Family

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Breakfast’s ready!” my mom yells. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You excited?” Jordan asks. 

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

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

“Thank god!” 

Bob the Doofus

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

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

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

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

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

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

The skeletons immediately caught fire and turned into ash. 

Dystopian Utopia Chaos

Thousands of years ago, the earth developed and developed with human safety and entertainment as the main goal because people on earth wanted to make it a better place. In their minds, if people were safe and happy, then what could go wrong? The world would be perfect. But unfortunately, by trying to create a utopia, they created a dystopian society, which people eventually realized was boring and nothing was ever happening. So people decided to smash it all, giving up everything for freedom, unpredictability, and overall chaos. But that was 10 years ago, and now everyone is living well, if not safely.

Semkantrigorenem gets up and starts walking around camp, trying to remember everything about himself just in case a stronger blackout comes to him. He is from tribe Shampenk, and he is 26 solstices. He was only 6 solstices when the collapse came. Although he is too young to remember what life was like before the collapse, he can find bits of information about it whenever his tribe wanders somewhere else. From the information he gathers, it seems like it was a very boring place where nothing ever changed and people lived twice as long as normal. Then, Semkantrigorenem remembers that he is trying to make a list and so he continues thinking. After a while, he decides to go back inside where Gem lets him in. He walks toward their main tent and goes in as a discussion on whether or not to raid a smaller tribe nearby rages. 

“They are smaller than us, and we need the supplies,” one side of the argument declares.

“Ok, let’s say we raid them, then people could just raid us as easily,” says the other side.

“But there isn’t even another tribe anywhere between here and the horizon.” 

“But we should at least always be prepared for another attack.” 

Semkantrigorenem ducks his head out of the tent now, knowing that this could take hours, but he is also a bit anxious because he has passed the age of joining raids and helping to defend against them. Although, there have not been any raids recently, so this would be his first time. When he stops thinking about this, he realizes that he has made his way back to his tent and is now standing at the entrance. Suddenly, he can hear a commotion inside. He tenses, pulls a dagger from the folds in his clothes, and carefully makes his way around the tent to the back. He presses his ear against the fabric and can hear someone inside grunt, as well as a lot of crashing sounds. Almost as if someone inside were searching through his tent. Before he can do anything about it, the person inside opens the entrance and dashes out. Semkantrigorenem, quickly but stealthily, dashes out in pursuit. After what seemed like hours of weaving through the tents, the person arrives at the barricades surrounding the temporary camp and starts to scale them. Semkantrigorenem then sees a small bag attached to the shoulders of the thief.

“Oh no you don’t,” mutters Semkantrigorenem. Before the thief can make it half way up the barricade, Semkantrigorenem throws the dagger. It hits the thief on his back, just missing the bag and whatever was inside. The thief recoils in surprise, losing hold on the wall and sliding to the ground. Semkantrigorenem jumps on them and tackles them back to the ground. Unfortunately, they have a dagger and they blindly attempt to stab him, but Semkantrigorenem is stronger than the thief. He grabs the dagger out of the thief’s hand and pulls back the thief’s hood, revealing a small, sickly boy, maybe 20 solstices or so. When he looks in the thief’s bag, he realizes that the only thing in it is food. Then, he blacks out.

Semkantrigorenem blinks and opens his eyes. He looks around and realizes he is in the medicinal tent. He is also bandaged in a few places where the thief may have struck. He tries to sit up, but groans and lies back down. On hearing this, one of the healers comes in. 

“Are you alright?” she asks sweetly. Semkantrigorenem nods and the healer gently applies a cloth of warm water on his head. She then looks at him, most notably where he was bandaged. “If it is not too much trouble, may I ask what happened to you? I saw you in a blackout covered with stab wounds.” Semkantrigorenem sighs and looks at the healer. 

“There was a thief that stole something from me,” he starts, “But it was just a boy carrying food. And then I blacked out.” The healer nods and takes the cloth off his head. “How… How long was I unconscious?” The healer thinks for a moment and looks back at Semkantrigorenem.  

“Three days,” she responds. He stares at her unbelievingly.

“What about the raid? Did the tribe go without me?” he asks quickly.

“Yes, they left last night and have not returned yet,” the healer replies. This is not that surprising to Semkantrigorenem because raids usually take quite a while whenever the tribe has a chance to go on one. The healer gives Semkantrigorenem a brief check-up and informs him that if he drinks a lot of water he will be fine. With that, the healer releases him from the tent and Semkantrigorenem walks outside. But something seems different. He notices there is a sudden decrease of people around the camp. He quickly scolds himself for allowing himself to have another blackout because now they are becoming more and more frequent, and lasting longer and longer. Eventually, I might not even wake up from one, he thinks to himself.

Later that day, he sees a band of people coming towards them from the south and runs out to greet the rest of his camp.

“What happened?” Semkantrigorenem asks. “During the raid.” The group tells him that they had raided it with ease, only suffering one casualty on their side, although a few were wounded.

That night, there is a feast in celebration of the raid and mourning of the lost tribemate Selewitzki Hor. During the celebration, Semkantrigorenem tries a strange drink that makes him feel funny, but it is bitter, and he does not have much. Eventually, he gets so tired and he makes his way back to his tent. It is still a mess from when the thief came, but Semkantrigorenem does not care. He falls on a blanket and falls asleep watching the sun rise.

He wakes up in the middle of the day, still tired and with a sudden headache. It is probably nothing, Semkantrigorenem thinks to himself. I was out late at night and had a weird drink. However, once he goes out, almost everyone else has an even worse headache or is still asleep. He learns that they will be leaving soon and that he should pack up, so that they do not leave without him. So, Semkantrigorenem heads over to his tent and starts to pack up inside. As he is packing, a large but skinny dog comes into his tent and starts sniffing for food. Semkantrigorenem slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hunk of bread. He tears off a piece and throws it to the dog, who hungrily snatches it up and looks expectantly at the remaining bread in his hands. Semkantrigorenem tears up the rest of the chunk and throws it to the dog bit by bit. Once the entire thing is finished, Semkantrigorenem tries to approach the dog.  As he gets closer, the dog sniffs him but immediately then bolts outside, presumably looking for more food. Then, Semkantrigorenem remembers that he is supposed to be packing, and so he continues to pack.

Once he finishes packing and the rest of the camp is ready to move, they decide to stay a little bit longer to have a third meal, and after that they will go. They decide to go northeast because they remember there is a body of water over there to clean and fill their water skins. The rest of the camp is glad to hear this because they are starting to smell and are running low on water. 

Later in the day, everyone helps prepare for the feast again. They start eating, drinking, laughing, and getting ready for the trip. But halfway through the meal, the course is a dog on a large plate, surrounded by different vegetables and spices. Overall, it looks delicious because meat is hard to come by and as such everyone is always grateful for it. Semkantrigorenem realizes that the dog being served here is the same one he had fed a few hours ago. The realization makes him sick, but he does not want to look childish, so he does not complain. He goes up and gets a slice and a few vegetables. Even though he might throw up, he still decides that he will eat a tiny bit to satisfy his hunger and everyone else at the feast. Once he bites into it, he blacks out. 

The end.

Terms and Pronunciation: 

Semkantrigorenem – (sem-can-trig-ore-nem)

Shampenk – (sham-pen-kh)

Gem – (sh-em)

Selewitzki Hor – (sell-eh-wit-ski-hor)

There are two solstices every year

Failed

It was an ordinary Tuesday morning. The sun shone through the cracks in the blinds. A light layer of frost covered the front yard. I regrettably got out of bed to eat breakfast. I got on the bus before arriving at the bane of my existence, school. I walked into my first class, math. Yuck! Students were piling into every classroom until the bell rang, and like magic, everyone disappeared into their rooms. 

“Good morning. How is everyone today?” Ms. Reed asked the class. “Remember, the math final is on Friday.” Many students groaned. “But you are all going to fail!” she cackled. “You were such a bad class that by October, I started teaching you wrong things. Y does not equal BM plus X. Now you are all going to fail this test and class.” Some students started crying or whining. Others were pulling out their phones and notes to fact check. But some of the lazy students (like me) just relaxed and started to talk to each other. 

“You can’t do this to us. I need to get into AP Applied Physics with calculus and quadratics next year,” Jane, the extreme overachiever, complained. 

“You are too smart and cocky. Your ego is even higher than your IQ level. By failing this test, you will have to graduate with everyone else instead of at fifteen. No more pre-accepted into Harvard and Oxford for you! Mwuahaha. Now you will be at everyone else’s level. Your GPA might even lower to a 3.9.”

“No!” Jane screamed, as if the sky were falling down. “I will report you or kill you.”

“Why are you doing this to us?” Will asked.

“Because you are all horrible students.” Ms. Reed connected her computer to the projector and opened up the digital grade book. She opened up Jane’s grades and started lowering it point by point. 100% became 99% and so on. Jane was screaming and crying like this was torture. 

Jane suddenly leaped onto Ms. Reed, scratching her with her nails. Some kids pulled Jane off of the teacher, but Jane was still fighting back. She grabbed one of her always sharp pencils and tried to stab Ms. Reed. 

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Jane screamed, punctuating every word with a stab. “I hate you!” she screamed. 

“You should only be hating each other. You all did this to yourselves,” Ms. Reed said. 

“But I’m blaming you!” Jane screeched, pulling Ms. Reed out of her chair and pushing her to the ground. 

“If you want someone to blame, look behind you.” Ms. Reed looked at me. “You are the reason why everyone will fail because you are the worst student of them all.”

Jane tackled me, holding the pencil inches from my eye. 

“You are the reason I’m not going to Harvard. DIE!” She started jabbing me with the pencil. She grabbed the ginormous book she had to prepare for her college-level botany. She started to whack me with it. 

“I will smash your nonexistent brains!” she screamed, raining strikes on my head. 

It took five people to lift her up and throw her out of the classroom. Jane clawed at the door, kicking and screaming. 

“YOU WILL FAIL!” she screamed. 

Ms. Reed cackled. “You all will fail,” she said. We watched as she lowered all of our grades. We heard Jane wail from the hallway. 

“FBI. Do not move,” a woman on a megaphone said. FBI agents broke down the door and streamed in through the windows. “You are under arrest for emotional torture.” Ms. Reed was put in handcuffs.  

“Wait!” she said. “I only tortured the brown-noser.”

“GPA?” an agent asked. 

“4.9,” Jane said. 

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ms. Reed said. 

“What classes are you taking?” the agent asked Jane. 

“All APs, and I’m auditing courses at Harvard, Yale, and Oxford,” Jane answered proudly. 

“You are free to go, Miss. Sorry for the trouble.” They took the handcuffs off, and all the agents cleared out. 

“Good luck,” Ms. Reed said. She cackled like a witch. 

The Comrade: Part 1

The Comrade… Part I

The murder was timed perfectly. The target had no hope. 

Never call the victim by their name. It personalizes the situation and you will hesitate as you realize what you are doing. The advice seeped into The Comrade’s mind as he threw the knife. It was a perfect hit, like always. The Comrade’s real name was Braydon, but nobody called him that. He had enhanced senses that allowed him to track things easily. 

There was a meaty thunk as the knife passed into the target’s arteries. The Comrade stepped out to end the job. 

The sweet satisfaction of a kill. Especially this one. The target would pay for his arm with her life. 

The Comrade was one of the deadliest bounty hunters on earth. He did not know why the client wanted the target dead. He did not know who the target really was. A good hunter does not ask these questions. A good hunter does not hesitate to finish off the kill. The Comrade had been on many missions before, and it showed. Bullet wounds, knife scars, burns… fruitless attempts of a victim fighting back. There had been one incident where the victim had survived. Once again, now the survivor was no longer. 

Comrade would have been a normal boy, growing up in a normal school in Cornwall, and followed in his dad’s footsteps as a butcher, if not for the war… or the Neutralizer.

15 years earlier in the year 7062… 

Cornwall, The Constipated States of Russia, Formerly Europe

The bombing was ceaseless. Braydon knew he wouldn’t last long. He was huddled next to his mother on the floor of an evacuation shelter. He dreamt of better times and fell asleep with the rhythmic BOOM of the bombs. He awoke to his mother shaking him, the panicked look on her face causing an adrenaline rush. The bunker had been bombed, and now it was a smoking hole. Braydon and his mother rushed out as the rebels started to storm the bunker. He was lucky none of them saw him. 

Suddenly, three rebels popped out of a dark corner and started shooting at him and his mom. He never saw his mother again. 

In the span of about two seconds, the rebels were on the ground, dead. The sound of a jetpack made him snap around to behold the sight of The Neutralizer. He was decked out in full titanium armour with a strong blaster in his hand, a heavy sniper slung across his back, which was one of the newest models. He had a bullet carrier across his chest and leg and a cape across his back. He had an extra titanium jetpack in his hand. The helmet and knives strapped to his legs identified him as part of The Watch. 

The Watch was a mysterious group that existed before the rebels. Nobody knew which side they were on, but now Braydon knew they were going to help. 

There was a rebel sneaking up behind the warrior. Before Braydon could tell him, with alarming and cunning speed the Neutralizer swung around and shot him. The rebel fell to the ground dead. The warrior held out the jetpack to him. 

“Is this for me?” Braydon asked cautiously, the excitement building in him. The Neutralizer said nothing. Must not be a very talkative guy, Braydon thought. He took the jetpack warily, as if it might explode in his hands. He felt the cool metal soothe his skin as he strapped in. The Neutralizer pressed a button on his wrist guard, and suddenly Braydon shot up into the air. The weightlessness made him feel giddy as he landed on top of a building. 

“Come with me. You may call me Commander. Do not try anything or you shall have a terrible fate.” The warrior’s deep voice echoed through his helmet. 

“You mean, kill me?” Braydon stuttered.

“There are worse things than dying,” was the reply as he blasted off. Braydon found the button on the side of the jetpack, popping out a joystick in front of him which he could control. He followed the “Commander” through the bombs of terror. He glanced down and saw the scene he had fled, gazing at the destruction and hollowness.  

As Braydon and the warrior landed in a small dark alleyway, there was the pitter-patter of footsteps, and then a sharp cry of death. They both landed silently. The Neutralizer told him in silent language to stay and be quiet. Braydon watched silently from the corner as he took out his blaster pistol and walked along the hard ground. He looked once, lifted his pistol, and shot. The other enemy shot at the exact same time and the shots bounced off each other multiple times before flying away. They both gave a hearty laugh, embraced, and began to walk away. Braydon started to walk toward them but not before he spotted a small frilly dress rush past him in an alleyway. He thought it must be another refugee. Five minutes later, trailing the two warriors, he had the impression that someone was watching him. He swung around to catch a glimpse once again of a polka dot dress, this time catching a little bit of the girl’s hair. 

“Hey wait! Who are you?” he shouted. He ran to where he had last seen her and just saw her round a corner.

Giggling erupted from somewhere behind a wall. Braydon silently walked toward the sound, a smile spreading on his face. He jumped forward and said, “Gotcha little skunk!” 

The girl smiled and said shyly, “Hi. I’m Marybelle, but you can call me Mary.” 

“Hi, I’m Braydon. Why are you following me?” Braydon asked timidly, helping the girl up. Marybelle looked like she had just woken up from the ground. Her dress was caked with mud, and her hair was messy, sticking to her face which was covered in grime, but held a certain gleam to it which made her look pretty. 

“I was following metal man,” she replied. “He saved me.”

“He saved me too,” Braydon said quietly. “Speaking of which…” The warriors were far away, and both Braydon and Marybelle were out of breath when they caught up. 

“Commander,” huff, “where are you,” huff, “taking us?” asked Braydon.

The Commander and his buddy turned around. “Us?” he questioned. He acknowledged the little girl and said gruffly, “No friends along.” 

“But… she said she was rescued too…” Braydon protested. 

“Oh. That’s my sack. Ahaha,” his buddy “Ex-Commando” explained. 

Marybelle ran up to “Ex-Commando” and hugged him. “Metal man,” she said, pointing to the man.

Braydon gave a small laugh, which sparked giggles out of Marybelle. She was like a little ball of sunshine. She must have been only about five years old. Braydon couldn’t stand to think that people as young as her would be facing this war. 

“Come now, children. You must prepare,” the Commander ordered. Braydon followed him to a door set in a stone wall. He hit it with some sort of pattern, and they waited. About ten seconds later some sort of spyball popped out and viewed all of the customers. The spyball retracted, and a grinding sound emerged from the door as it swung inside. They all walked  though into the hall. The hall was long, with no pictures or paintings, and made out of pure marble. More “metal men” were on the side of the hall, cleaning their weapons. They all stared as Braydon walked though. 

“You found a sapling?” one of the warriors grunted.

“Yeah. The first one too!” Commander boasted. “They’re going to get the best armour.”

The Commander led Braydon away from Marybelle and brought him through a hallway to a metal door. Braydon heard a faint clanging coming from inside. 

“Put these on. Then you might not die,” Commander laughed again. He handed out something that looked like a foil cap with eye coverings. Braydon didn’t know how you would be able to see through them, but he put them on. Suddenly, his vision was enhanced. He could see things with intense clarity, from the texture on the Commander’s helmet to the finest grain of sand on the ground. 

“So… can you see anything?” the Commander asked.

“Y-Y-Yeah.. Everything looks so… pure!” Braydon stammered, looking around. 

“He is the Chosen One…” the Commander said under his breath. Braydon acted like he didn’t hear him. The last thing he wanted was more attention. 

The Commander knocked on the door three times, and the door opened. Inside, Braydon saw an armory. The clanking sound grew louder, and Braydon could see an Armourer hammering a piece of titanium into what looked like a chestpiece. 

“The sapling is here, old one.” The armourer turned around, and Braydon saw her gold helmet. 

“Gooooood,” the Armourer dragged out. “His armour is ready.”

“I believe him to be the Chosen One, Master,” the Commander explained. “He can see through the glasses. 

5 years later…

Braydon was only 14, and yet he already felt his power growing. He could sense people without seeing them, hear things from more than a mile away, and see things in clarity. He had been admitted into the creed of the Watch when they discovered his powers. They had changed his armour to be smaller, so now he could stay safe from enemies. He had been given two blaster pistols as well as a considerably weak sniper which would only damage his target. 

This new mission was the hardest mission yet. He was to assassinate Will Hye, a Russian spy who worked for the Soviet Hye. This would be his first time on an assassination mission.

Braydon had been given the nickname “Comrade” because of how loyal he was to his teammates. This time he had been given the other child in the creed: Marybelle. Marybelle was only 9, but she was still experienced. She was a much better sniper than Braydon was, which made him envy her. She had the same armour as Braydon’s except for the blue design on the front of her helmet and limbs. 

They were camped out on a building very high. Marybelle was to snipe Will Hye, and if the shot missed, Braydon would go down on his jetpack and gun him down with his pistols. This mission was sure to be a success. 

Will Hye had just finished a meeting with another spy, Bill Nye. The two spies had been discussing plans on how to invade the Constipated States. They had decided to discuss these plans with their boss. Little did they know, that meeting wouldn’t happen. 

As Will walked out of the building, he felt like someone had punched him. He stepped back a few steps. People were screaming all around him, but he couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about. Then he looked down and saw the blood spilling out. His eyes began to swim, and black spots clouded his vision. The screams grew softer, and he could barely see. Will tried shouting, but no sound came out. He fell down and sunk into black oblivion. 

The mission was complete.

Whatever Happens In The Dark

There are three types of small towns: the happy-go-lucky town, the murder town, and the normal one. Our town just so happens to be the last one. 

We all go to one school, shop for food at one store, eat out at one restaurant, and buy clothes at the same department store. It’s all very simple. 

All of our grades are very small, so they’re squished into one class per year. However, if you ask one of us what it was we did or learned last year, we won’t know. None of us know. All we know is that we went to school and learned something. As far as we know, we get taught the same thing every year. 

My name is Claire. I live in this town, like all people do. We all know there’s nothing else out there, and we’ve accepted it. It’s just miles and miles of grass. So you can imagine the surprise when our teachers announced we would be going on a “field trip.” 

None of us knew what a “field trip” was, so it had to be explained. Basically, it’s when you get on a yellow bus and drive somewhere other than here. That would be fun if there was somewhere else to go. But there’s not. 

“Where would we even go?” Nathan asked one of our teachers, Ms. Harper. 

“Outside of the town line,” she said. “Obviously.” 

We all exchanged a look. Was Ms. Harper going crazy? 

But nevertheless, we all packed our lunches and got on a bright yellow bus the next morning. 

I sat next to my friend Kira. Across from us were Emma and Sammi, who brought candies for us to share. But Jake, the brute, stole them. He and his pig friends Lucas and Finn ate them all. It was disappointing, but Sammi is always prepared. She brought extras, and we were sure to keep them hidden. 

“Does everyone have their things?” Ms. Harper asked. 

“Yes ma’am,” we all chorused. 

“Wonderful.” She clapped her hands, and the bus door shut. 

We all jumped. 

“We’re off!” Ms. Harper said.

The bus began to drive, and we were all a bit nervous. Here we were, in this large yellow thing that hardly seemed safe, crammed together like a can of sardines. 

“Kira!” someone called out (I think it was Shawn). “How high can you get your leg?” 

“Yeah!” someone else cheered. “Do it!” 

It was no secret that Kira was the most flexible person our age, perhaps in our town, and we all took great pleasure in watching her stretch every which way. 

Kira lifted her leg up past her head and then back down onto the brown seat. Everyone on the bus cheered and clapped, and Ms. Harper stood up. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the town line! Prepare for some… changes.” 

Kira, Sammi, Emma, and I all held hands as the yellow bus crossed the town line, and drove past the sign that read, “Thank you for visiting! Come again soon!” 

That’s when we heard the scream. That’s when it all came flooding back. 

It was pure chaos. People were tripping over each other, trying to get to the bus door, but Ms. Harper snapped her fingers and banished us all back to our seats. 

“Enough!” she commanded. “You will speak one at a time, just like you’ve been taught.” 

“Let us go!” Charlie pleaded. “Please, we’ve done nothing wrong!” 

Ms. Harper smiled, and we all turned a shade whiter. “Neither did the other children, but you’ve been chosen.” 

Emma started crying. “Please!” 

“You!” Lucas roared, standing up and pointing at our ‘teacher.’ “You’ve brainwashed a whole town, and you expect us to sit quietly and twiddle our thumbs?” 

There were sounds of agreement, and Ms. Harper waved her hand. A layer of skin grew over Lucas’ mouth, and he screamed silently. 

I gasped and covered my own mouth. 

“You have been chosen by the Merciful One! Like all the children before you, you will meet your fate!” Ms. Harper said with a wicked grin. 

“Let us go!” Sammi cried. 

“The other children had similar reactions when their memories came back, but none of them escaped. None of you will either.” 

Emma stood up and threw a gumball at her, then another, and then another one until the whole bag was empty. Ms. Harper’s face was red with rage. 

“You dare to hurt me? Me, the Merciful Lord’s messenger? You will pay, girl.” Ms. Harper cackled loudly and Emma screamed. She clawed at her throat, and her pale skin began to grow black. 

Sammi screamed and tried to run to the back of the bus, but she fell in the aisle before she could reach the back door. 

An invisible force dragged her to the front, and then suspended her in the air. Her blue eyes became red, then black, then white before completely dissolving before us. She began to twitch before she, too, was engulfed in blackness. 

Emma was still struggling on the seat, and Kira was trying to help her. She touched her ashen arm, and then the darkness spread. Kira screamed, and then fell onto Emma’s body, becoming a corpse herself. 

I covered my eyes as I heard Emma’s crying grow louder and Jake’s screams of “get her!” eventually turned into him choking. 

Just like those other children, we would go missing. We would be wiped from the town’s memories and replaced with new, shiny versions of ourselves. Just like those other children, we would be eradicated. 

I couldn’t let her do this. I couldn’t. My friends were all dead or would be in a few moments. 

So I uncovered my eyes and ran. I ran to the front of the bus and tackled Ms. Harper to the ground. She screamed her horrible scream, and I fought the urge to cover my ears. I took off my shiny black shoe and hit her in the head with it over and over again until her wriggling stopped. 

I searched the dashboard for something to open the door, and after what seemed like an eternity of endless button pushing, one yellow button made the door swing open. 

“Quickly!” I shouted, running down the little steps. “Run!” 

I had expected to hear people shouting for joy and running to safety, but there was nothing. The screams and cries had stopped. There were no sounds of joy. There was only silence. 

I slowly walked back into the bus and saw nothing. Nothing at all. My classmates were gone. My friends’ bodies were gone. Ms. Harper’s body was gone from the floor. I was alone. 

I walked up the aisle and searched the seats for anyone who might have been hiding when I heard the noise. A person. Someone was clearing their throat behind me. 

I turned around expecting to see someone to help me, but I fell to the ground. Ms. Harper was standing there, large black wings stretched out. Her eyes were white and her nails were long and ragged. Her sharp teeth were stretched into a terrifying smile, and her hand was curled around a knife. 

“Poor Claire,” she cooed. “All alone.” 

“Please,” I said. “Please don’t do this.” 

She tutted. “I thought you knew better than to run, my dear. I always thought you’d know not to look into the dark.” 

“Let me go,” I begged. My blue dress had been torn, and I was trembling like a baby. 

“I thought you knew,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that whatever happens in the dark is none of your business. But I was wrong. You, like all children in that filthy town, don’t know any better.” She stepped closer to me and knelt to the floor where I was cowering. “Now you may join them, my dear Claire. That is my final gift to you. Hopefully there, you will know not to fight your destiny.” She gave me one final smile before it was all black. 

Ms. Cressida Harper walked back into the town later that day with twenty-two children that looked just like the ones she’d left with. But they weren’t them. Fortunately, no one would know but her. Just like every year. 

The yellow bus was parked in a lot and left for the next class, and Ms. Cressida Harper walked into the cafe where she drank a cappuccino. She smiled at the waiter who brought her the drink and smoothed out her yellow and red dress. 

Ahh, there really was nothing sweeter than the darkness.

The Otherworld, Book IX: The Shadow Legion

Trigger Warnings

  • Death
  • Animal Death
  • Burning People (though not graphic)
  • Death of a Loved One

Prologue

“Producat in flamma.” 

Clufa walked over to the edge of the cliff, a small flame flickering in her hands. 

“Junge currum suum fortitudinem.”

It began bouncing around her. Clufa didn’t mind. She was harnessing it, after all, so if it touched her, it would do nothing to her. She peered at the edge and saw the shadowy being.

Clufa didn’t bother to hide a small smile creeping across her face. She faced the man, and from behind her, she felt a cold chill. As she turned, Altzeroil let out a small breath.

“Facite hoc meum,” Clufa concluded. She grabbed the flame and, with a flick of her hand, an enormous flame appeared above her. She peered out to the edge of the cliff, and in an instant, she threw the flame towards the cliff. An\ huge explosion from the other side was heard, and Clufa could do nothing but grin.

As the smoke cleared, Hana walked over to the edge. A flower came onto her hand. She beamed at it. Clufa groaned, not having much more patience for her easily distracted little sister.

“Hana,” Clufa said through gritted teeth. “The wizard, remember?”

“Oh, um, right.” Hana quickly withdrew her flower. She stretched out her hand, and a large vine came from their cliff towards the other that Clufa had blown up.

Clufa heard a couple of shouts from the cliff, and she knew that they were planning on evacuating.

Altzeroil drew his staff, and instantly, a large trail of ice grew from their cliff to the other, creating two paths. They didn’t really need the paths, of course. Altzeroil was just doing that to be dramatic, because what would life be without that?

Altzeroil levitated from the ground and began floating to the other side. Hana followed on her own vines (she was the only one of the three who couldn’t fly), while Clufa, being the impatient brat she was, flew like a rocket to the other side. As soon as she got there, she found the closest human she could and grabbed their collar.

“Where is Divino?” hissed Clufa, a flame flickering in her hand, getting dangerously close to the human’s head.

“I — I know nothing!” cried the human. “Please, have mercy!”

“Mercy is for cowards,” Clufa hissed, and she dropped the human, letting him fall down through the fog. She faced the rest of the humans. “You have two opportunities: surrender Divino and die together, or I will destroy you all now and give you no chance to bid farewell to your loved ones.”

“Clufa, please!” Hana reached the cliff. “No one deserves to die alone.”

Clufa rolled her eyes. “Hana, just find Divino, and we’ll be over with this.”

Altzeroil reached the other side. He looked across the humans, grinning.

“Altzeroil, NO, we do not have TIME for this!” Clufa spat.

“Please, just one?” Altzeroil asked. “I haven’t tortured anyone in weeks, I want to torment just one of these humans.”

“Oh, Altzeroil, don’t be horrible,” hissed Hana. “These humans are merely trying to protect their home — they aren’t the ones we’re here for.”

“But if we can’t find him, what else are we going to do?” Altzeroil muttered. “We’ve been searching for weeks. I’m not in the mood to go looking again.”

“Then don’t,” a powerful voice echoed from the edge, and the three primordial wizards turned and saw Divino, standing with a strange magical aura surrounding him.

“Finally,” hissed Clufa, and she summoned her staff. “Occidere,” she said, and a blast of fire spewed from her staff and hit Divino… but his aura protected him.

Clufa roared in fury and flew over to him. She tried to manually strike him down, but the second she got too close, the aura around Divino blasted her backwards. She immediately got up.

“How is this possible?!” Clufa screamed. “You’re a MORTAL!”

“It seems we mortals are capable of more than you thought we were,” growled Divino. “Surrender, Shadow Legion, before I’m forced to use this.” He raised a small globe in his hand.

Clufa let out a small scoff. “You plan to trap us in the limbo dimension? Pathetic fool, don’t you know that we are the primordial wizards of the ELEMENTS? We cannot be defeated!”

“Correction — you can’t be killed,” said Divino. “You can, however, be defeated and locked away for millennia to come.”

“Then it seems all we must do is keep you from using that,” Altzeroil said with a grin. “From inside your protection aura, you are unable to use that thing. You must come outside to face us, and to do that, is to risk death.”

“Some things are worth risking,” snarled Divino, “so that you can’t bring out your genocidal apocalypse!”

“Your kind has abused the magic that we gave you,” growled Clufa. “You use it to torment other creatures and even some of your own kind. You do not deserve this power.”

“That’s hardly a valid excuse to destroy and remake everything!” Divino cried.

“Everything will be as it was, with one thing changed: you will no longer have magic,” Altzeroil explained. “Everyone will only be dead for a few moments, so calm down.”

“We can’t trust you, not after what you did,” Divino growled.

“Then get out of your shell and fight us!” Clufa yelled, more fire erupting from around her.

Hana hopped towards them, grinning.  A large vine carried her upwards, and she gazed down at her siblings and Divino.

Divino, to Clufa’s slight surprise, chanted an incantation and the aura around him vaporized.

Clufa wasted no time. She raised her staff and an enormous fire erupted from it, and it struck Divino.

However, Divino was prepared, and he conjured another shield to deflect her power as he conjured his item. Altzeroil noticed this, and flew over, attempting to grab it, but in the nick of time Divino grabbed Altzeroil and blasted him with the object.

Altzeroil was highlighted with white magic. He gave a yelp as his form suddenly vanished.

He’s in limbo, Clufa realized. That man… his magic worked!

“Altzeroil!” Hana cried, looking horrified.

Clufa let out a frustrated growl, but as she attempted to attack Divino once more, Divino leapt upward to Hana and attacked her with it too.

Hana immediately vanished as well and all her vines disappeared.

Clufa scoffed. “Looks like it’s just you, and me then. Once I destroy you, I will release my siblings,” she growled.

“If you destroy me,” corrected Divino.

“Or if I do,” another voice came from the sky, and Clufa looked up in time to see a woman encased in blue armor floating in the sky. She gazed down at them.

“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, ZADUS!” Clufa yelled.

Zadus came down to the ground. As Divino launched at her, Zadus simply grabbed his arm and held her hand inches away from his neck, holding a spell in her hand. “Surrender, Divino. You can’t overpower me.”

“We cannot let you unleash the titans,” Divino said.

“And you think you’ll be able to stop me?” Zadus questioned, stepping closer. “May I remind you that I have the power of the cosmos?”

“Then your weakness is down here,” Divino said, and he blasted Zadus with the object. Of course, it did nothing, but the second Clufa went to attack Divino, he leapt at her and her magic hit Zadus instead, suddenly encasing her in amber.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” cried Clufa. “HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!”

“Perhaps it’s destiny,” Divino admitted. “Perhaps the time of the primordial wizards has come to an end.”

With one more blast, a ball of light hit Clufa in the chest. Clufa had the luxury of seeing her spirit shoot up to a space unknown as her body went completely limp.

When Clufa opened her eyes again, she was in some white room. She saw Altzeroil and Hana in the room as well.

“What — what happened?” growled Clufa. “Where are we?”

“We are in the limbo dimension,” Altzeroil answered. “That wretched wizard put our physical bodies in stasis and imprisoned us here… It will take us millions of years to return to the physical realm, if we are able to at all!”

“Then we will wait for millions of years,” Clufa declared. “Zadus has been imprisoned in amber, and she won’t be released until we release her. We will wait until the balance of magic has been altered, and then… we will break free.”

“You know, on the bright side, we have each other,” Hana interjected. “And we can still use our magic here, and it’s just the three of us! So we can be as chaotic as we want!”

“That does sound fun,” Altzeroil admitted. “What do you think, Clufa?”

“I think this will be a long prison sentence.”

Chapter 1

That was the end.

I guess not the end of the story, because, well, you’re still reading.

But that was the end of the reign of the Shadow Legion… at least for now.

See, my name is Ash. I was a sorceress who lived about three million years after the reign of the Shadow Legion and have lived for about two thousand years since. Lucky me, right?

Not exactly. Since apparently I was violating the rules of “disrupting connection between magic, risking releasing ancient beings, blah blah blah,” I was imprisoned… no, not in an alternate realm, but in my own house.

Exactly how humiliating can a defeat be, especially for a powerful sorceress? I personally can’t see how it could be any worse than this.

But I’ve been wrong before, so I really don’t know.

Anyway, you’ve probably read a bunch of other stories about stuff like heroes saving their world from some kind of big threat that’s going to cause catastrophe, and the heroes are flawless and perfect snowflakes who are never questioned and always save the day.

And you probably find that annoying, don’t you?

Well, if you do, I have good news for you! I’m not biased towards the winning side. If you really want to know why books are always so biased towards the heroes, it’s because they’re the ones who won. But here I am, someone who lost, with no hint of bias towards those who’ve won!

Why?

Because, as you can guess, I’m a little irritated with how my life has turned out!!!

You know, trapped in my house, forced to give anyone who wanders here some blessed magic powers so that they can think they’re some precious little snowflake who has done no wrong.

But anyway, enough of that. I did my research, I stalked the limbo realm… and I know about the Shadow Legion. And I can tell you about them because I’m sure you’re wondering: what exactly happened to them? And is there any chance that they could come back?

In short, they were trapped in limbo to keep them from becoming titans and remaking the Fantiverse, and yes, there’s a very good chance that they’ll come back because a magical connection was severely altered in another world.

If you want a more detailed explanation of what’s happened, well, that’s what I’m here for.

So yeah. The Shadow Legion.

Clufa, Altzeroil, and Hana started by redecorating the limbo realm, at least the part of it they were imprisoned in. I guess they figured if they were going to be imprisoned there, they might as well make it just a little bit hospitable.

They each stuck to their own corner most of the time (except Hana, who had literally no regard for personal space, and honestly, I respect her for that) but had meetings in the center and often could temporarily break the connection between their plane of existence and the physical realm by communicating with those below.

Yes, limbo is above the physical realm. Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.

Anyway, so a couple of things happened in the million years they were imprisoned — namely that they did a LOT of manipulating.

And I mean, A LOT. All of them, even the temperamental Clufa, were pretty much experts by the end.

Perhaps I should give a couple of examples?

Well, here’s one.

(Please pardon the way it’s written, I was just taking notes on what was happening, so it’s written in script form.)

FREIZA

Daemones magnanime nomini tuo me benedicite mihi scientiam.

A large pile of smoke appears, and from it, a shadow that is shaped like CLUFA appears. The shadow is orange, with a redhead and yellow limbs.

CLUFA

Greetings, young wizard, and thank you for communicating with us. It’s been so long since we’ve had contact with those from the world below.

FREIZA

It’s an honor to meet you, master of the flame.

CLUFA

The flame is an art anyone can learn, but it is true that I am the creator of it.

CLUFA bounces around a couple of flames in her shadow form to show what she’s doing.

FREIZA

I’ve summoned you to ask: how may I topple the Wizarding Committee?

CLUFA

(scoffs) So there’s a wizarding committee now? Love that these pathetic humans pretend they’re the ones in control of the magic and try to hide that they have primordial wizards lurking over them right now.

FREIZA

Indeed; I wish to topple them, and take control of this world.

CLUFA

I can help you, and I’d rather you than the Wizarding Committee rule. But may I ask just why do you think you’re worthy of this?

FREIZA

Because I’ve studied magic for far longer than they have, and I work hard to learn it for myself rather than greedily taking it from others.

CLUFA

You’d be a step up from them, I’ll give you that, little cat. Just what kind of animal are you?

FREIZA

Tiger, technically, though most just call me a cat.

CLUFA

Yes, I can see that.

HANA

OH MY GOSH, THERE’S A CAT???!!!

CLUFA

Hana, shhh, I’m TALKING to someone, and we have to make a good IMPRESSION. PLEASE go back to your corner and… play with plants or something.

HANA

But… but it’s a CAT!

CLUFA

Just summon a cat of your own! Can’t you do that?

HANA

No…

CLUFA

Well… can’t you make a sculpture of one?

HANA

I’VE ALREADY MADE NINETEEN THOUSAND FIVE-HUNDRED SEVENTY-SIX, I WANT TO SEE A REAL CAT!

CLUFA

Ugh, fine, come on.

HANA’s shadow appears in the smoke. Her’s is green all over with a few lighter shades of green in her limbs and head.

HANA

OH MY GOSH HIII!!!

FREIZA

Um… hello I guess.

CLUFA

Okay, you saw the cat, now please go. 

CLUFA pushes HANA away, and her smoke disappears.

CLUFA

Hi. Sorry. My sister’s crazy about cats. Runs in the family, I guess, since cats are one of the only species my brother doesn’t like torturing.

FREIZA

That is… um… quite alright. ANYWAY. I’ve been told that you can bless others with your power.

CLUFA

You’ve been told correctly.

FREIZA

Well, I want to know if you can do that. If you can give me that power.

CLUFA

Can I? Yes. Will I? Maybe. It depends on what you do for me.

FREIZA

What can I do for you?

CLUFA

I am currently in the limbo realm, and I need an external force to help me escape. That’s where you come in.

FREIZA

Oh?

CLUFA

Yes. You must alter the balance of magic so that the barrier between limbo and the physical realm is shattered — only for a brief moment, mind you — but enough for three demigods to escape.

FREIZA

You’re demigods?

CLUFA

Well, we call ourselves that, but, technically we weren’t born to a god or a human, so… JUST LISTEN TO ME!

FREIZA

Yes, of course, um, sorry.

CLUFA

Now, I will bless you with some of my flames, and you may be my host. With this power, you must destroy the Wizarding Committee.

FREIZA

Hold up, hold up, what do you mean, ‘host’?

CLUFA

I mean, the Shadow Legion can use any willing sorcerer as their host if they’re in limbo, to shatter the barrier between worlds. That is what I plan on doing with you, but I need two others.

FREIZA

Fortunately, I know where to find two others. But why should we believe you?

CLUFA

How else do you plan on getting this power?

FREIZA

Hmm. Very well. Grant me your strength.

So yeah.

That’s all I remember from that scene because a bunch of humans came and asked for a bit of magic, and of course, I had no choice but to say yes because of this ANNOYING CURSE THAT KEEPS ME HERE FOR ETERNITY.

Anyway, I suppose that leads into a little of what happened, right? Clufa eventually possessed Freiza and used her to start creating havoc in the Wizarding World (the planet in which that was located).

But there is a lot more to this story. Why? Because many unexpected things happened on the journey.

For one thing, the Wizarding Committee was, in fact, toppled, but not because of Clufa or Freiza. It was because of the citizens of Tulgey Wood, who waged a massive attack, allying with Gnome and Cat Island in order to achieve this. It resulted in two major casualties (not counting the Wizarding Lord, whose death was the goal).

As you can imagine, it caused some shaking of the realms, but not enough.

It wouldn’t be until several weeks later that a true shaking would occur…

Chapter 2

Ah. You again.

You certainly are hungry for more information?

Greedy human.

Assuming you’re human, of course. I really don’t know at this point. Last week I heard that a strange creature with purple eyes and black fur was the one who struck down the Wizarding Lord at the cost of his own life.

Guess that means more than just humans have large intelligence now?

Not that humans are very smart, of course.

Anyway, I won’t jump to any conclusions, and I’ll just give you what you came for.

So a few things happened in the three weeks before they were released. Some external things involving Clufa manipulating her way into getting out with her siblings, but I must say, much to my surprise, observing these demons actually turned out to be a really interesting character study!

I almost feel like I’m watching a movie when I’m watching Clufa, Altzeroil, and Hana all together (maybe a horror drama sitcom? I don’t know), because their interactions and clashing personalities are just delightful.

Take one night, for instance.

Clufa was conjuring some kind of magic aura that was causing tension in limbo. Guess she thought that would lead to some magic misconnections, but if she actually read the books like her brother did, she’d know that would be pointless, as nothing that happened in limbo impacted the world below.

As she was doing this, she was suddenly interrupted by a large bush that took the shape of a cat, that suddenly pounced on Clufa, and bounced off her, destroying her incantation.

Clufa growled in frustration.

“Sorry!” cried Hana, running by Clufa, chasing after the cat. “Lost pet!”

“Hana, what did you do?!” Clufa barked.

“I finally learned how to bring things to live!” Hana answered enthusiastically. “I created a cat, made of leaves! He’s now my best friend ever and for all eternity!”

“Well, can you please just take it away from here?” demanded Clufa. “I’m trying to cause balance shifts from here!”

“You realize that’s pointless?” Altzeroil questioned sassily. “Nothing that happens here impacts the physical realm. We can cause an earthquake, and the physical realm will be untouched.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot, since no one else is trying anything!” Clufa responded irritably. “Now, WAIT.” She closed her eyes and spread her arms out. “Omnis virtus mea, et adducere magicae.”  A yellow string appeared between Clufa’s hands. She began circling her hands around each other, as the string began vibrating. “Utere ea ut conteram nos.” She began levitating, and when she opened her eyes, they were glowing. She looked down and brought her hands inches apart. The string turned into a ball. “Claustra perrumpere!”

Clufa threw the magic ball down the limbo barrier, but it simply bounced off and hit Clufa in the head as though it was a basketball. Clufa fell down, clutching her head, as the ball evaporated. Her eyes stopped glowing.

“Clufa!” yelped Hana, hopping over to her sister. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Clufa answered, shaking off the pain in her forehead.

“As I said,” muttered Altzeroil, levitating down, “that was pointless. It got you hurt, and it could have gotten one of us hurt.”

“What have you been doing?” Clufa demanded, getting up. “I’ve been trying to get us all out of here, you’ve just been floating around your precious ice palace and reading stuff, being a nerd!”

“That’s a compliment,” Altzeroil replied with a sly smile.

“IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE!” Clufa roared, losing her temper again, and a bunch of fire erupted around her. She levitated into the air, glaring sharply at Altzeroil.

“Clufa, calm down,” Altzeroil told her. “You’ll burn Hana’s things, which isn’t very polite.”

Clufa muttered as she levitated down and the fire died away. Clufa walked away to sulk her magma fortress.

“Um… was it something I said?” asked Hana, nervously clutching her cat.

“No, dear,” replied Altzeroil, floating back to his ice palace. “It’s no one’s fault.”

Fun, right?

Clufa was constantly throwing temper tantrums, yet at the same time was the most productive of them all, Hana had the IQ of a rat while she was probably the nicest of them all (not saying much), and Altzeroil was the sassy best friend who thinks he’s better and more chill (get it?) than everyone.

It was almost like being in limbo brought the best out of these people, which is interesting, because personally, I became a lot more insane while in this prison. I used to be much more level-headed, I guess you could say (though the people who imprisoned me here will probably tell you otherwise). Now, I’m pretty chaotic, so yay. They’ve gotten a lot closer and developed more antics. I guess not being alone definitely served a role in it.

Anyway, guess you’re done with all this “FUN FUN” stuff and want to get to the actual interesting stuff.

Fine, you cranky person.

Later, though. I need to get my sleep. Goodbye.

Solaris

Alabaster metal met obsidian with a clang that resonated throughout the courtyard, early morning light striking the pale blade in such a way that it seemed to glow from within. The trimmed maze of shrubs snaked around the two figures as they danced over and under in a deadly tango of reflex and skill. To a casual observer, it would seem that the pair were evenly matched, accustomed to each other’s fighting styles over years of practice. Yet a sharper eye might notice a slight misstep, a strike just off mark, a parry almost a second too late. 

“Watch out, Princess,” Emity smirked as her blade barely missed her opponent’s arm.

Adhara narrowed her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“Once you get this move right,” the woman shot back. Adhara’s only warning was a flash of dark silver before she found herself stumbling backward, the sound of her sword clattering to the ground ringing in her ears. Emity bowed down in an overly low curtsy. “I believe that I’ve won, Your Highness.”

Adhara pursed her lips in a failed attempt to keep from smiling. “Manners don’t look good on you, you know.”

“Nor do they look good on you.” Emity grinned, straightening up as she tossed an auburn braid over her shoulder.

“Nope, they don’t,” the princess agreed as she picked her sword up from the ground, her dark eyes twinkling. “Why don’t I prove it to you? Ready to lose?”

“Oh, you’re on. I admire your — ”

“Princess Adhara,” a nasal voice bellowed. “Just what are you doing?”

Adhara spun around and couldn’t help the frown that sprang to her face. Before her stood a middle-aged man dressed head to toe in blue velvet robes embroidered with gold. A matching feather hat sat atop his meticulously coiffed hair. Adhara rolled her eyes. The royal advisor had the uncanny ability to appear at the worst of times. “Does it matter? I can do whatever I want. It’s my castle.”

“Now, now, Your Highness. That’s where you’re wrong. This castle belongs to the Astel Dynasty, to the benevolent rulers of Cordin. It belongs to the King and Queen, and afterwards, it shall go to the Prince, which means you must follow their rules, and that starts with ceasing these… activities.” He wrinkled his nose as he waved his hand in Emity’s direction. The woman glared daggers at the man but said nothing.

“Too scared to come up with a comeback?” he sneered.

Emity set her jaw. “No, I just don’t want to get fired.”

“No one’s getting fired,” Adhara cut in, trying to ignore the sudden flurry of butterflies that had risen in her chest. “Your commands hardly have any weight to them, you know, especially with that awful hat. Honestly, where in the world did you find that thing?”

The man’s face turned scarlet — either from embarrassment or anger, Adhara could not tell. “As the official advisor to the King and Queen, I refuse to accept this type of behavior. Now you are to return indoors for your lessons right this instant.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

Something in the advisor’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Oh, I’m not telling you.” He moved to the side, and almost reflexively, any sign of emotion dropped from Adhara’s face.

The King of Cordin had always been taller than average. Once upon a time, Adhara had been convinced that her father could touch the Sun itself. She knew better now, but the way he was towering before was formidable, to say the least. He frowned as he took in the scene; the silence was palpable, Adhara’s face a carefully composed mask, Emity’s bold features a display of uncharacteristic fear.

“I looked out at the sunrise this fine morning, and what do I see but two shadows staining my gardens. Shadows,” he repeated. “Like dirt on ivory walls, tar on white marble, blood,” he took a step forward, “on silk tablecloth.”

It took Adhara a surprising amount of energy to keep from rolling her eyes a second time.

“It’s impudence,” the King continued. “Outright disobedience. It’s rebellion, which will lead to Darkness. Light must eliminate Darkness by all means possible. Whatever it takes to keep the flame burning. Hence, I have made a decision. This was by no means an easy decision, but it must be done. I regret to inform you,” he turned to Emity, “that you are no longer a part of the royal army, no longer part of this castle. Never were, it seems, if this has been going on for as long as I think it has.”

Yet another clang sounded throughout the courtyard as the black blade tumbled from trembling fingers. “I — w-what?”

“No!” Adhara cried. “You can’t do this. It was… it was my idea! I dragged her into this. Please, it’s not fair.”

The King ignored them. “Adhara, I won’t have you contaminating Light. Never let me catch you with this sort of peasantry again.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, the royal advisor scurrying after him like the weasel he was.

Adhara couldn’t hold back any longer, and she rushed towards Emity. Her vision was blurring — tears, she later realized — yet somehow, paths intersected, and the two friends found themselves stumbling into a wordless embrace. Seconds stretched into minutes, and for once, Adhara was grateful for it.

It was Emity who pulled away. She tried for a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I should — ” she drew a shaky breath. “I should probably go now.”

Adhara had never thought that the combination of these five words could render her speechless, particularly not when spoken by the person before her. A thousand possible replies tumbled through her head, and a thousand of them all seemed wrong. All she could do was look up at her friend, memorizing every detail for the final time. Brown met blue, and though they were very different colors, in that moment they shined with the same light.

Emity swallowed hard. “The sword,” she managed, gesturing to the obsidian black blade on the ground. “Take care of her for me.”

Adhara cleared her throat, blinking hard. “It’ll be here the next time you dare to challenge me. R-ready to lose?”

The former guard wiped her eyes and gave a small smile. “I admire your confidence,” she replied, voice trembling only slightly.

If beginnings were celebrated with fanfare, perhaps it was only fitting that this was an ending in silence. Adhara gazed at the courtyard gates long after Emity had passed through them. How strange it was that not long ago, adrenaline had coursed through her veins, her movements quick and deliberate when now, she didn’t want to take another step. The hedge around her hardly reached her waist, but the maze seemed infinite, twisting around her like vines that crawled up her arms and stole the breath right out of her chest. They created a labyrinth with her at the center.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, rose gold receded to cerulean, and the morning mist drew away. But the tears still remained. Soon the courtyard was flooded with light, void of all shadows.

* * *

Night was the best time to brood. As the sun sank below the horizon, the darkness deepened so that it was almost tangible, velvety drapes that wrapped one in perfect silence. The princess silently cursed the wide windows of her room that ensured that it would never be completely void of light. The full moon tonight was unusually comforting, though, its wide face non-judgmental as it shined down upon the sleeping kingdom below. Starlight illuminated the tears on Adhara’s cheeks, turning them silver as they fell through the air before disappearing into the stone of the windowsill as though they’d never existed in the first place. From the East Tower, a sea of trees stretched out before her, curving around the edges of the kingdom in a delicate embrace. If she squinted hard enough, Adhara could see the tips of a distant mountain range between the line where the land blurred into sky. The cool night air caressed her cheeks, drying her tears for the time being. Adhara sighed. Her breath curled into gossamer mist that sailed out across the moonlight before disappearing completely. Not even the night bothered to preserve any sign of her sorrow. 

And suddenly there was fury, blazing white-hot from within. 

The constant darkness seemed to mock her, taunting her with the way that it sat still, unmoving, unchanging. Adhara wanted to shatter it all, tear the solid sheet of moonlight into shreds, rip every star one by one from the sky, destroy the night and show everyone her pain. She wanted to scream and shatter the darkness, make them all suffer like she was. 

And then she’d laugh. Laugh at the pleasure of watching such destruction, smile at their fear as she waltzed through the kingdom, and reveled in the look of betrayal painted on every person that, no matter the face, would be one and the same.

I admire your confidence.

For a space in time, her heart seemed to stop. Adhara could imagine her friend’s face, jaw set, ready in a fighting stance, but in her eyes — shards of a broken mirror. Haunted. Haunting. In an instant, the fire evaporated. Neither smoke nor ashes remained, just suffocating emptiness.

She was hollow.

Adhara pinched herself. Who was she becoming? How could she let this happen? Why?

The final question echoed in her mind. The ground seemed to tilt until it was rushing closer. The walls were caving in, the darkness heavy, and she couldn’t breathe.

She was falling, falling, falling… spiraling downward, inward forever… 

And then there was a scream.

Adhara’s first instinct was to clap a hand over her mouth before common sense kicked in. Her throat didn’t feel raw from the sheer volume of producing such a noise, and there were no frantic servants or family members crashing through the door. The scream had really sounded far away, too far to have been coming from her. Surely her mind and heart weren’t so far apart? 

Maybe you’re losing it, a voice in Adhara’s mind said helpfully.

The princess frowned; it didn’t help that some part of her brain was actually considering that possibility. She closed her eyes against the breeze and attempted to mimic a sense of serenity… and there was the sound again, piercing the night.

It was really a chorus of sounds, closer to yells than screams, that clamored over one another like waves crashing against the coast. Her eyes shot open, and she found herself searching for the source of the sound. It wasn’t difficult to find. A spot of brilliant red-gold hovered before the steps of the castle. The shouts ricocheted off of cobblestone streets and granite pillars, twisting around wrought iron lamp posts with shrieks that clashed with the hum of steel blades. Torches seemed to set the swords aglow, blazing in the night, the fire too bright to be warm as it lit the faces of commoners and guards alike.

And yet, as Adhara glanced at the finery of her bedroom, the colors seemed muted, the sounds muffled as though she was watching the scene unfold through a veil. Three stories up above it all, the distance was palpable. She turned away from the window, the din fading into nothingness. Perhaps she just needed to sleep.

My Bright Blue Dreams

Editor’s Note: This story references self-harm and contains homophobic characters who use offensive slurs. 

Chapter One

Hello. I hate the word “hello.” I hate the word “shower.” I hate the word “cheese-stick.” I hate the word “hate” most of all. It puts a bitter taste in my mouth, and that’s why I hate it so much. Jeez, here I go again, thinking of a word that makes the sides of my mouth droop down even more. The teacher turns around to the class to see my scathing expression. 

He laughs. “Rain, does the scientific advancement of the printing press really make you want to burn the world down? I happen to think it is a very important part of history, and I would appreciate it if you give it some attention so you won’t have to go to summer school, despite the printing press’s pure and utter boringness.”

The nerds in the class laugh. I fake a little smile, but when he turns around again, I give such a goddamn dramatic eye roll at his goddamn obnoxious comment that my goddamn eyes hurt. I put my head down on the desk and wrap my arms around them like a little comforting burrito. Due to ordering a small instead of a large coffee this morning, I pass out until the bell rings, and I have to force myself up. 

I try not to meet the stares of people in the hallway because keeping eye contact is an extremely laborious process. Only when I get my life saving energy drink in 3rd period can I have the mental and physical motivation to cover myself with a plastic bag and suffocate the true person I am. To be the Rain that everyone loves to see. No one wants to be friends with a broken, sassy, gay boy. 

Chapter Two

Lunch comes around, and I am forced to sit with my friends and laugh and smile and wink at girls and act like a complete and utter jerk. You see, everyone wants to be me, everyone wants to have my friends, everyone wants to have my sense of humor, everyone wants to have my girlfriend, everyone wants to have my popularity. I wish I could give all of those things — except for the humor, of course — away. I wish it was as easy as giving someone a birthday present. But alas, I am known for not being a generous person, so maybe, just maybe, I keep these dreaded parts of myself because I like being able to taunt people about the things they don’t have. 

My friend, Brandon, snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Get out of your dumbass head, bro. Is it stormy in there, Rain?” he says, very amused by the extraordinarily idiotic pun that he made with my name.

Everyone at the table cracks up, and Brandon lightly shoves my head. They all go back to talking about who has the hottest girlfriend. You see, I never space out, I always listen — I can be in deep thought, but I will always hear what everyone else has to say. That’s the only way that I have been able to withstand these stupid conversations for so long. 

After my friends finish talking about girls, they move the conversation to one of my most dreaded topics: who can list the most reasons why Gregory is a f*g. The thing that perplexes me most is how I contribute the most to this conversation topic whenever it is brought up. With each fiery, disgusting word that comes out of my mouth, my throat burns more. And that burning of my throat travels down my body to my heart, my stomach, my legs, arms, feet, and everything else. When it travels everywhere, that’s when I act like the stupid jerk I am expected to be.

Chapter Three

Eventually, the school day ends, but I have to stay back in detention with Ms. Peder’s class because apparently drawing dicks on the whiteboard is “inappropriate.” I personally think it’s just gay. Either way, I drag myself to the classroom, but upon looking into the room, I stop dead in my tracks. In the back row of the seats are these blue, magnificently bright eyes shining though shiny, windswept hair that is dark as night, but an inviting kind of dark, a dark you want to explore. 

Ms. Peder clears her throat. “Rain, come in already, we don’t bite.” 

I reply with something smart and bitchy that I say purely out of instinct, but I don’t really realize what I say because all of my brain power is focused on not blushing and not staring at this boy. I hobble into the room and almost trip over a few desks until I find my favorite seat. This seat is right next to the window, and through that window you can look out into the pile of rubbish, overly enthusiastic lights, and broken but loyal people that come together to form what we like to call New York City in the 1980s. 

Looking out of this window distracts me from blushing and thinking about the guy right behind me. It’s kind of mesmerizing — the crowded landscape feels so small from the 5th floor, it makes me feel powerful. So I just sit there staring and craving to feel this power more intensely and craving to feel control at least over myself until the hour is over and I am free.

Chapter Four

As we get let out of the classroom, I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around. I jump with surprise as I see those bright eyes again. He gives me a gentle smile.

“You never thought that you’d talk to one of us nobodys before, did you, Mr. Popular?” He says this in a very sly, unashamed but extremely cute and somehow flirtatious way.

No no no no. He’s got this all wrong, I don’t want this popularity, I don’t want any of this. I just want to escape. I really hope he can see that. I really hope he is joking. 

I mumble, “I — ”

“Save it.” And he smiles through one half of his mouth, winks, and walks away.

I stand there and stare as he leaves until I realize how dumb I look and how if anyone saw me gaping at this boy, my reputation would be ruined. But isn’t killing this reputation that I have what I want? Why am I so afraid of getting what I want? Maybe it’s because you can’t take back what you let out. The words of your truth will be permanently branded on your forehead for all to see.

Sometimes I wonder why I fear permanence when I practice the art of it, when all I want everlasting change, when I try all I can to secure something for the eternity of my existence. Hypocrites, aren’t we? Like writing on the bathroom wall, “Don’t write on the walls.” We fear becoming total hypocrites. But when we are what we fear, that’s when something even greater than permanence overtakes us. And that thing, that feared thing that we become, that dreaded thing is called being human.

It’s unavoidable.

Chapter Five

I head out of school, longing for something to clear my mind, not to erase it or change it, but just to clear enough space for happiness and satisfaction. So instead of doing what most people my age do, which is drugs, I lug my cans of spray paint with me in my backpack to the place that I always go to when I have this longing. You see, I bring spray paint with me most days at school because I never know when I am going to need to use them to distract me from my overflowing thoughts.

Chapter Six

I walk to the subway, past the guys sniffing cocaine on the stairs, past the turnstile, onto the platform. I press my back against the pillar on the platform based on habit so that no one can push me into the tracks in front of the train and smile as they watch my body get crushed. I don’t want to offer anyone that amusement.  

I get out of the train and drag myself up the steps. I walk and walk and walk and eventually stand below my destination, gazing up at it. I check behind me as I walk into the alleyway. Once I reach the end, I climb onto the dumpster and jump to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape. Upon hoisting myself up onto the fire escape, I start my exactly 284 step journey to the top. I climb up hearing the familiar and calming clank of my footsteps on the iron rungs. 

Eventually, at step 107, I get to the roof, but I don’t stop there like I used to when I was younger and afraid. So I run and leap from this roof onto the next. I live for the thrill of that jump, knowing that there is nothing under you but trusting that you will be safe. 

I use this momentum to jump onto the wall on a higher part of the building. From there I walk along the wall until I reach a ladder and from the top of that ladder, I carefully step onto the brick oasis I love more than my home. 

Underneath me is a pretty large brick floor and roof for whatever rats are living in the building. In front of me is a brightly lit, but not too obnoxiously bright, sign. The word “Pepsi” is spelled by these white cursive lights. Behind the sign is a brick wall about 12 feet high. On this wall is a mural that I have been creating for the past 3 years. Every week I come up here once to add patterns or images depicting what I wish myself to be, or what I wish the world to be. In my head I call it the dream mural — it’s what I dream to see if I were to kick that wall down and look out at the world. It is my own world, it is under my control, I can create anything I want and I can destroy anything.

If I turn around away from the sign, away from my dreams, I will see the city and its vastness. I will see the lights of buildings, cars, and the moon. It feels like standing at the edge of the world.

Chapter Seven

I decide to plug and unplug the Pepsi sign, making the light flicker. After a minute of flickering it to the beat of the song that is stuck in my head, I look across the street and see the sign spelling out “Cola” flickering to the same beat. I close my eyes in disbelief, but when I open them again, I see that sign flicker in the same way. Yes, that sign always flickers, but I swear, this time it is different. I smile at the thought of someone across the alleyway doing the same thing, and I suddenly don’t feel so alone. 

I look to the side of the sign and my heart skips a beat at what I see. I rub my eyes but when I look again, I see the same thing. To the left of that sign, I see the same two bright fluorescent eyes gazing back at me. I see a smile light up on his face. Not caring if I am imagining this or not, I smile back. 

I lift up my hand and begin to wave, but as my hand goes up, the light from the sign across the street flickers to black, and I am left waving at this big city. Little insignificant me, waving to this expanse of so much that is so much greater than me. But this time I am satisfied because I know somewhere in that city are those blue eyes, and at that moment, those blue eyes are mine.

Chapter Eight

I will never forget that moment, seeing or not seeing those eyes, because that was the last time I ever saw them. The next day at school I searched the halls, but I couldn’t find him. The principal said that he wasn’t coming back to school. No one really knew where he went, but there were rumors that he had to run away from home that night because he was gay or that his neighbors chased him away or that his father beat him to death or that he left without motive. No one will ever know what happened to him, and I will never know if I actually saw my bright blue dreams that night and his smile that illuminated the city stronger than all of those overly enthusiastic lights. 

The End

Why the World’s Population is Only 7.8 Billion

This book is dedicated to my breakfast bagel.

Prologue

The Dictatorship of America, 3789 A.D.

The following letter has been retrieved from an archive and is believed to have been written by Jim Nlocnil.

Palermo, Sicily, 1915 A.D.

Bed

There was a suitcase. There was a bed. What was it doing there? The bed was the first bed that the legendary bedmaker would make. Now, the bedmaker would prefer if his name was not mentioned in this book, though it perplexes me, for he is already quite famous indeed. But from here on out, I will call the legendary bedmaker “Gustavo.” Gustavo was not always famous, for he grew up in a humble cottage on an island in the Sardinian sea. This island was called Sicily, and it was quite a magnificent island indeed, for tourism and commercialization had not found the island yet, letting the locals live a happy life with no one to disturb them. 

Gustavo had a father named Monee, who, despite the name, was a very poor bedmaker. One day, Monee stumbled across a stream. He looked into the stream. He then walked away. Another day, he ran into a beautiful untouched beach, and when he put his hand into the pristine crystal waters, it was a pleasant temperature — refreshingly cool but not uncomfortable. He took off his hat and filled it with the water and took the hat full of water home. Now, Monee was quite a forgetful man, and he forgot to show the fresh, pure water to his family. The next morning, to his surprise, the water was still the same perfect temperature it had been when he first discovered it. He was intrigued but not frightened by this discovery, for he was still curious about this liquid. He went back to the beach, and, sure enough, the water was exactly the same temperature it had been the afternoon he had found it. Monee’s mind instantly whirred into action, thinking about the possibilities of making this water into a product he could sell.

The first thing I should do, he thought, is tell Gustavo. As soon as Gustavo had heard about this “cool water,” he got some leather, sewed together a water-tight bed, and filled the bed with the water. And, though Monee and Gustavo did not know it, they had just created the first water bed. Monee gathered his savings, and soon, they patented this water bed, though they did not mention this, for they wanted to keep the water a secret.

Suitcase

Nazi Controlled Poland, 1941

Jakub sighed. He and his best friend, Filip, had made a secret organization for boys like them. They had “special powers,” though they were more like a curse. They could do “amazing things” like climb up brick walls and shoot energy from their fingers. This did nothing against the tanks, soldiers, machine guns, and other terrible things that the Nazis used to invade. But because of these “special powers,” they were targeted by soldiers, who were ordered to execute any boy who used “magic.” Jakub probably had the worst power of all. He could see and hear through any solid object. What use was seeing through a tank when it was about to shoot a shell at you? The other boys were younger than him but were far more powerful. They respected him, though, for he was the leader. 

“Quick!” Filip screamed. 

The soldiers! Jakub and the other boys dove behind a bush as Filip started making hand signs to release an energy shield. Another boy closed his eyes and opened them, although this time his eyes were red. He looked at a soldier and instantly paralyzed him. 

“Jakub, help! My shield is going down!” Filip screamed. 

  Filip only had enough energy to sustain the energy shield for a few minutes, which, until now, had been plenty enough time. It seemed that the soldiers heard Filip too because they instantly rushed his way.

  “No!” Jakub yelled.

They had Filip. Without his shield, he was helpless, and one of them was dragging Filip onto the Jeep while the other one held a rifle to his head. 

“You can’t do this!” Jakub screamed.

By then, the Jeep had driven off to the forest, and the only person who could see and hear Filip was Jakub. The last words that Filip uttered before he passed out were: “under the bench.”

Palermo, Sicily, 1924 A.D.

Bed

Meanwhile, Gustavo and Monee were raking in the profits from their successful bed-making business. The beach still looked untouched, and Monee suspected, though they had drained many gallons of liquid from it, that the beach would still make more.

“Gustavo,” Monee said, “when I die, you have the choice to lead the company. Will you continue the family legacy?”

“Of course I will!” Gustavo exclaimed. “But I hope that I do not take it over soon.”

Kepler-443b, circa 5.55 billion years ago

“Rumor has it that there is a habitable planet only 2,500 light-years away!” Bob said. 

Bob and his family lived on a planet called Logic, and it was about to explode. It was rumbling violently, and they needed to get off it as soon as possible. They first considered moving to the puny moon, Ableton, or the dwarf planet, FL Studio, which was circa 600 light-years away. But then they discovered that the planet would make such a shockwave that all of the habitable planets and moons would be terminated. The scientists of their colony searched desperately for a habitable planet, and it seemed that they had found one. 

 “Quick!!!” Martha (the mother) screamed. “The spaceship is going in 10 minutes!!!”

“Okay, Mom. My UltraBomb is not going with me, right?” Tommy said.

“Of course it is! Now come on!” Martha said.

The UltraBomb was a safety device that some scientists had discovered in the Renaissance Period. They had discovered many things, but the UltraBomb was by far the coolest. A child, if threatened, could deploy this UltraBomb and vaporize every living thing except itself for a 1,000-mile radius. To trigger it, you needed to pour a special type of liquid onto a compressed plasma ball. It would then kill everything around it except for the child itself. The Logic government-issued UltraBombs to every kid colonizing Earth, but they were strictly told to only use it if necessary. Tommy thought they went overboard on the liquid, though. They brought more than a thousand gallons!!!

“Watch your step, little guy,” a crew member said.

Tommy sat down in his seat and prepared himself for this new adventure.

The Dictatorship of America, 3789 A.D.

The following snippet has been retrieved from an archive and is believed to have been an advertisement from “Palermo Daily.”

Palermo, Sicily, 1956 A.D.

Bed

Gustavo flopped down on one of his many waterbeds and cried. His father had died the day before today, and he was sad. Even worse, he had to give a speech at the funeral, and his words were unrecognizable from his sobs. But he had to move on and keep the family legacy.

One month later

Stress. SO much stress. Gustavo had reformed the waterbed, spreading business outside of Sicily, and it was spreading quickly. He had also put advertisements in newspapers all around the world, and his company had gone public. (NASDAQ, GWB ^1.27%,1598.7) The Mariott had replaced all of their beds with Gustavo’s, and his business was doing well. Gustavo was having a good life.

Suitcase

Nazi Controlled Poland, 1942

Under the bench, under the bench, under the bench. Jakub kept rolling this around in his head. What? He had checked under every bench he had seen for the past year. Unless… The stone bench!!! Filip had chiseled a miniature stone bench for Jakub, but before he could snatch it, Filip had thrown it way off into the woods to tease Jakub. Jakub thought that Filip had thrown it in a random direction, but Filip was very precise with his arm, so Jakub now knew that this was not the case. Jakub searched for hours and hours in the dark woods until he finally found the bench. He dug the soil under it and found a mysterious ball of light.

Suitcase & Bed

Warsaw, Poland, Marriott hotel, 1963

Filip was dead. Who cared about him anyway? Jakub had been trying to sell this weird ball of light to museums, but they said it was just some lights in a glass ball. He slammed the suitcase (containing the ball) onto the bed. The waterbed burst, and the suitcase cracked open. The ball bounced out and fell into the liquid.

The Dictatorship of America, 3789 A.D.

The following letter has been retrieved from an archive, and is now known to have been written by “Zadinsky.”

Revenge of the Ankle Bully

Have you ever heard of the ankle bully? The old people say he stalks all the basketball courts in Harlem looking for easy prey. I even heard Ms. Jerry from the 4th floor saying he was born with the appetite for ankles, she thinks he eats them. Some say he is a myth, a story told to kids at campfires, but actually his name is ZRC which stands for Zahir’s Ridiculous Crossover and he’s from the Bronx. 

It’s 5pm, friends Zee and Kele meet at 135th street off the 2 Train. They are going to play basketball.

“What’s up bro?” Zee asked. “I got your text.”

 “Nothing much,” Kele said, “I was just thinking about going to the park on 145 and Lenox, we always beat those kids.” Zee shook his head. 

“Nah man. We should go to the Cage to get worthy opponents.”

 Cool! Let’s go!

When they got there, they saw a figure making people fall and cameras recording him. Kele is a big man with locks and Zee is a shooting guard that can shoot, dribble, pass, and dunk. Kele is a big man that can dunk and make flashy passes, but can’t shoot or dribble. They walked up and they got a clearer image of the ankle breaker guy and they saw he was light skinned and was about 6’3. He was fast and had a galaxy headband that made people look at the stars when he crossed them and he got into a lot of fights because people’s homies were getting crossed. 

They walked up to the sign up for the tournament and the guard asked,

“Are you guys signing up or spectating?” The friends said they were playing and they put their names on the sign up sheet. After signing up they noticed signs around the park that said “WARNING: The ankle bully is here and you’re going to play against him. When you play him, he will embarrass you and it will be recorded.”

“Yo Zee I can take him I’ll just post him up I see all handle no skill. 

“I know but he could just shoot your eyes out and cross you up without you touching the ball. 

“I know but he’s probably just a fake ankle bully, one of those imposters AMONG US.  

“Let’s just see.”

They went inside the cage and saw all types of people sitting, cheering on bleachers. chairs, etc. It was so loud in there it sounded like if 10 speakers were on blast in one room. Every time someone scored, people started cheering. 

“We got next for the duo tourney.” 

And everyone got hyped and started placing bets because the duo tournament was about to start. The first two teams were these two tall guys versus a tall guy and a point guard.

The first people to score were the tall team because they just kept posting up, but when they lost the ball game they just got flat out embarrassed and they raged, cursing, fighting, throwing balls at people. Someone even pulled out a gun before they were removed. Zee and Kele were up.

They were up against a team with two small forwards and they could both dunk. Looked like one was a park player. The other was a high school prospect that could dunk like he was doing in the warm ups and shoot. He was the real problem. His teammate was a park ball player. They came on the court and started hyping  people up and getting the ball ready for tip off to see who got the ball first, even though it was half court. They tipped it and Kele kinda has hops, but not that much. Their big man, the park player, is a pro dunker so obviously he won. They got the ball and the high school prospect, HP, shot the ball from deep mid range and scored 1-0. They’re going to 10 soon. The dunker got the ball, jumped over Kele, and dunked it. The score was 3-0. For the bonus dunk they had to come back. The dunker went up for a dunk and when Kele went up to get it, he changed his position and tried windmilling it, but Kele head hit the ball with his big head and they got it. Finally, a chance, but of course they knew what to do. Zee got the ball, drove to the basket, went up for the lay then kicked it out to Kele for the drive layup, but instead he went with his weakness and shot the three and missed like always but Zee was there for the rebound. He drove back out, did his little in and out behind the back snatch back and shot it. He almost missed, but Kele tipped it in and it counted as a point for Zee. They got it and Kele threw an oop to Zee and Zee threw it back in the air for a slam dunk. A double oop that gave them extra points and the score was 4 to 3. Kele and Zee were up. Kele wanted to make himself seen because right now he looked kinda dog outta water. So he skyrocketed for a dunk and tried jumping over the dunker, but he flipped over and threw the ball in the air and out of luck, it went in. 

Zee stared at Kele and said,

“That was a horrible shot. If you take that shot again, I will hit you with the 300 Mac truck deluxe ReSpEcTfULLy! Then you’ll really be feeling like a dog straight out of water.”  Kele knew he was wrong and said,

“Sorry, I’m rusty Zee.”

“Yeah okay buddy. Just don’t sell.” They got the ball and Kele went for the easy lay, but the dunker was not having it and he blocked Kele and then passed it out to the HP. He swished the 3 and said “All net.” The game was 5 to 5 and if someone made a half court shot they got five points, full court is automatically a win. The HP scored two easy buckets. One was a dunk, the other a mid range pull up. They were losing 7 to 5. The dunker got the ball at half court and did the iconic Jordan dunk over Kele and he got two points and it was game point with a three or a cool finish. The HP brung the ball up the court and sauced up Kele and put it behind Zee’s back. Then he went for the layup, but Kele blocked it, brought it back, and shot the 3 and it did a swirl around the net and finally went in. The score was 7-9. Zee brought the ball up, did a professor move, and then bounced it off the dunker’s head. He pulled back, shot a half court, and looked away looking like Curry. He made it, but it bounced out and went to the top of the backboard and then went in and everyone went crazy, even his own teammate.

“I told you dont sell! If they come back I’m quitting and I’ll be mad at you.” 

“Sorry I just got overwhelmed and did the wrong thing.”

“This is the game plan. Steal the ball, pass it to me, and I’ll fake shoot and dish it in for the easy dish.”

They got back on the court and took the shot. They missed. Zee got the rebound instead of Kele and passed it out to Kele. Kele took the fake shot and passed it to Zee inside, except Zee was on the outside and he passed to the HP and he took the dunk and started celebrating, but then remembered you have to take the ball out and by that time the friends Kele and Zee were trotting away with a win, waiting for the next round. They watched the round for a little, then went to go get a drink and bumped into a 6’5 guy that was dribbling a ball while walking. He had a neon hoodie with a galaxy headband and was kinda buff, but everyone was backed up because they did not want their ankles broke. Anyone that was near him when he was dribbling was now on the floor in shame or holding their ankle. 

Kele walked up to him and said,

“Hey, you that ankle bully guy?”

“Yeah,” said AB.

“I’m bout to put you on the menu when I pull up to the court and end you.”

“I don’t think so but we’ll see because you don’t know me and I don’t know you. I’ve never had an unknown person challenge me sooo. I crossed up LeBron James, that’s what got him motivated to be the best. I taught LeBron and now you’ll see the resemblance.”

With that, they got on the court and AB and his little sister who was 10 and bad at basketball were on a team while Kele and Zee were on a team. They battled it out and until the last points, it started getting interesting. They were going back and forth, both Kele and Zee glowing blue while AB was glowing red. They made a force field that was so big and their energy was so high that they broke the building around them and then Kele went for the dunk. AB tried to steal it, but tipped the ball instead. Zee caught it, passed it to Kele at three, and Kele spawned the three so hard it made the Splash Brothers look like a desert and he baca with the ocean and the ankle bully started fading away and with every other follower. He passed out and became a normal human and said,

 “Where am I? How’d I get here?”

Opal Shore

“You’re going to be late for work!” 

I pull up my swim trunks and pat my hair, as if that will keep it down. I’d hardly call my job at the Opal Shore Beach Club a job at all. I’ve been a member since before I can remember. Our family has been members for decades. Generations. My grandfather obtained one of their ultra-exclusive memberships back in the 60’s. He passed it along to my parents in the 90’s. One day, probably within the next ten years, my dad will pass grandpa’s membership to me and my siblings, and we’ll continue going with our children. So on and so forth.

Today, I work as a lifeguard, but rarely act like one. I basically get paid to sit in a high chair, get tan, and ogle girls in bikinis.

My mother’s in the kitchen wearing an apron. Her cheeks upturn into a radiant smile when she sees me coming down the stairs. I grab the lunch she made for me, kissing her on the left cheek, as it glows like a sunbeam. 

“Don’t forget your pendant,” says mom, as I leave the house on another sun-splashed day for work.
 

But first, I untuck the chain from my shirt so mom can see it. The gold cross is an unofficial uniform at the club.  Opal Shore is all white and Christian. I kid you not. And, my town is equally segregated. Sure, private clubs can choose to accept and reject anyone they want, but it’s odd that every member of Opal Shore is a rich, white, Anglo-Saxon protestant. Just saying.

So, I get in my car, and drive out of my garage onto a street lined with identical houses with spacious, elegant lawns. My car was gifted to me a year ago on my 16th birthday. What’s even more cliche is that every family on my street lives in carbon copy homes, with carbon copy cars, kids, even dogs. I pull into a parking lot chock full of luxury cars, many sporting MAGA and NRA stickers. Opal Shore wasn’t the Hamptons, but we’re pretty close; albeit seventy or so miles west. And, the people in both communities act the same I guess, except for my mom. Today at Opal begins like any other. I make my way down to the shore, drop my stuff at the lifeguard tower, say hi to my boss, and flex at some girls. Working at Opal has gotten me a nice tan. Plus, I need to stay fit for football season, which starts in a month. Everyone at the club knows one another, and, like me, the other lifeguards play on the football team. A few have graduated from high school and attend college.

I watch the waves crash through my sunglasses, while working on my tan. I can tell the members apart since I’ve been an Opel member all my life. However, if you were new to the club, everyone looked the same. The male members sit in lounge chairs by the ocean drinking beer, while the women gossip. Young children build sandcastles or swim in the ocean. Honestly, this job is pretty boring. I’ve only “saved” one person the whole time I’ve worked here, and they weren’t even drowning. To pass the time, I usually ogle the pretty girls when there aren’t many people in the ocean. Yeah, OK, maybe this sounds a bit cliche, but what else can I do? 

Everything was same old same old until I noticed a girl I never saw before. She’s wearing a polka dot, two-piece with frills tied at the sides. She’s striking, with long black hair that coils up, bouncing when she walks. To get a better look, I lower my sunglasses to the bridge of my nose. Club members were staring at her and her family. I was pretty pleased by the sight, but no one else seemed to be. The drunken laughter and gossiping from the adults completely stopped, with all eyes on this girl and her family. They weren’t actually on Opal’s property, but on the fringes of the club adjacent to ours.  Honestly, I don’t get why everyone was giving them the stink eye. They were just enjoying the beach like everyone else.

Boss drives up on his beach motorcycle seconds later, a vein popping from his forehead. Someone must have called him, and he hates getting called. He walks up to the lifeguard’s chair. 

Although I wasn’t the youngest lifeguard at Opal, Boss and the older lifeguards still call me “Junior.” When I was 14 and started lifeguard training, I was short, scrawny, and willing to do anything asked of me. I was naive and went with the flow. My mother always told me to form my own opinions, but the moniker stuck.  So, unfortunately, I’m still Junior. 

“Hey, Junior. Do you see those people over there?” Boss Langdon says, his voice low and scratchy. 

Mr. Langdon moved to our little town on Long Island from Manhattan, and his uptight accent stuck. He points to the family having fun and minding their own business.

“Them being here is going to be a problem, Junior.” 

I didn’t really understand, so I just nodded. I didn’t want to get fired. Boss grips his lanyard, while disgust strains his face. 

“These Jews come around here, disrespecting the Lord’s name, wearing them damn six- pointed Jew-stars around their necks.” 

Boss’ voice grows louder. He doesn’t care that others overhear him. A couple of white guys with beer bellies within earshot mutter anti-Semitic slurs. It’s not like I haven’t heard them before in jokes, just never directed at people. 

I notice the riptide pulling this family closer to our shores. This was actually fine, as the law clearly states that the ocean is everyone’s property. So, Opal Shore doesn’t own it; just the sand on our beachfront. Even so, our members aren’t happy. The more this family drifts toward us, the angrier our members get.

The striking girl with the polka dot bikini, as well as her mom and dad exit the water, while a little boy, whom I assume is her brother, remains in the surf. He’s scrawny, and his swim trunks are several sizes too large. And, while I don’t think it’s smart leaving him alone in an ocean with a splash of riptide, I say and do nothing.

A little later the surf gets rougher.  Opal members take their children out of the water. But, the scrawny little boy remains.  By now, the tide has pulled him in front of my chair.  For a moment, I doze off, having nothing important to do, or girls to ogle.

Suddenly, I’m awakened by the voice of a screaming child. 

“Hey, mommy look, look!” 

I perk my head up to see what’s happening. I spot the little boy, the riptide pulling him farther out than moments before. He’s clearly struggling, with arms flailing. I look for his family, finding them tanning and chatting. His mother is walking in the opposite direction.  I look at our club members. They should be helping, but no one is moving. They’re ignoring him! I realize my time as a lifeguard has come. But, for some reason, I freeze. All my training has led to this
moment. My swim trunks remain glued to the lifeguard’s chair. 

A beach motorcycle rides up behind me. Great timing. 

“Junior, tell me why I got another call?” 

Boss puts his hand on his forehead, casting a shadow over his eyes. 

“Junior, that’s the Jew kid, right?” he says while squinting into the sun.

“You have no obligation to get him, Junior.” 

He puts his hand on my shoulder. I swivel toward him, surprised and aghast. On the one hand, I knew I didn’t have to save anyone who wasn’t a member of our club. On the other, wasn’t it basic human decency to save any drowning person, be they a stupid member or not? 

“Junior, you look like you’re about to stand up, don’t even think about it.”  His grip on my shoulder tightens.

I look back out, scanning the ocean. The young boy appears and disappears, bobbing up and down beneath the waves. His tiny lungs prevent his screams from reaching the shore. I once again look at our club members. They’re listless, uncaring, unbothered, disinterested, and heartless.

Boss glares at me. Everything is happening lightning fast, but to me, it’s all in slow
motion.

My hand holds the rescue buoy without feeling it. My brain frantically races from the drowning boy, to my heartless Boss, the other lifeguards, club members, football, school, home, and my mom —

My mom. She always saw the best in this job, and in me. She was so proud I’d be saving
people, even though I saw lifeguarding as an excuse to get tan and watch girls. Mom would want
me to do what’s right. Still, if I lost this job she’d be so disappointed.  We didn’t need the money,
but it wasn’t about that.

Screw it!

I grab the buoy and stand up. 

“Junior! If you go out there, you come back without a job!” 

I throw my sunglasses in Boss’ chest. 

“God, will you please shut the hell up?” 

I run, dive into the water, and swim out to the boy. His head pops up less often, as the riptide pushes me away. I keep swimming until I reach him. 

“Grab onto this, buddy,” I say, as I push the buoy into his hands.

The boy’s grip is weak, but he holds on while coughing up a ton of water. 

Towing the boy, I swim back to shore, ignoring the piercing, furious stares of my Boss and Opal Club members. The kid’s family thanks me profusely.  I dismiss it, patting the kid on the shoulder. I’ve never seen the Boss so mad. 

“You’re fired, Junior. I’ll be sure to tell your mother about this.” 

“Fine,” I respond.  “But, know I’d rather lose my job than disappoint my mom, and myself
by letting someone drown. Isn’t that what lifeguards are supposed to do?”

I return the buoy, grab my shirt, and start walking toward my car. 

“Yeah, keep walking, leave the club, and don’t come back,” members murmur amongst themselves. 

So, I drive out of the club’s parking lot, likely for the last time. Of course, I’m scared what my mom will say when she learns I got fired. But, I have a feeling she’ll understand. No one else would, of course. Mom was always the exception. I turn on the radio, flipping the control until I hear a song everyone my age was listening to. 

I suddenly relax and smile as I drive home in my generic car, past the generic houses and lawns, with the generic adults, kids, and dogs. 

I smile, because my mom is no longer the one exception in town.

The Eve of Eve

It was the morning of Christmas Eve as Eve woke up. A cold breeze tickled her face and her eyes fluttered open. Outside her window, snow as white as her bedsheets covered the ground, causing Eve to smile and jump out of bed. It was 6:00 A.M., so Eve knew no one would be awake. She tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen and started making breakfast. Eve was amazing at cooking, so she had her own recipes. She decided on making gingerbread pancakes for herself and her family. 

As she flipped through the book to find the ingredients, another recipe caught her eye, elf sugar cookies, and Eve saved the page with a bookmark. She got out all the ingredients, and started to bake. Around 6:52, she finished making breakfast and decided to make hot chocolate and coffee. She made two hot chocolates and two coffees. She put the food on four different trays and started up the stairs with her parents’ breakfast. She put the trays on their bed and shook them awake.

They almost yelled at her, but then smelled the delicious aroma of gingerbread and swiveled their heads around. They saw the pancakes and hugged Eve and proceeded to scarf down the pancakes. Eve then decided to wait a bit longer to wake her older sister, she hadn’t gotten enough sleep lately since she was studying. She walked back to the kitchen and cleaned everything up, and made sure Julia’s breakfast was on the table. Then she scarfed down some pancakes as well, feeling satisfied with her cooking. 

She ran back up the stairs and skipped to her bedroom. She laid out some comfy clothes and ran into her bathroom. Eve turned on the hot water and let it run for a bit until getting into the shower. When she was done, Eve went to her desk and did her makeup, seeing as a lot of people were coming to her house later for dinner. She ditched the comfy clothes and got out her favorite dress, it was a satin red dress with spaghetti straps.

Her parents were cooking dinner by the time she got downstairs, and it was only 7:36 A.M.! “Why are you guys already cooking?” Eve asked her parents, confused. 

“We need to prepare since we are having a lot of people over, and we’re cooking a lot!” her dad told her as he put the chicken into the oven. Eve’s mother was preparing all the vegetables and dicing them into a salad. 

“Can I bake dessert?” she asked her parents.

 “Yep,” her parents said at the same time, completely focused on the food they were preparing. Eve opened the cupboard with all of her baking supplies and reached for her cookbook. She flipped through until she found a gingerbread spice cake. She gathered all the ingredients needed, scouring the kitchen for some extra nutmeg. She started by mixing the dry ingredients, then the wet ingredients. She then put everything in her family’s black KitchenAid mixer and added spices while mixing.

When her batter was done, she poured it into three circular stainless steel pans, and slid them into the heated oven. She put a timer on for twenty minutes, and ran up the stairs to her room.

Once she got to her room, she sat down at her desk/vanity, and started getting ready. She styled her hair into a braided bun, weaving a red and white ribbon in the braid before pinning it up. Once she had perfected the bun she got out her makeup bag, her other passion. She started with a bit of foundation, bronzer, blush, and highlighter. She made sure to match her skin tone to look natural. She got out some red and white eyeshadow, and did a fade-out from red to white on her eyelids. She topped everything off with some black eyeliner. 

Eve ran down and checked on the timer, two more minutes! She decided to start preparing the frosting. In the middle of gathering ingredients, the cake was done! She checked to make sure the cake was fully baked through, and then put it in the refrigerator to chill. She checked up on the frosting ingredients and started mixing them all together. She decided to keep the frosting white but took a bit to color red and green, for some decorating. 

The cakes were ready to be decorated, and Eve started right away. She did a crumb coat to catch the crumbs, then chilled that, and then slathered on some frosting and smoothed it out. She got the piping bags ready for her red and green frosting. She piped some swirls onto the top and finished decorating. Her parents came over, looked at the cake, and complimented her, and then took it to be put on a tray, saved for tonight.

Eve’s parents told her they had invited her grandparents, her aunts and uncles, and some other family members. She was really excited to see her cousins, especially her cousin, Riley. Riley was her favorite cousin, and she had a lot of cousins. Riley was just super fun to be around, it was like she had positive energy surrounding her everywhere she went. Riley and Eve had a lot of sleepovers in the past, and still do have a lot. They shared a lot of common interests, like makeup and baking. Obviously, Eve was a bit better at baking, but Riley was better at makeup so they were equal.

Eve went upstairs to her room to get everything ready. Once everything in her room was organized, and not a speck of dust remained, Eve got to work. She started vacuuming the whole top floor, her sister doing the bottom. They decided to both clean everything other than the kitchen, since her parents had that covered. Eve left no spot untouched, except for her parents’ closet. It was so disorganized it gave her the creeps whenever she saw it. It wasn’t like anyone was even going to go into their bedroom anyway.

Once Eve was done, her sister was just finishing up. The whole house was super clean, even her little brother’s room, which is surprising since it was usually overflowing with garbage and random toys. Her sister’s room was clean, it was usually just a little disorganized so it wasn’t much of a difference. Eve’s room could be super messy, or super clean, depending on her mood. Her parents were still cooking so Eve had a little free time, so she went into her sister’s room. Her sister was there sitting on her bed, so Eve sat down as well. They both just chilled there for a while, not saying a word to each other. They were just on their phones.

At 2:00 P.M., their parents finished the majority of the cooking, now only making sauce for the turkey. Both sisters had to take out the trash. They got up unwillingly and trudged towards the trash bags they had to take out, and walked out the door towards the “bigger trash cans” as Eve called them. After they did that, they got back inside and their parents started ordering them to do all sorts of things like setting the table, putting even more Christmas decorations up, and other random things. 

Eve’s parents were sure they had finished the food and made it delicious. Eve’s dad let her try some of the turkey… and it was revolting. The turkey had molded or something! She started gagging and almost threw up. Her dad was very surprised by this and tried the turkey himself, he had the same reaction. The turkey had been cooked for three hours! How would they redo their turkey with only two hours until the guests came?! 

“What’s wrong with it?!” her mom yelled frantically.

  “It tastes moldy,” Eve said.

“What do you mean, moldy?! We spent hours on that turkey!” her mom yelled as she grabbed the fork from Eve and tried some. She vomited in the kitchen sink.

“Do you guys still have the turkey packaging?” Eve asked her dad.

  “Yeah, I think we do, it’s right there.” 

He pointed at the counter, the packaging said it hadn’t gone bad.

“It hasn’t gone bad, now what?” Eve grumbled. “Wait a second…” Eve peeled off the label, and underneath, there was another which indicated it had gone bad two days before.  

“What kind of joke is this?!” Eve’s mom yelled, frustrated. 

“Maybe the store made a mistake?” Eve said, trying to appease her mother. 

“Yes, there had to be a mistake,” her father soothed quickly, catching on to Eve. Her mother did not calm down, so she left the room. Eve and her dad knew they had to do something but didn’t know what they could do. 

“Wait, can’t we just get a chicken since sometimes they take shorter to cook?” Eve asked her dad.

 “Good idea! Tell everyone I’m going to the store.” With that, her dad ran out of the kitchen to go to the store.

Eve knew she had to do something while her dad was out, so she got a good chicken recipe, and started making the sauce for it. Her dad came home a few minutes after she was done, and the oven had been heated. They exchanged very few words, just working hard to make a good chicken since their family was coming in an hour. Once the chicken was in the oven, she and her dad just high-fived and cleaned up. Eve called her mom downstairs.

Her mom moped down the stairs, clearly thinking they didn’t have the best news. As she walked into the kitchen, her eyes lit up and a smile formed across her face. “You guys got more food ready?! When was this? How did you manage?!” Her mom bombarded them with questions, Eve and her dad smirking at each other. 

They all decided to try a bit of the chicken to make sure it was fine. Her dad took the first bite and he put a thumbs up, indicating it was good. Her mom then decided to take a bite to try it too, Eve didn’t wanna already be full so she passed on the offer. About 20 minutes later, her mom rushed to the bathroom, clutching her stomach. Seconds later they heard retching noises, and possibly vomit. Eve and her dad rushed to her mom’s aid, not expecting to just see her projectile vomiting.

Eve and her dad didn’t know what was going on, until her dad ran to one of the other bathrooms, sick too. It was clear to Eve that this was food poisoning, but she didn’t wanna get near any of her parents cause she has emetophobia. Eve sprinted towards the medicine cabinet in her parents’ master bedroom, trying to find the right one. One time, her mom had gotten food poisoning and her dad gave her a pill and she was fine in about 30 minutes! Eve had searched the cabinet for a solid 3 minutes, but then on the way back, she saw the little container. 

She grabbed the little pill container and ran downstairs, getting two glasses of water for the pill. She ran to her mom and gave her one while trying not to look. Her mom took it and gulped it down in a matter of seconds. Eve then ran as fast as she could while holding a glass of water, and gave her dad a pill and the water, almost getting sick herself from the sight of vomit. She then got to the kitchen and gulped down some water so she wouldn’t get sick. Her sister came running down the stairs, “What happened?!” her sister shrieked as she caught sight of some vomit. 

“The chicken apparently wasn’t good enough,” Eve said, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“What happened to the turkey?” 

“It was expired.” 

“Can’t we just order Chinese food?” 

“Why would we do that?!” Eve huffed on edge. 

“Well everyone is coming in about… 40 minutes.” 

“OK, YEAH, LET’S GO ORDER IT!” Eve yelled sliding towards her laptop.

 “Ok, we need a lot, 4 white rices, 3 basic noodles, 2 fried rices, 3 serving of spring rolls, and some shrimp?” Eve’s sister listed. “I’m gonna add some spicy chicken, and a serving of some normal chicken.” 

Eve shut her laptop right as they finished paying. “When are they coming?” Eve asked, turning her head towards Julia.

“In about fifty minutes I would say, not quite sure though” Her sister replied, tilting her head. 

“Ok I guess that’s enough,” Eve said, nodding her head. 

“I’m gonna go clean my room some more, you should do the same,” her sister yelled from halfway up the stairs, Eve just nodded knowing her room was perfectly clean. The food was supposed to be arriving in about twenty minutes, enough time to get here before all of their relatives. Eve could hear her sister trying to speed clean, since they didn’t have a lot of time.

Eve was sitting on the couch when the doorbell rang, she rushed to get it crossing her fingers that it was just the food, and not every relative she had. She opened the door already not sure who was outside. Thank God. It was only the delivery guy with three bags of Chinese food for them. She took the bags inside the kitchen and heaved them all up onto the counter. Her sister was already at the bottom stair running to come help. The two of them worked together to get everything plated on platters. Eve got her cake and put it in the fridge so it would still be fresh when they ate it for dessert. Eve’s parents came into the kitchen, feeling better, and helped them set everything up. 

Everything was ready and Eve’s mom started making some pasta for her little brother because he didn’t like Chinese food. After a few minutes, the doorbell rang again, and her parents went to get the door. They were greeted by hugs from everyone, and everyone was there. They all just chatted until it was time to eat, and everyone seemed to like Chinese food. The night ended up being amazing and everyone complimented Eve’s cake. Christmas Eve was Eve’s favorite time of the year because she got to be with her family. 

The Facility

Blurb

John has always been a curious person but now he has gone off the rails. Follow John and his two friends, Ash and Echo, into the world of horror…

John

*Crack* Twigs snap under my feet, lightning cuts through the sky, rain pours down, drenching me in water. My friends, Ash and Echo, stand under a tree. John, Echo, and Ash have known each other for years and will stick together no matter what, or so it would seem… 

“Are you sure about this?” says Ash. 

“It could be cursed… ” says Echo. 

“*Pfft*, it can’t be cursed, I’m sure that it was a glowing red crystal,” I say, annoyed. 

“Yeah, bu — ”

“No buts, ands, or whos,” I say, frowning.

“Alright, let’s just do this fast, okay?” squeaks Echo as we walk into the cave. The stalactites make the cave look like a monster with big fangs. I walk in first and inside is a gleaming crystal. 

“Wow!” I say, shocked. I walk over to it gingerly, almost as if it can disappear. I touch it… 

Suddenly, I hear voices, my body starts to shake violently, and my mind goes blank… 

Echo

“J-John, are you okay??” I say, frightened.

“The John you know is dead and now I am born anew,” says John, the crystal now implanted in his chest. “HAHAHAHA,” laughs John menacingly, and as quickly as it all started, John lunges forward with such inhuman speed. Ash doesn’t even have time to scream. John grabs Ash by the legs and pulls him farther into the soot-black cave as the screams of Ash slowly fade away…

I stand, frozen in place in pure horror… I blink and I go sprinting down the cave.

Ash

“Ughhh…” Why does my body hurt so much!!! I open my eyes. I am in some kind of large tube and in front of me is John.

 “John, why are you doing this!!!” I yell. He does not reply. 

Instead, he says, “In a few seconds, I will fill that tube with liquid nitrogen and you will slowly freeze to death or drown. I wish your insignificant friend luck for he will not make it far, HAHAHA!!!” The liquid nitrogen slowly fills up the tube until it gets to my waist…

Echo

*Huff* huff* Where is he?! I think, wildly running down the hall. I turn the corner and the walls are a stark white like a hospital or a facility… I slowed. Why is there a facility here in a cave?! I think, confused. I start running again, then I come into a room full of these big tube thingamabobs (Thing-a-ma-bobs) and there is Ash in the biggest one! He is banging on the glass and yelling something but it’s muffled but I can tell it’s something bad because his face is all scrunched up. “Don’t worry, Ash, I’ll get you out of there in no time!!” I say, more sure than I feel. I look at the keyboard next to the tube.

 “Uhhhh… ” I push a big red button in the center and suddenly a hole opens up in his tube and he gets sucked in. “ASH!!!” I yell, but a hole opens up in the ceiling and he falls on top of me. 

 “Oof!” says Ash. 

“You’re okay!” I say happily 

“You should not have done that,” says Ash.

“What?!!” I say, mind blown. 

“Because Johns here… ” Ash says, pointing out a shattered glass window at a glowing red light around the corner of the hall, slowly getting closer. “Quick, hide!” says Ash as we hide under the table. 

Ash

My heart is pounding so hard you can probably hear it from a mile away. John opens his hand and a giant sledgehammer appears in it with a smaller crystal in it. “You cannot hide!!!” John says like a psychopath. He brings down the sledgehammer to the table with such strength that it shatters like glass… time seems to slow, shards of wood cut through my clothes and into my skin, then it comes down on my head, the sledgehammer, and my mind goes blank…

Echo

My body hurts so much and my vision has become blurry, but then I focus. I see Ash crumpled on the floor, a puddle of blood getting larger around him. I turn to see John. He smiles so evilly, the corners of his lips almost reach his ears. I stare, horrified, as he laughs deeply and coldly. 

“What has happened to you, J-Jo?” I can’t even say his name anymore after what just happened.

 “I will spare you for now,” he says, then walks away. I slowly crawl out from under the rubble. I look at what remains of Ash. 

I will finish this, I think with a sudden feeling of power… I yell out a name, John.

Echo

I run down the seemingly endless corridors. “Which way is the exit?!” I say aloud, my voice echoing down the halls, but then I see the unforgettable cave entrance where it all started. It has only felt like a couple of minutes but with the golden light of day beaming through the teeth-like opening.

I sprint at full speed. I run and run with all my memories gushing past me — John, Ash, and me playing basketball in the park. I run all the way home. I kick open the door but then when I open it, there is only the cave. I run in, not looking around and when I do I realized I am trapped in, looking behind me as the mouth-like cave entrance closes, shutting me in. Then I see the glowing red light of a crystal as the thing that John once was brings the hammer careening down onto my skull as everything goes black. 

To Be Continued… 

Fast Forward

One day, there was a little boy who was playing computer games with his brother. He saw a clock on the computer, and he said, “What’s this?”

His brother said, “I don’t know, you should press it.”

He pressed it and the computer started glowing. When their mom said, “Thing 1 and Thing 2, the food’s ready,” they said,

“Coming, Mom.”

They ate and they were eager to get back to the computer to figure out why it was glowing. When they got back upstairs, they saw a glowing beam that had numbers on it. He looked at the computer and saw a timer. He and his brother saw 10, what is this?! 9, what’s going on?! 8, 7, oh no! I don’t like this. 6, 5. “Make it stop!” his brother pleaded. This is cool, he thought. What if it puts us in the game or something? 4, 3, 2, 1. There was a big boom and their whole room and everything inside of it was floating including them!

They yelled for their mom, no answer. They noticed a globe and it showed their mom and them playing video games but on their watches and phone it said 10:00AM but the globe said it was 1:00AM so they thought, how could this be? Either we’re in a dream or we’re in the future. They were very confused. 

The brothers were arguing over what happened and who was responsible for the time warp. The boys went to their phones and they checked where they were on Google Maps. They were in Australia! Their family didn’t live anywhere near Australia; they lived in the United States. The older brother said, “What if we got transported to a different state?” Both checked their calendars. It wasn’t 2021 anymore, it was 3031! They freaked out and then calmed down and said, 

“We need to get back.”

Drew, the younger brother said to CJ, the older brother, “this is so cool!”

CJ was trying to act cool and stuff so they tried to get in a glass prism but it did not work. They tried kicking the glass, punching, breaking the globe, but nothing worked until the floor started to crack from all the jumping! Both looked down. Once they realized what they were falling into, they were as still as a dead mouse! CJ said, “Don’t move a muscle.” But then the glass was still breaking slowly. The glass could not hold their weight any longer. 

Praying and hoping it was not what they saw, they were falling into a big pile of lava!!! They were screaming, “Mommy!” All of a sudden, they heard a very loud noise and then saw an Air Force plane, what a miracle! The plane picked them up and dropped grenades into the lava. 

At the moment the brothers wondered what they were doing, a lava monster named Corrupt was going to war with a supernatural lava monster. So far, he’d done a lot of damage. He blew up a few towns and flooded a bunch with lava. So far, those were the towns that he’d tried attacking. Some towns were surrendering. That was why the lava monster wanted to rebuild his community. 

The plane landed and they hopped out and said, “Gentlemen, please state your position.”

The brothers said, “We were doing fine.” 

The soldier asked them to confirm their division. The bros said, “We are from Division 1.”

They said, “Oh, so you guys are from the O.G. Division? You are so young,” the soldier said in a daring but cautious tone. 

The bros said, “We are from the past and we’re 30 years old. The O.G. Division made a time travel machine to stop the lava monster. Trial tests showed that it worked.” 

The soldiers allowed the boys to pass. The boys finally located their house and went to it, but when they got there, their house was one of the houses that had been burned down and destroyed and the only thing left was the bro’s room, a tv, a couch, and a couple more pieces of furniture and accessories. They stared in shock as they watched the lava monster burn and destroy another house. 

K was the first bro and J was the second and their last names were Day. Together, they were K.J. Day. The lava monster was at least 30 feet high and had lava spitting out of him.

When the monster tried speaking, he sounded like a swerving car. The lava monster was so strong and powerful that he lured 13 men and women army people and he himself killed them all but left one to live so he could tell the tale. That night, he went to his house and burned the building down.  

They went to their couch and sat down and tried thinking about their house, and slowly things started appearing so they thought harder and everything was there. They heard their mom yell, “Kids, time for dinner.”

Shocked, they could hear C.J. Day stutter and yell, “C-c-c-o-oming.”

Later that day, their alarm went off and they said they did not set alarms. What’s going on? 

“The alarm said it’s your gaming time!”

They responded, “Okay, hold on. Are we back home?” To confirm, they checked the time. They were in 2021 and back home. 

The next day, they saw some of their friends looking at them weirdly like they should not be there. They said, “What’s going on? What happened? You guys are not supposed to be here.” 

They whispered, “You got into a car crash the other day and are supposed to be in the hospital recovering.” 

After school, their friends went to show them their room and they saw people who looked exactly like them and everything. They thought they were cloned in 3030. When they approached, their clones turned into 2 small lava monster pets! They wondered if they started the lava monster war! Then they heard them saying some weird words that sounded like: sacrifice the hot water! Sacrifice the hot water!

The bros saw something red start to come out of the bed and there was a portal that looked like it was from the future. Lava monster was in his cave attacking just like in 3030. What if the monsters were from the future? Running to their house, they started game planning. While planning, they started getting off track and playing video games. Their access line was suddenly cut off! The United Forces came on the screen and said, “Evacuation is mandatory! Leave the city immediately! We will compensate everyone for everything they have lost in the evacuation. You can’t bring anything but family and friends.”

Storytime with Beanie — Halloween Edition!

          Welcome to the first story of Storytime with Beanie, this story is: HALLOWEEN EDITION!!! The way things work in Storytime with Beanie is I’ll read some stories from my storybook that I wrote and you can pick some you want to read, (or you can read all of them ;)). BEWARE, these are all real and you can come sit down on the couch if you dare to have a chill down your spine… >:)

1.  Night of the Living Grogush 

This story begins on a happy sunny day. A comedy duo was playing at the town hall, they were the best of the best, Gary and Grogush. Gary was a well-known man who had a fun, bubbly sense of humor. Or so people thought. Grogush was an unappreciated doll who people thought was controlled by Gary. Gary used Grogush to earn money and fame. Grogush was a living doll who was plotting his revenge day by day. At Gary and Grogush’s performance, they began to do their famous ventriloquist act. Things were going well until the end. 

“What do you call an ugly animal?”

“You!” Grogush responded.

They did a few more jokes and got a lot more laughs. Gary tried to take Grogush off his sweaty hands to take a bow, but he wouldn’t come off. Gary tugged and pulled. 

“HEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!! YOU STUPID STUPID PEOPLE!!!” Grogush screamed, his terrible noise bouncing off the walls in an echo. “SOOOOOO STUPID.” 

Gary tugged some more. “CAN’T YOU SEE THIS GUY IS ONLY IN IT FOR THE MONEY???!!!” 

“Dhfgfcvhhljvnmhgfd!!!!” Gary wailed, now jerking his hand like a lunatic. He fell into a ladder and bonked his head, finally letting go of Grogush. The audience was terrified and this probably ruined their experience in a theater. Grogush sat on the wooden stage in the empty auditorium rocking his legs back and forth. 

“This is only the beginning.” he whispered to himself, adding a slight chuckle. 

A police investigation has begun on Grogush to find where he is, and what he’s doing. We think he now spies on people to get information, he usually spies on people who don’t appreciate their children, then he steals them and feasts on them. Here is a letter from a recent victim. He claims to have bought an action figure for his little boy. 

HeLlo HuMAn, IF YoU ARe WORryInG aBouT YoUR SON, doN’T WoRrY, hE Is GOnE NoW, I HoPE YOu ArE HaPPy, A FeW DAyS AGo YoU WErE COmPlAINIng ABoUt HoW TiMOthY WAs SuCh A HANdFuL, SO  I SUcKed HIs  BlOoD ANd FrOZe HiS vAinS UnTiL ThEy WeRE COld AS IcE. I DId ThE JOb FOr YoU. IF YoU wAnT ME To dO IT tO VeRONIcA I WoULd Be HApPY To, TImOThY WaS a FEaSt, WhO KNEw tHE KiD HAd sO MuCh FaT!

YOU’Re WeLcOMe, 

ArOGUsH

Oooooh, wasn’t that spooky? It wasn’t? Well then, maybe this one will be better.

2. Twisted

On May of 2018, I was 11 and a half years old when this all started, IT started. Oops, I almost forgot to introduce myself — hi, I’m Amanda McDiggarty and I live with my mom in a tiny home. My dad left when I was 4 and I don’t exactly remember what he was like. Mom says that’s a good thing. My best friend is Martha-Anne Scuerts who bosses me around and acts like she is the superior. But she stands up for me and supports me when I need it, so I call her my best friend. One day, she was acting, strange. Stranger than she usually is. When I went to school, she was quiet. She didn’t shout out any answers like she usually does. She didn’t sit at our regular lunch table, she didn’t sit with me on the bus, and she didn’t BOSS ME AROUND. Something was fishy. After school, I followed her home, for good and curious reasons. She went into her backyard and I went into the bushes to sneak a peek at what she was doing. She. Was. Summoning. Something. What? I have no clue. She drew some random symbols in the sand and took out a book from her backpack. She then put three shiny crystals down and read from the book. This was the first time I’ve heard her speak all day, and it sounded weary and raspy. 

“Come out, come out, oh mighty lord, from wherever you’re hiding or have been stored! THE PEBBLES ROCK MIGHT SKID THE WATER!! KILL THE SHEEP FROM THE SLAUGHTER!!!” 

What was she talking about? She sounded like she got those lines from a nursery school. Well, I guess it worked because the next second was me looking at my life flashing before my eyes. When I opened my eyes, everything was the same. Well, I thought everything was the same. There was fog everywhere and Martha’s high ponytail and big Crocs had been turned into revolting creature. It twisted and turned with its body, the color of my aunt Tina’s pea soup. She had bags over her sleepy eyes like she had not slept for years. 

“IM FREEEEEEEE!!!” screamed this mushy, yucky, DiSGuStiNg thing!!! That was not my friend!!!

I looked out the bushes finally and saw a bright light sucking up this monster into the clouds. I ran towards it after the monster had been sucked up already and hopped on. I felt light and free like a feather. I felt like I had no worries and that everything was going to be alright. I fell asleep… 

I woke up after a few minutes realizing I HAD A MISSION. I walked weirdly to what seemed like their base and opened the door. I was amazed at what I saw next, millions of buttons lined on walls and at the center of it all, Martha-Anne Scuerts. She was frozen in an ice chamber. Martha had wires connecting to the buttons. Each of the buttons said a simple task and under, it said: “under construction.” I wanted to run to the ice chamber and hug it when I heard a voice. I quickly scurried underneath the table. I heard a bunch of gibberish and nonsense from these walking jellies. “Adddfghjkiuygtfdsxcfghjkjhgfdsfghjikoiuhygfdsxdfghjklkjhgfc,” they confidently stated. Martha’s monster form walked into the room and dropped Martha’s backpack near the table I was sitting under. I grabbed the backpack to my chest and held it tightly. The three alien monsters jiggled away. When I felt they were gone, I grabbed the plastic table and tried smashing it into the glass-ice chamber. The glass was resistant and held up. I put the table on the floor and started looking at the buttons. There was nothing that said self-destruct or open the ice chamber. I looked at the wires next and found a wall in the alien base that was uneven. I pulled the square out and found the button to open the ice chamber. I pressed it and saw some dramatic fog come out of the chamber. Martha’s eyes flew open. “Oh, hi.”

 I hugged her. 

“Listen,” she said. “I have a lot of things to tell you.”  

“I met a girl at summer camp, she was funny and sweet and we became friends. Her name was Mia. A few months ago, I had a sleepover at her house and found her talking to her parents. They turned into jiggly monsters and I screamed very loudly. They made an agreement to have me never speak of them and they wouldn’t hurt my friends, family, and me. Long story short, they thought I would snitch on them and took over my body anyway.” 

“You, Martha, have done a lot of weird, funky things in your life but I was surprised to hear that you made a deal with literal demons!” I whisper-screamed. 

“Hey, it was either: don’t tell anyone about us or die. Take your pick.”  

“Good point,” I said. 

“Okay, enough bickering, we need to find a way to defeat these alien people,” Martha said with her determined face on. I could always never tell if she had a determined face on or if something really stank. 

So she said, “I know the aliens’ worst enemy, fear. It sounds weird, but if we scare them out of their pants they wo — ”

“Orrrrrr… We can cast a reverse spell in the book I have.” 

“Hmmph, I guess that could work, too…”

“Great! Now we just need to cast the spell.”

I grabbed the book out of Martha’s Alien’s bright red bag and heaved it out onto the floor of the “lab”. I checked for the reverse spell and found it quickly. I pulled the table I threw onto the floor before and hid under the cloth again with Martha. I took a deep breath. 

“WHEN THE MOON GOES DOWN, THE SUN COMES UP, LET THIS BE REVERSED — ” I heard the aliens running to the room to see what all of this commotion was about. 

“Keep going!!” Martha said. 

“LET’S NOT CALL THIS DAY HARMONY, REMOVE THIS ONGOING CURSE!!!” My eyes glowed wide open with my eyeballs forming a pitch black hole as if you were seeing into the mysteries of the universe. My body levitated into the air and wind started forming around me, I could see a glimpse of Martha, and the aliens’ eyes wide open, afraid of what I had just done. I felt like I could see into every moment of the past until everything stopped. I was placed into time and saw Martha running towards me. I felt like something important had just happened to me but I wondered what. It was as if a memory had been plucked right out of my head. 

Martha finally said, “Do you believe in aliens? I don’t.”

What, what! Didn’t think that was going to happen, did yo — okay, I’ll stop. But I have to warn you, the next one is a looooooonnnnnnnggggg one. 

3. Little Dead Riding Hood

You might recall the story of Little Red Riding Hood. The story of the sweet little girl who was about to deliver goodies to her grandmother. She was stopped by a greedy wolf who wanted the goodies all to himself. He dressed up as the grandmother to eat the goodies, he locked the grandmother in the closet while he ate, and he was about to eat the grandmother too, when a man with an axe came to save the day! He saved the grandmother and the sweet little girl, and they lived happily ever after. This story has many versions, and this is one of them. In the real little Red Riding story, it wasn’t a happy ever after.

I’ll tell you the real Little Red Riding story, here it goes. Beware, this story doesn’t have a happy ending.

Once upon a time, there was a bratty little girl named Mary, who was a rebel. But despite her reputation, she lived in a tiny little cottage house in a tiny town called Once Upon a Time town with her mum, who worked tirelessly to take care of her daughter. But Mary had no pity for her poor mother.  She never listened to her and always stayed up late. One fine morning, she was going to deliver her sick grandmother her special, homemade, burnt biscuits. 

“They look worse than ever today,” she confirmed. 

There, she went into the edgy woods, all alone. No matter what time of the day it was, the woods were always dark, with only a little sunlight poking through the trees. The animals were peacefully resting in the woods, well, until Mary came. She started kicking pebbles and the animals started to flee. She soon bumped into a wolf lounging on a tree, almost like he was waiting for her the whole time. 

“So I hear you’re a rebel, Mary,” the wolf said with a small grin. 

“Yes, I am,” Mary said happily. Finally, someone understood her. 

“Come this way to deliver bissssccuits, the quickest way,” the wolf said intently. He put his head in the basket and sniffed the burnt biscuits while licking his lips. 

For once, she actually doubted herself. Should I really be trusting a wolf? She thought about her cousin James who passed away because he was being mischievous, and pranked the village a few times but then he really did get eaten by a wolf and no one was there to help him. She also thought about the three little pigs who almost got eaten by that terrifying wolf, but then her instinct kicked in. Wait a minute, why should I be afraid of a silly little wolf? I’m a rebel, and rebels can do anything they want to do.

“Okkkkkaaaayyy?” Mary said, her eyes darted from left to right. She then skipped down the way. The wolf told her to and started kicking pebbles again. 

The animals whispered to each other, “Only the dumbest would go that way.” 

A few minutes, and what felt like hours to Mary later, she arrived at her grandmother’s house. She dearly loved her grandmother but she needed to keep her reputation of being a rebel. 

“Hello, dear grandmo — ” Mary dropped her burnt biscuits. She took a good look at her grandmother, who was sitting in her plaid white and pink bed. “Wh… What big e… eyes y… you h… h… have.” She was shaking and trembling.

  “To look at my beautiful granddaughter with.” 

“Wh… what a… a b… big n… n… nose y… you h… a… ve.”

“To sniff my wonderful garden outside my house.”

  “W… what a… a… a big m… m… o… uth y… you h… a… ve.”

“To eat my Granddaughter’s wonderful burnt biscuits with.”

Mary took a good look at her “grandmother.” There was something so strangely familiar about her grandmother but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Um,” Mary said. Her “grandmother” was sweating intensely. 

“I’ll help you pick out your clothes.” 

Her “grandmother” took a sigh of relief. So, she was about to open the closet when, “Don’t open it!” She was walking away from it when she realized her grandma wasn’t the boss of her. Her body, her rules. She then yanked the closet door open. 

“NOOOOOO!!!” Her “grandmother” screamed. 

Mary stood there in disbelief, she was looking at her grandmother, her real grandmother, who was suffocated by ropes in the closet. She was dead. Was it because of how long it took to figure out that the lady there wasn’t her real grandmother? But then Mary realized something, if that wasn’t her real grandmother then who was tha — 

She turned around to the bed where her “grandmother” was sleeping. No one was there — of course, the wolf! How could she have been so dumb this whole time! She ran outside her dead grandmother’s house and tried to find him, but he was already there in her grandmother’s, ready to pounce. She saw the wolf, and the wolf saw her. Mary ran, faster than she ever ran before. Mary didn’t care about her reputation anymore, all she cared about was running for her life. She was running and running and running. So was the wolf. He wanted supper and she wanted to go home. She just wanted to be in her safe little cottage with her mum. 

She screamed, “HELP HELP!! A WOLF IS CHASING ME!!!” 

A lumberjack heard her nearby and attempted to throw his axe at the wolf, but he missed, hitting Mary. Blood splattered on the pathway. The wolf really did have supper and ate well that night, as for Mary’s mum, she searched everywhere for her daughter. Even though Mary might not have been a good person, she was still family to her mum, and the only family she had left. So that was the story. Please don’t be alarmed, but unfortunately the wolf went unharmed, so though it was dark, it was hard and true that the wolf that night had Red Riding Hood stew. 

4. Mary, Mary.

Mary Mary was a talking doll. Much like Grogush from the 1st story, she lured her victims in. 

I ran with my mommy to the toy shop and found a baby doll!! She had wide eyes and curly hair, and the minute you pulled a string, she blinked her eyes and said, “Mary Mary wants to play with you!” 

The Cashier had a slight smile on his face as I ran out of the store with Mary Mary. When I got home, I put Mary Mary on the counter. We ate dinner and I looked for Mary Mary. She wasn’t on the counter anymore, she was in my bed. “Awwww,” I said. Mary Mary wants to go to sleep! I slept for about 5 hours when I heard a noise. I couldn’t make out what it was. I usually don’t like danger and often run away from it, who wouldn’t! But this time, my curiosity led me walking down to find what this peculiar noise was. I walked and walked through the apartment until I could hear it clearly. I heard a soft female voice singing, “Ring around the rosie.” I kept walking through the empty dark hallways of our apartment building, until I got to the courtyard. It constantly felt like someone was whispering this eerie song in my ear. I walked through the patches of grass covering my ears. Then I saw it. I saw her. Mary Mary sat there feeling the blade of the knife through her tiny hands. She kept singing. I felt like running, but for some reason, I did not. 

“Ring around the rosie, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes.”

She grabbed me and pulled me toward her blade. I could feel her tiny hands holding my neck hostage as I tried to squirm away. 

“We all — fall — DOWN!” 

She sliced my head off.

Narrator: The next day, this young lady’s family tried to find her. When they walked in the courtyard, they found the poor girl with her head chopped off. They also found a bloody knife and a note that said, “Mary Mary wants to play with you… ”

That one was probably inspired by Gabby Gabby from Toy Story 4. Except creepier. (And maybe a bit of Coralline :D.)

I hope you enjoyed Storytime with Beanie — Halloween edition! I had a really fun time coming up with these spooky stories and trying to make them a bit ridiculous too! I hope you have lots of questions and a bunch of conspiracy theories but the real question is…

What did we learn today!? Uhhhh, I have no idea! 

The Candy Fairy’s Skateboard

My life story, or at least the part of my life story you’d be interested in, begins where a tragic story might end — with the digging of several holes. Before we continue, I will assure you that this story is nothing like that, but if you’re looking for a story with that kind of drama and sadness, please ask your librarian to refer you to the tragedy section. With that out of the way, let’s get back to the story: I ran frantically around our miniature backyard, waving and digging with my plastic shovel like a maniac, my brain bubbling full of hatred and loathing for my older brother. Although this may seem like a funny anecdote from your end, I can promise you that it was a horrendous experience, for me, at least. A week ago, Ben, my older (and devious) brother, told me that if I buried my candy in the ground and dug it up again a week later, a majestic candy fairy would exchange it for money. I thought this was an extremely clever plan and did exactly what Ben told me to do. I even put a card in the hole to tell the fairy how much I charged for the licorice. However, after I dug the loot back up, all I found was the card. On the back, in my brother’s handwriting, read:

Sorry, but I’m not very liquid right now, but tHAnks for tHe cAndy! – C.F 

Now, after completely destroying the backyard, I finally had to accept the truth: the whole thing was a huge scam! I sat down on the now ruined lawn and began to cry. Like a guardian angel, who can sense sadness and despair, my mother came flying out the back door to comfort me. It was only until she dried my tears that she noticed the wrecked backyard. 

“Goodness me, Marley! What in heaven’s name happened to the backyard?” she exclaimed, as she scanned the destruction. The flowerbed was half crushed, the grass was nearly all torn up, and the cherry tree in the corner, the only nice thing in the entire neighborhood of bleak houses and cheap grocery stores, had a groove in its trunk, most likely from my shovel. 

“Ben happened!” I pouted, waving my shovel and breathing heavily in the humid summer air. I told my mom about the whole ordeal, expecting her to grow angry at Ben for teasing me, and unleash her whole sympathetic lecture about how her older siblings teased her when she was a kid. However, to my astonishment as well as disgust, she started laughing. At first it was a small snort, then a giggle, and all of a sudden she was laughing so hard that she pressed her hands to her stomach and doubled over, giddy tears streaming down her face.

“Mom!” I exclaimed, shocked and feeling extremely betrayed.

“I’m sorry, honey, but you have to admit, it was kind of funny.”

“What???” I said, in complete disbelief, “I thought you were on my side!”

“I am, Mars. Here.” She reached for my hand. “I’ll prove it.”  

She grabbed my hand and helped me stand up. 

“Where’s Ben now?” she asked.

“At the pizza place with his skateboard,” I said, “He was going to head to the park afterwards.” 

“Good,” she said. “Let’s catch him there before he goes to the skateboard rink.” 

I followed my mom with a new bounce in my step. As we walked through the neighborhood, I thought of the ways Ben would get punished. Maybe he’ll get grounded, I thought hopefully. Or no candy for him for a whole month! The pizza place was probably the nicest thing around our neighborhood, besides the park. And even then, that was saying a lot. By the looks of the paint job and the dirty tile floor on the inside of the shop, you could tell it hadn’t been cleaned in years. When we got to the pizza place, instead of finding Ben prancing around eating pizza, we saw him sitting dejectedly at one of the tables, his arms wrapped around his skateboard, his pizza to the side, forgotten. When he looked up at us, I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before. Tears. My mom rushed over.

“Sweetie, what happened?”

Ben wiped the tears from his eyes, “My skateboard,” he said, holding it out to us. “It broke.”  

My body was shaking with rage. Mom had promised that she would punish Ben for using me, but now she was comforting him, drying his tears. The only thing that stopped me from throwing a full on tantrum was the skateboard. I loved fixing things, and recently I had been breaking things on purpose to put them back together. (The last time I did this was on the vacuum cleaner, and I lost the airbag, so now we don’t have a vacuum cleaner anymore, as well as something for me to fix.) My curiosity took hold of me, and before I knew it, I was bending down to have a closer look. I winced. One of the wheels was almost torn off, hanging by one measly nail and a whole lot of hope. 

“Dad would have been able to fix it,” Ben spluttered. “He made it himself, but now he’s gone… ”

“It’s okay,” my mom tried. “We can get a new one–”

“No! This is all I have left of him, I won’t throw it out, broken or working.” Ben hugged the skateboard to his chest, still crying. I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. What was I even doing? Would Dad want me and Ben to fight each other?  I looked down at my feet. 2 minutes ago, I was all for seeing Ben down in the dumps, but now I could see that he was just like me. He missed Dad as much as I did… 

  “I-I think I can fix it,” I said, surprising myself. I always had the innate ability to fix things, and in the hot summer days it was hard getting through all of the boredom. My only friends were the nuts and bolts in my toolbox. When Dad was still alive, I spent a lot of time with him in the workshop, and hopefully I learned enough to get the wheel back in place. After walking home to our run-down neighborhood, I thought about the tools I would need. I thought of it as what Dad would have done. Though as I slowly made progress on the skateboard, I later had to begrudgingly admit that it had been fun. A day later, I handed the cherished skateboard back to Ben, grins on both of our faces. Ben took the skateboard gingerly, turning it over in his hands. Then he looked back up at me. 

“I have a thank you gift,” he said, looking back down at his feet. 

“You do?” I said, my heart pounding. Maybe he’ll apologize. Or he could buy me a slice of pizza. Or he could let me have a go at his gaming computer!

“Your licorice was delicious,” Ben said with a smirk. “I have to go meet my friends at the park sooooooo… bye!!!” And with that, he retrieved a bunch of black licorice wrappers, stuffed them in my hands, and ran out the front door before I could even react. I stumbled back into my room, numb with anger. I felt like punching Ben in the face. After all I did for him, and he couldn’t even give me a simple thank you? Throwing the useless wrappers into the trash can, I turned around to collapse on my bed. But I couldn’t, because there was already something on it. A kit to build your own bicycle. To the left was a note.

I staShed my emergency supply of licOrice in your desk dRawer: you aRe going to need a lot of energY to build this thing – C.F 

P.S  AND did you know THAt if you doN’t rub your Knee a thouSand times your nose will fall off? 

Before this story ends, I would like to inform any youngsters who are reading this that if you don’t rub your knee a thousand times, your nose will not fall off. However, I will point out that burying money instead of candy will grow a money tree, which will give you far more profits than exchanging candy for money. With that said:

THE END

It Might as Well Have Been Winter

The air was cool and the winds were strong. Below me, I could see hues of scarlet and shades of golden, with a handful of orange. Buildings were scattered around, some lights on and some lights off. The sun had barely risen.

It was so frigid outside, it might as well have been winter.

We stood there in silence for a long time, in thick scarves and puffy jackets. 

“Why have you brought me here?” Cersei asked, her voice painted with curiosity. She was in awe of the view, you could see it in the way her eyes glittered as she admired the horizon in front of us.

“I just wanted to talk,” I mumbled.

But really, I didn’t want to talk.

I wanted revenge.

And a tall mountain was the perfect place to take it.

“Talk about what?” she asked. Was she oblivious of everything she’d done to me? Was she completely unaware of the crap I’d put up with all this time?

“Why did you do it?” I asked her flatly. She furrowed her eyebrows and took a deep breath.

“I’m not sure what you mean…” 

I was just about ready to slap her, if that’s what it took to get an answer out of her.

“What do you mean, you don’t know what I mean?! How can you not know what I mean? After everything you’ve done, how can you not know?” I accused, and Cersei gave me a stare that was almost psychotic.

It was like, all of a sudden, the cold air had gotten colder.

“Your money?” she asked, and then she laughed out loud. “It’s all done and over with, why worry now?”

“I will worry now, because it was you who ruined my life! You’ve always ruined my life, Cersei, and I never took note of it!” I exclaimed.

“I want something, I’ll get it, Freya. I don’t think you’re in any place to confront me about what I’ve done. You know how important the money was to me, how desperate I was for it. How can you be so selfish?!” Cersei spat. I inhaled deeply and stood up, Cersei following along.

“You’re right, it is in the past, Cersei! Silly me, I shouldn’t have even brought it up. Let’s enjoy the view,” I said with a smile, and she nodded in satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

I fidgeted with my coat, and looked around quickly.

“I’m queen of the world!” Cersei yelled in joy, and she spun around in front of the view.

This was it.

This was the time.

Do it, Freya.

Do it.

The Medic’s Son

Charles Smith was born in 1898 in Bath, England, and usually went by Charlie. Charlie’s father had died of Tuberculosis by the time Charlie was two. Charlie had very little memory of his father, and although it was an inconvenience to his mother, it never was a terrible inconvenience to Charlie other than his mother taking up whatever extra jobs she could find. Even though she had to work a lot, Mrs. Smith always found time to play with her son and was, overall, a very loving mother.                                                     

Charlie was a very active boy and was always going on adventures around whatever town they were in. He had always wanted to be a knight; rescuing a princess and fighting a dragon all sounded quite fun to him. So by the time The Great War broke out, Charlie had decided that he was going to be a soldier and that was that. The day he turned seventeen, he signed up for the war, and the doctors decided he was in perfect health. 

His mother had admonished the idea and thought that it was very dangerous but could not stop Charlie. 

She knew what wars were like because she had been a medic in the Second Anglo-Boer War and had left Charlie at her mother’s house, and she did not want Charlie to go through a similar experience. She had tried to tell Charlie that she needed him at home to take care of her, but he only responded that he would be home soon enough once he won the war. 

Seeing that he was so optimistic to the point of delusion and that nothing she could say would make any impact whatsoever, she signed up to be a medic, even though it brought back some bad memories, so that she could keep an eye on him. Charlie had no problem with that as he loved his mother dearly and wanted to go to war. He thought she would make a great medic, as she would always clean his wounds when he got hurt on his adventures.

Charlie was made private, was given a gun, taught how to fire it, and was sent off to the trenches.

When Charlie looked around the trenches, he saw that it was not a fairytale. Dirt and mud threatened to overflow the wooden walls; gunshots filled the air; men sat down with weary expressions; blood dripped onto the wooden walls; the sky was a dark grey, even though it was only 3:00; lanterns flickered and shook; and yells pierced the air.

Although Charlie was experiencing horrors, they were nothing compared to the horrors that Mrs. Smith was facing. Bandaged limbs still oozing blood, countless bodies covered with sheets, men begging for death, bombs heard as though they were right outside, and the worry about her son. She would look very closely at every face to make sure that it wasn’t her Charlie. With every gunshot or bomb that she heard, she wondered where Charlie was, and if he was safe.

The next day, Charlie was woken up, or would have been woken up if he had gotten any sleep, by the sound of a bomb crashing nearby. He scrambled out of his bunk and curled up into a ball. 

As soon as he calmed down, he changed back into his smeared uniform and grabbed his gun. As soon as he exited the bunker, he was startled by a large crashing sound called war. He was ordered to go to the wall and “empty his ammo,” or whatever that meant. Charlie started firing into the opposing trench and watched as a soldier fell and did not get back up. A sick feeling filled his gut as he wondered what his mother would say.

His mother, in fact, was charged with being the medic, wandering around the trenches and dragging the bodies back to the bunker. Seeing these horrors and wounds of war made her yearn for news of her son.

Just then, as she gazed out into the patch of light surrounded by smoke which was her sun, a bullet struck her and she dropped to the ground.

She woke up in the very bunker that she was in yesterday, although she felt something was wrong. She looked down and saw that she was bleeding quite heavily from her abdomen. The tray beside her had tongs and a bloody bullet. She could piece together what happened and knew that she didn’t have much longer left. At this moment, she was only thinking of her son, Charlie.

She found a pen and paper lying on the nightstand next to her, for notes on the condition of the patient, and started writing a note to Charlie. 

“My Dearest Charlie,

I am so sorry that I have to leave you in this world all alone. I love you so much, and I hate to leave you. Please try to remain safe, my son. Live your days fully, and enjoy your life, for it ends too shortly. So do not grieve knowing that I am exiting in peace with thoughts of you. Life is too short to be sad. Goodbye, my dearest.

Love,

Mom”

That was how the nurses found her a few hours later, clutching her last words that she had written for someone who she held dear. The nurses took pity on her and sent out that letter to Charlie.

Charlie had just sat down to a game of cards with some of the other fellows when a very tired-looking soldier came up to their table and asked if there was a Charlie Smith among their group. At this, Charlie stood up and replied that he was in fact the boy in question. The man handed him a piece of paper and left the bunker, back out to where the world was tearing itself apart. 

Charlie decided to take the note back to his bunk so he could read the contents in peace. 

As Charlie read his mother’s final words, tears made tracks down his grime-stained face and onto the paper, blotting the page and cleaning his face. He felt numb to the sounds of war. 

His mother, the calming presence that had always kept him safe, was gone, and it was his fault. He had insisted on going to war so he could be like a knight and save some sort of princess and fight monsters. He had been so foolish and childish without any real notion of what the world was like, and he had led his mother to her untimely death which he would pay for for the rest of his life. Charlie started to cry in earnest and buried his head in his pillow and fell asleep.

The next morning, people could sense a visible change in Charlie. He was not the same boy who wanted to rescue princesses and kill dragons; he was a man, in the middle of a war, with no parents, fighting for revenge. 

They stationed him at the wall again, Charlie had a different plan. He and some other men had decided to sprint to the other side to try and kill as many of the Germans as possible and most likely die trying. 

Charlie gave out the signal and they all ran out of the trenches with the other soldiers screaming after them, and charged to the opposing trenches with hate in their eyes. They had gone about three meters when the Germans shot a bomb at them. Charlie had just turned around to see the bomb land near his friends and him before he was blasted back into the bloody grass.

Charlie woke up in the hospital and looked around and only saw crimson flowing from missing limbs as screams of agony mixed with the sounds of gunshots from the trenches filled the air. Charlie looked around at his friends, lying limp with glassy eyes, and watched as the nurses covered them with blankets. Tears ran down his dirty and bloodstained face and dropped onto the grimy cot. Charlie thought of not only his missing legs, but his fellow soldiers, and his beautiful mother who were all gone because of this god-forsaken war. He had been so foolish to do this, he had killed everyone he held dear. His mother and now his friends.

Blood was still oozing out of the bandages that covered the stumps that were now his legs. He knew he would die soon so he just waited for the reaper of death to take him and all of the other lonely souls that were lost because of the war.

When death finally came, as light through the door of the bunker, Charlie saw that it was not a skull figure in a dark hood, but his own loving mother, still wearing her bloodied medic scrubs and her dark brown hair tucked beneath a white cloth, holding out her hand, with a sad smile on her face. Charlie took her hand and she gently carried him away from the war and out of sight.

Dubsy

If there were a choice that could decide the fate of your loved ones, and whether or not you were put in jail for the rest of your life, would you take it? Of course you would, without hesitation, or at least I did. My name is Evner Dubs. Fourteen years ago I was put in prison for the murder of my girlfriend, Lea, and my best friend, Dexter. We were a merry band of friends. Well, three of us were. I was always the dour one but the others were happy. Lea was the ever-loving sunshine of my life; Dexter was quieter but he laughed when it counted. Of course, the last member of our party whom I have not mentioned yet is Felix. He was always the happy to my morose, loquacious to my taciturn, energetic to my indolent. On top of all this, he was Irish, meaning he had the creative cursing skills of a drunk pirate. I had not been out long before I went to see him.

It was a stormy evening, and, as the moon rose, I shouldered my way past the heavy front door of the “Osrí ar Meisce.” This was the bar Felix owned; apparently, the name of the pub was “The Drunken Oyster,” but seeing as I didn’t know Gaelic and I was too lazy to learn, I had always taken Felix’s word for it. 

As I crossed the threshold, I was warmly greeted by the smells and sights of this familiar place. It smelled of good beer and fresh velvet. The tables all had chairs lying face down on top of them, and the booths lining the sides were just as I had remembered. Each had a different member of The Beatles on a poster under glass table tops, all surrounded by iconic settings from their songs. Strawberry Fields, Abbey Road, an entirely yellow submarine, and a church, (presumably the one where Eleanor Rigby was buried). I had never been able to tell, but I don’t know what else in their songs it could be referencing. It had to be said, Felix certainly did have a taste for decoration. 

Behind the bar was the man himself, Felix Gallagher. He was using a rag to clean out glasses, methodically holding the rag up to the inside of the glass and twisting until it had gone the circumference of the glass three times over. The rhythmic squeaking from the inside of the glass was almost a testament to how many times Felix had performed this action over the seventeen years he had owned this place.

“We’re closed. Go home.” He did not look up from his action for about thirty seconds. When he realized he hadn’t yet heard the door open and close a second time, he looked at the offender. “Oh… Dubsy, I would think you’ll be needing a drink.” He smiled with that patented Gallagher smile. I could still remember the first time I saw that smile. It had been when Dexter first introduced us.

“Evner, never heard that one before,” he had said. “Does anyone call you Dubsy?” I shook my head. “Great, I’ll be the first.” Then, he flashed that smile. He had called me Dubsy ever since, and that smile never got old.

Felix stopped his robotic cleaning and poured me a tall pint. He knew what I wanted.

“Do you think I did the right thing under the circumstances, taking the plea bargain?”

“I think it was the only thing you could’ve done. Nothing would bring them back, and that was the simplest way to minimize further damage.”

“I was just trying to do something good for once; to be a hero for someone.”

“Oh, Evner,” he sighed. I realized that this was the first time in a long time he had called me by my first name—he didn’t use it lightly. “There are no heroes, Evner. There are only people. You should know that.”

“I suppose I should.”

We sat in silence. Both of us knew I hadn’t killed Lea and Dexter, and now that I was finished paying for a crime I didn’t commit, we could finally be honest about it. Ironically, now that we could talk, we said nothing. What was there to be said? We lived happy lives, he and I, and stayed friends through all of it. I gave a eulogy at his funeral, and when I die, I like to think I’ll get to see him again, one last time.

Here lies the mortal remains of Evner Leroy Dubs

1923-2000

Thought to have killed his best friend and girlfriend, new evidence comes to light after his death that suggests the perpetrator was in fact a man currently on death row for numerous other crimes. This is just one of the new charges surfacing against him.

Dubsy will be missed.

The Terror

One day, a terror was arising in the city of Flow. The city was being attacked by bandits. The bandits took control of the food and the water supply and tripled the cost so people had to pay more for water and food than usual. 

Le said as he sat on his couch practicing his speech to the world in sign language, “Hi, my name is Le. I have been living in the city all my life. The city is my home. I am very disappointed whenever the city is in trouble like now. It is a troubling time, and they need a hero, and they have one — everyone, give it up for Super Le! 

“Okay, that’s not going to work, I need to be the best hero.

“Oh, by the way, I can see through walls and I have one of the best superpowers ever in my opinion — I have telekinesis, the power of fire and the best appearances on camera. I need to be the next superman — oh, I got it! I know my superhero name is Le Pow. So far, I have a butler and my dad’s rich because of me. I saved the mayor and everyone important in the city from dying from a bomb. I’ve known my job is to try and save the city from this terror. I’m going to try to fulfill my dream and be a hero to my city.” 

He walked outside. Le was a joke person and he liked to joke around and sometimes at the wrong time. While Le was outside, he saw his guy, Sammy. He called Sammy and came over and Sammy said, “I can’t talk now, my mom is expecting me home.”

“What, you’re never home early! When did that change? I feel like you’re lying.”

“I would never lie.”

“Let me see the text that says so.” 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

 Le had enough. He raised the phone up with his telekinesis and saw a message that said, “Meet you at Bob’s at 10:00 for the party.”

 “You’re going to a party! So you lied! Now I’ve had enough! Let’s fight!”

 Sam said, “Okay, let’s go.”

 Le said, “Just kidding. I wanna come.”

But by that time Sam was mad and he was running full speed at Le. Le went flying. See what I mean? Le is a jokester at the wrong time. He walked away bruised up, went upstairs, got cleaned up, and looked for crime to fight. 

Suddenly, he bumped into his brother — a bandit! He said, “Why did you turn on us? Why?” 

His brother just walked away, saying it was for the best no one liked Le. Le changed then his assistant drove him around the city when he saw bandits robbing a store and he got out and lifted them all up then threw them against the wall. He got the bags of jewelry and he hand-signed his assistant to say the thing and he said, “Looks like you had trouble shopping. Good thing I was here to help you.”

They went home but they got stopped by a press conference and his assistant said, “We’re only taking 5 questions.”

“What were you thinking going up against 5 bandits?” 

“We thought we were doing the city a favor and doing that is one step in the right direction.”

“When are you going to fix the city of the bandits?”

“We will do the best with maintaining the little stores, next we are going to try and take the water supplies back.”

So then he said that the bandits had control over the radios and that Le would not be doing that because he was a threat to the new community.

“I will have to take force.”

Two choppers pulled up and started shooting and almost hit Le when he used his telekinesis to bring the chopper down and he set it on fire. They hopped out. He lifted them up and went full rage mode and tried to speak but he could not. He then realized why he couldn’t speak —  he was afraid of things he might say wrong. He tried speaking again but it did not work so he too threw the bandits out of town but there were still hundreds of bandits to fight.

He went home and saw on the news it said, “We may have a cure for these sickening bandits then: TINY. Tiny is a small person, about 5”5, and has the power to make explosions with his mind. He is a heartless person that only likes to conquer cities. He is white and his henchmen carry him. He has about five cities under his control and is bald. Tiny took over the city.”

Tiny came on and said, “Le, if you’re out there, you don’t have a voice so just back down. You can’t speak so just save yourself from a lot of hospital bills and suffering and surrender this city by this time.”
He could hear everyone in the city going crazy, seeing if their savior was going to back down. He said, “No,” and his assistant said,

“Hello, is someone there? Le, get here now, we need to leave here.

Le said, “You leave, I’ll stay here and blow them up. I’m getting angry.”

His assistant said, “Did you just speak or did I imagine that or was that actually you, sir?”

“It’s me.”

“Le, you can speak now, but how?”

“Just get out of here. Meet you at the warehouse, send me the addi.”

The bandits came bursting through the doors as Tiny came with two henchmen and he made everything explode near him and Le was trapped. Le said, “Flamio, hot men!” then jumped out the window and used his fire to push him up and tear the place apart and kill 30 of Tiny’s henchmen. 

Tiny jumped off the window and rolled onto an airship and yelled, “I’ll get you one day.” 

Le was on his way home when he started to get dizzy and his head was hurting then he realized he had metal from the explosion in his body that was slowing him down. I think the whole purpose of the attack was to poison me but how did they poison me with metal? Yes, I guess every superhero has weaknesses so this is my weakness. With that, he passed out. A few hours later, he woke up to Bob, his assistant, bending down to see if he was still alive. 

Bob then gave Le water and Le took a bath and went to his map of the city. It was showing a bunch of criminal activity near the bay. He dressed up and his assistant drove him over and he got out and he made a big firebomb and blew up the bay and the bandits were not there, it was just a big explosive that went booooooom and obliterated the whole bay. He was kinda sad but he remembered that he blew up the bandits’ supply — their weapons and their food money. 

Le went home and saw there were more evil warehouses but these had people. He got excited because this was his first good jump, and if he got lucky, he could take down Tiny and he could take back the city so he would be the famous hero that took down Tiny the conqueror of cities. 

He jumped into his suit and told his butler aka assistant to drive him to Hartfield Park and bring the bombs. When they got there, they saw that there was no base there but they heard yelling and machines. He thought maybe they could be underground. I don’t see them here or above me, the only other choice is underground. So he tore the field open with his telekinesis and found an elevator and he hopped on top of the elevator so he would not be seen and let it go down and saw this was their headquarters. Tiny had to be here so Le mad a fireball and blew up the base, making it impossible to escape, and searched for Tiny. When he found Tiny, he was climbing up the elevator cord escaping and the elevator cord was about to snap.

Le yelled, “Tiny, come down, you’re going to fall and hurt yourself!”

But Tiny did not listen. Then the cord snapped and he fell 50 feet. He was about to hit the ground when Le had a moment and he caught Tiny, and in a swift moment, put him in a headlock and made him promise to never do any form of evil as long as he lived. Le put him in handcuffs then Le said, “Tell your men to stand down. You’ve lost.”

A few months later, Le had the whole city number so with one call, they got saved. Le was on a vacation with his new family, his wife, his kids, and they had a great time at Disney and a hotel off the beach. At Disney, they were going on rides and met the infamous Mickey Mouse. 

THE END

Uncovered

Chapter 7

School goes on like this for another month. A pair of monstrous Mr. Sulskys, a jolly-like Mr. Smith, and overboard excitement from Mrs. Watkins. The school days drag on, and I find myself behaving like a white person. Jeremy and Matthew are always with me on the bus ride to school and during lunch. So far, they are still my only friends. And I have learned the school better. Apparently, the boys on my basketball team from gym class are known as the bullies in the grade. Of course, they aren’t very bright. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were failing every subject in school. My mind is always wandering during class, thinking about what I’ve been through. I’m technically a normal kid, albeit a kid who is undercover in a white school under the penalty of severe prison time or even death. 

The Mr. Sulskys are very obnoxious. First of all, though they teach different subjects, they act like the same person. Boring, gray, and unenthusiastic. I’ve managed to withstand a solid B in English, yet a healthy A in history. (But then again, an A in history is probably the equivalent of a B in English.) Many of my fellow students have been unlucky. Jeremy makes no secret of his distaste for school, barely managing C’s in every subject. (Except gym, of course, where he has an amazing A+, due to his baseball skills.) I’m sitting at my wooden desk in English class, daydreaming, while Mr. Sulsky is giving a lecture about “the great and influential poets of the twentieth century” when he says something that catches my ears. 

“There will be a poetry contest for this month,” he is saying, and I hear the tiniest sliver of excitement in his voice. “It will last for two weeks, starting from today to October 17th,” he continues.

I look at the other kids. They seem to be extremely bored, while I seem to be the only one excited. 

“The poem may be about anything, except for violence, vulgar language, and inappropriate content.”

This provokes some vulgar language and inappropriate content.

“That is all. Now have a good day,” Mr. Sulsky says, and a second later, the bell rings. The students scatter out of the classroom, while I’m the only kid in the class who pauses to look at the competition details. As I head to History class, I wonder what I should write about for my poem.

I spend the next two weeks writing my poem. I try to think of something happy, as I’m a person who has infiltrated a school, posing as a person who I’m now and surrounded by people who would happily arrest me or worse if they found out who I really was.

In the end, I write the standard happy poem about spring.

I write about all the happy stuff (which wouldn’t be that interesting for my fellow students, but very interesting for the teachers). 

The day before the poem is due is October 16, the Friday before the weekend. In first period English, I hand in my paper to the basket marked “Poems” (which is empty besides my poem). A few students also hand in poems, but they’re all grumbling that their mothers forced them to. 

At the end of the day, when I return to Mr. Sulsky’s class, the basket is barely full, not even a quarter full. As I walk out of the classroom, I hope for good luck and that I win.

On Monday when we return to school, I decide to go to school a few minutes early to see if I won the competition. I enter English class to see a bored-looking Mr. Sulsky glancing at the poems and sipping coffee from a mug that says, “World’s best English teacher.” 

“Ah, Noah,” he says, looking up from his desk even though he couldn’t possibly see me since his back is turned to me. “I wanted to have a little chat with you. It concerns the poem that you wrote for the poem competition.”

“And?” I ask nervously.

“You won,” Mr. Sulsky finishes, with the tone of someone who just had a good breakfast. “Nicely done.” He turns to face me. There’s a trace of a smile on his face.

“I very much enjoyed your poem,” he continues. “In fact, it’s probably one of the best poems one of my students has ever written.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say happily.

“I think I should call your parents and let them know what a nice poem you’ve written.” The smile on his face grows bigger, and it’s the first trace of emotion I’ve seen from him in the last month. 

“Thank you, sir,” I repeat, though I don’t mean it. If Mr. Sulsky looks into the address book, he won’t find my address, as we aren’t in the white community. I force myself to paste on a happy smile, which more looks like a crooked line. Mr. Sulsky seems to not sense it.

“Ok, then,” he says. He lugs out a thick, white, ancient book from out of his desk. It’s coated with dust. Hasn’t been used in a while. He plops it on his desk, which results in a loud slam! He flips through a few pages until he reaches the BE section. Then the BEC. Finally, he narrows it down to the BECKET section. There are only two names. James and Martha Becket, a couple.

He takes out his phone and dials the number besides the names, then calls. I hear the ringing of the phone as he calls. Then I hear the obnoxious beep! as the call is received.

“Hello?” The person on the other end asks.

“Hello, sir.” Mr. Sulsky says. “Are you the Beckets?”

“Yes, we are,” the man replies. “May I ask who you are?”

“I am Fred Sulsky, the teacher at Winters Academy.”

“All right,” the man says. “May I also ask why you are calling?”

“Yes,” Mr. Sulsky states. “It concerns your son, Noah. He’s recently done quite an astounding — ” 

“What?” the man asks, confused. “We don’t have a son named Noah, and he doesn’t go to this school. Have you got the wrong number?”

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Sulsky says, looking a bit suspicious of me now. “Is this 662-693-0492? Becket residence?”

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Becket says. “But we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“All right, then. I’m terribly sorry for interrupting your day. Please do forgive me.”

“Apology accepted,” Mr. Becket says. “Just be careful about who you call.”

I hear the faint click as the call ends.

Mr. Sulsky looks at me, trying to figure out what’s going on. He thinks for a few moments, and then the spark of realization hits him, dead-on. Even though I’m not a mind-reader, I know what he’s thinking.  He eyes my skin suspiciously, trying to make sense of it. His confused expression goes to a face full of understanding. And then he begins speaking.

Mr. Sulsky looks up from the address book, stunned. His eyes are as big as dinner plates. Then the stunned look on his face quickly turns into a crocodile grin. “Well, well, well,” he snarls devilishly, looking at me the way a lion looks at a baby antelope. Then he cocks back his head like a werewolf and yells, “Hey! This kid’s a — “

Only he doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because I stomp on Mr. Sulsky’s foot and bolt out of the room. 

As I emerge from the hallway, I see puzzled students and teachers approaching me. Though that quickly turns to excitement from the students and panic from the teachers as Mr. Sulsky shouts some words that kids shouldn’t hear. The students hurry to Mr. Sulsky’s room, wanting to see what caused such language. I take advantage of the opportunity and dash towards the stairs, where more students are coming. 

Mr. Sulsky seems to have recovered from the pain of my toe stomp, and he rushes out of the classroom, determined to pound me to pieces. He steps into the hallway, only to be flattened by a mob of students. He screams as a kid steps onto his toes again and then howls as a kid flattens him like a bulldozer on a human pancake. Mr. Sulsky screams again, but I don’t know if it’s out of rage or pain or fear of being run over again. Luck finally seems to be on my side, and I’m just about to emerge when the worst thing imaginable happens. The other Mr. Sulsky is there, hustling through the door with a mug of coffee, which says, “Best Science teacher ever.” He looks up, startled to see me, then his eyes go wide with fear as I bowl over him, scrambling to get to the front door. He screams as the hot black liquid splatters onto him like a caffeine shower. Mr. Sulsky bolts to the bathroom for paper towels (in his haste, he accidentally enters the wrong one, which results in a shriek by the girl inside the bathroom). 

Meanwhile, I’m out of the front door, and the fresh, cold, air hits me like a car. Some school buses are still departing the last students, while some are empty because the drivers needed to take a bathroom break. Without knowing what I’m thinking (or even thinking at all), I leap into an empty bus, commandeer it, step on the gas pedal, 

and drive out of school.

Up until then, I’ve never driven a bus before. Not even a car or any type of vehicle. (Unless you count the rusty, old tractor my grandfather used to own and I drove it for fun on his farm, but even then he didn’t let me drive for fear of headplanting into the barn.) But I figured I could make an exception this time.

I try to head toward home because it’s practically the only area in the city where I’ll be safe. Fortunately, the bus route is pretty simple. I just have to follow the road I’m on and stop left and right occasionally. In the distance, I can hear police sirens roaring at me. I look back to see that they are only a block away from me. I return my attention to the bus, only to find that while I was distracted, I must’ve hit a switch that turned off the steering wheel! Fear suddenly grips me like a terrible nightmare. I can now feel the police cars bumping into the bus. One exceptionally aggressive police officer tries to slam me into pieces. Startled by the hit, I accidentally bump another switch that breaks the steering wheel! Now, I can only go straight. Up ahead, I can see the dot of my house. I’m relieved to see home, but it instantly changes to terror as I realize the river that leads to a waterfall is right ahead as well. The policemen also share my thoughts. I can practically hear the cars screech in terror as they slam onto the brakes. At least they’re safe, but I’m not.

The river grows bigger and bigger as I get closer to my doom. My mind rallies through everything I know about escaping a car that’s about to plunge into a waterfall. Not surprisingly, I barely know anything about the subject. Most spies would’ve had this sort of situation everyday, suavely jumping out and landing into the water. But I wasn’t a spy. My entire espionage experience was watching James Bond movies at Matthew’s house and reenacting scenes on the playground during recess. (At which Jeremy commented that I looked like a frog skydiving.) So when the bus hits the water, I leap out of it like a skydiver. The bus plunges into the water and a gust of water explodes out of the wide river, like a death charge. I doggy paddle toward the shore, also known as my backyard, also known as a patch of weed-infested grass with cheap furniture scattered around like a tornado had organized it. 

With a grunt, I grab onto the yard, leap over the fence (so flimsy a cat could’ve knocked it over), and rush to the back door where my parents are looking at the chaos, aghast. The police cars screech to a halt, inches away from the raging river, where the remnants of the bus are flaming like it’s trying to set the river on fire.

Dead meat.

After PBJ

Hi. So this is what happened AFTER I finished making my PB&J sandwich. Okay, I bet you have NO idea what I’m talking about, so let me tell you EVERYTHING. Okay, so anyway, I love PB&J sandwiches. And last year, I wanted to make one. And it was super hard because someone stole my peanut butter, and I lost my jelly and bread, AND I didn’t have a knife! So I had to go get a computer and find the person who stole my peanut butter, eat a bug so the cops would get out of my way, go to a murder scene to get a knife, and get locked in a trash can to find the jelly. 

ANYWAY, I found the person who stole it and I took it from them. And they got REALLY mad, like actually REALLY mad. They came to my house and they started yelling at me, but THEY were the one who stole it FIRST! So I don’t know what their problem was. Anyway, I just shooed them off my lawn and went back to sleep. But, when I woke up, I SAW HIM STANDING RIGHT ABOVE ME, AND HE WAS SMILING LIKE A CREEPY CLOWN. I’m now wondering how long he stood there, smiling at me sleeping. Anyway. 

Right next to me was my leftover sandwich, so I took one last delicious bite, and then THREW the sandwich at him. Then he was like, “Blah blah blah, you got peanut butter on my shirt!” And he stormed out.

Then, a few hours later, he was back, and this time he had a shovel, and he started digging my lawn. Like, who does that?! Who digs out someone’s lawn!? And so I went up to him and I said, “Sir, this is my property, get out now.” And then he said, 

“Well, that’s my peanut butter, so give it back now!” And I just shooed him off again. 

And THEN he came back because the door was accidentally unlocked since I was binge-watching anime and didn’t have time to think about the door. And when he came back, he quickly put a sack on my head. And maybe he’s a pro or something, because in like two seconds, he trapped me in the sack! So that’s where I am right now, in a sack. So I heard some rustling going on around me, and I’m pretty sure he was looking through my stuff to find the peanut butter. And then I chuckled, I would NEVER leave my peanut butter out in the open after what happened last year. The peanut butter was actually in my pocket.  

TO BE CONTINUED…

Villainous

Prologue

It was 8:00 pm. The sun had already set, and cool shadows masked what was happening below. They stood there, in the shadows of the bridge, watching something happen below. 

 A small rowboat, with one young man standing in the center, slowly drifted to the middle of the big waterway. The man’s shoulders were shaking slightly. He was sobbing, fighting back tears. As if he were afraid of something, someone. 

He continued to row down towards the city. His feet were chained down to the bottom of the boat, the metal glimmering in the faint moonlight. In the back was a large metal irregularly shaped sphere, and it brought down the back of the boat by a great amount. He reached the city. The figures watched from the distance as he slowly picked up the heavy-looking object and held it to his chest. Looking back once more at the two on the bridge, he outstretched his arms, tears streaming down his face, though a calm look present, as if he had accepted his fate. The sphere blew up into fire and smoke and pieces of metal flew everywhere. The sound of the explosion seemed to go off after it blew up, but it screamed in their ears, even from the distance. The railing vibrated uncontrollably. A large chunk of metal flew from somewhere in the dark smoke and clanged against one of the stilts of the bridge. The explosion from the bomb in his hands had covered most of the city, and London blew up and perished in black smoke and fire and heat. The taller of the two on the bridge grinned. He turned around and leaned on the rail. He took out a knife and started carving a stick. 

“And that’s how you do it, brother.” The shorter brother stood stiffly, staring into the black smoke. There were faint screams and sirens. The sky turned into an orange-red color with dark clouds rising into it which blended nicely with the color of the destruction happening below. The taller paused his carving and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He shrugged it off and left him. He seemed uncomfortable. The taller brother sighed, shook his head, and continued to carve his stick. When he finished, he dropped it in the water and left the bridge too, going after his brother.

In the water sank the articulately carved stick. It wasn’t actually a stick, it was two sticks that had been bonded together. It had four sharp ends and cuts that made it look like some sort of symbol. It was shaped like a plus sign, but wasn’t exactly a cross. There were sharp lines and edges, but through it all, you could see the two distinct letters. R//V. It fell to the bottom of the waterway, and folded into the darkness.

The Watchers in the Shadows

Chapter Three of The Watchers in the Shadows

Will slammed the locker door. My head felt like hot iron rods were searing into my brain. 

“Will,” I groaned. “Do you have to be so loud?” 

He grinned and he ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not my fault that you’re hungover. You know we aren’t supposed to drink when we are on a mission.” 

I massaged my temples. “It’s been five months. That’s like five years of intense agony for even a high functioning alcoholic like me.” My stomach lurched as I reached for my hairbrush. I ran toward the trash can and started puking my insides out. My throat was covered in what felt like liquid fire. 

“Good, get all that poison out of your body before our shift starts,” Will called out from the lockers. “Nova, you know this is a good lesson for you. It’s better just to not drink at all than feel horrible in the morning.” 

I wiped my mouth and rolled my eyes. “Well, not everyone is a goody two-shoes like you. Just because you are allergic to fun doesn’t mean everyone else is.” 

Will grasped his heart, pretending to be hurt. “I have fun. Like work is fun, the kids are fun… I have fun!” 

I snorted. “That doesn’t count. Plus, you really think this is fun? We have been on standby for months now. Everyone else gets fun assignments, and we are stuck babysitting a cold case.” 

I buttoned my uniform and reached into my locker for my gun. 

“Maybe, if you followed the rules more, then we would get a cooler assignment,” Will replied, tying his boots. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Following the rules is boring. Plus, you do it all the time and you still got this crummy assignment.” 

Will sighed. “Yeah, I guess that’s true, but they wouldn’t have given us this mission if it wasn’t important.” 

I checked my watch, 12:31 A.M. “Hurry up. Our shift started a minute ago.” Will stood next to the door. 

“I’m waiting for you, not the other way around.” Will grinned as I playfully punched him. 

“Come on, loser. Let’s get to work”. 

We walked out of the locker room and made a beeline for the entry corridor. The sounds of our footsteps echo off the smooth white walls. Before we even turn the corner, I could smell the distinct scent of her watermelon bubble gum. Great, it’s Kair and Reynolds. 

Will shot me a quick grin. I frowned and mentally prepared myself for our shift. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was those two. 

As we turned the corner, Reynolds grinned, her bubbly pink hair ending in spikes. “Hiya! It’s been too long since we’ve had a shift together. Aren’t you pumped?” 

“Not long enough,” I muttered under my breath. 

Reynolds tilted her head toward me. “Didn’t catch that but I’m sure you’re as excited as I am!” 

I winced. Her high pitched voice was hell on my hangover. Kair stood in the corner, one fist clenched and the other right above his holster. 

“Will you shut up for once in your life, Reynolds?” Kair snapped. His permanent frown deepened.  

Reynolds let out a high pitched giggle. “Sorry about him,” she pointed at Kair. “Someone didn’t get their morning coffee.” 

False. They were always like this. Reynolds’s high energy levels matched with her bubbly personality was a bad match with Kair’s anger issues and introverted personality. How these two ever became partners was a miracle to me.

Kair slammed the wall. “I told you to SHUT UP!” 

Reynolds looked concerned. “Are you okay, Kair? It looks like you need a hug.” She reached her arms around him, and then he smacked them away. 

Will laughed. How he could find this entertaining was beside me. It was just plain annoying.  

“AHem.” I turned around to see The Lady standing there. Her face stretched out thin, like paper. She tapped her clipboard with her pencil. “Kair, Corrin; and Reynolds, Nemphis, your break is over, prepare for your second shift.” She turned her gaze toward me and Will. “Thorn, Nova; and Porter, Will, your first shift starts now.” She then proceeded to stiffly walk down the same hallway, her high heels tapping softly. 

Reynolds rested her arm around my shoulders. “Yay! Time to work!” Her voice was tinged with that signature excitement of hers. Her bubble gum scent was even stronger now. The artificial, sweet watermelon was starting to give me a headache. 

 I peeled her arm off of me. “Alright, let’s not do that again.” 

She grinned. “‘Kay!” She skipped off into the front. 

We walked off to the staff door in a group. Our footsteps and Reynolds’s constant streams of excitement echoed through the normally eerie quiet. My headache soon died down to a constant, numb pain, and finally, I could think clearly. Time to get to work.

“Uh, hey, Reynolds, did they ever figure out what happened to that redhead girl?” I slipped in casually, keeping the tone nonchalant. 

She stopped for a second to think. “Hmm. I don’t think so. Oh god, I haven’t thought of her in a while. Hope she’s okay! Oh, and you can call me Nemphis! No need to be formal all the time.” She flashed me a quick thumbs up and went ahead, skipping down the hallway. 

Will shot me a nasty glare, and shook his head slightly. I opened my mouth to argue. Will pointed his chin slightly toward Kair. He looked more aware than usual, his eyes though, still pointed toward the ground. 

I clenched my jaw. We would finish this conversation later. 

We reached the staff door, a large hulking slab of grated metal. Reynolds was waiting patiently; well, that was an overstatement. More like she was doing this awkward little jiggle. Better than her usual racket, but still as annoying as ever. I looked over my shoulder at the others. 

“So um, who has the key?” I asked. Reynolds popped her gum loudly. Will twirled the keychain around his finger. “I do, cause unlike someone, I remember my responsibilities,” Will replied. 

I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. “Oh whatever, just open the door.” 

He walked over and the door opened with a click. We walked through the doorway and entered a long hallway. 

“So, who wants the southside and the northside?” Reynolds asked, her big, doll-like, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. 

Will’s eyes met mine. “Uh, we’ll take the southside, if that’s okay with you guys,” I spoke up. 

Kair shrugged and Reynolds gave me a toothy smile. She clapped her hands with excitement. “Excellent! We’ll meet you after dinner. Have a nice day!” She then proceeded to skip down the hallway. Kair slouched and followed her. 

I massaged my temples. God, those two were insufferable. 

Will chuckled. “Those two are great.” 

My left eye twitched. “Are you kidding me? Those two are the most annoying human beings to ever exist.” 

Will laughed. “They truly are the best.” 

We turned the corner. This was one of the new hallways. 3sw, if I wasn’t mistaken. 

“So how many renovations do you think there’s going to be? I mean, it’s been at least three in the past week,” I asked.

Will turned to face me. “I’m not sure, but I think they’re planning something big.” 

“Why’s that?” Odd of Will to do this type of thinking. He was more one for thinking in the moment. 

Will raised an eyebrow. “There’ve been 16 big renovations in the last month, 32 minor renovations, fewer and fewer kids are being brought in. How could something big not be coming?” 

I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but it was just hard to believe that something around here was actually going to happen. 

We turned the next corner. Oh, it’s her. In front of us stood the girl. Her blond locks were as pristine as ever. Those cold, dead, blue eyes seemed to stare into my soul. 

She quickly tucked something into her blazer as she saw us approach. She smiled, not an actual one. It didn’t reach her eyes, the type that only she could pull off. 

“Hello there, can I help you?” Her motions were stiff, as if her joints and bones were made out of metal. Creepy. 

Will cleared his throat with a sudden cough. “No need, we are just passing through. Carry on.” 

 She relaxed her smile, a look of relief washing over before she could contain it. She walked swiftly past us, her shiny blonde curls bouncing behind her. 

I shivered. Something was off about that girl. She may look normal to the glance, but that was just an act. She lacked qualities that made someone human. Her eyes dead-looking, her motions always calculated, never reactive, and, of course, never a hair out of place. A husk of a person. 

Will shook my shoulder. “Hey, come on, let’s get out of here.” 

I snapped back into reality. “Oh… yeah. It’s just that girl… there’s just something off about her,” I stuttered. 

Will snorted. “You know you say this every time you see her. Every single damn time. And I’ll tell you again, the same thing I tell you every time. Stop it. You’re freaking me out.”

I relaxed as a tightness left my chest. I squeezed my palms. “Alright, let’s go. But I’m seriously considering investigating that girl. 

Will muttered under his breath, “Every single damn time.”

I elbowed him. 

He laughed.  

Approximately three minutes later, we reached our destination. I locked the door as we walked into the common room. I leaned against the door as Will cleared the cabinets. 

“Weird. The books aren’t in the same order as I left them.” Will pointed to a stack of books in the corner. 

“One of the kids probably shuffled it up when they were looking for some light reading,” I responded. Will gets like this sometimes. His detective mood, as I like to call it. He gets overly cautious or suspicious over the smallest of details. Never leads to anything, but it is entertaining at the very least. 

“That’s what I thought too, but none of the books are missing.” Will scratched his cheek, deep in thought. 

I shrugged. “So? Maybe they just didn’t find anything good to read.” 

“Hmm. I guess so,” Will mumbled. He didn’t look convinced. I tugged his sleeve to get him back on track. 

“Hurry up before someone wonders what we’re doing here.” He nodded quickly, and started to carefully remove the rest of the clutter. 

There it was, glued to the cabinet panel. The shining yellow button, right out of grandma’s sewing kit. Will pressed down on it, and with a click, the trapdoor opened. 

Below the keypad, the screen displayed today’s motto: Only the strongest prevail. 

I winced. Why this one?

Will clenched his jaw. His face stiffened and cast hard shadows. He quickly typed in the answer: Auckerman.  

Should I talk to him about it? No, we had more important things to worry about right now. 

Will crawled through and leaped down into the tunnel below. I followed after him. We walked in silence, our footsteps echoing through the dark tunnel. I twiddled my fingers nervously. Will looked okay, for the most part. He wasn’t talking or anything, but he wasn’t having a meltdown either. 

We turned the corner and I reached for the metal wall. 

Will grabbed my wrist. “Wait, someone’s been here.” He pointed at a scrap of paper on the floor. Will reached for the slip of paper, and read its contents. 

“Meet me in the attic, 12:00 P.M. Don’t be late.” He crumbled it up and slipped it into his pocket. 

Wait, what? Why would someone make contact now? Especially now? More importantly, who? 

Will looked equally as shell shocked as I was. Five months. That was how long it took for this assignment to get interesting. If this were a mountain, this would be the peak. And well, it would only go downhill from here. 

Will looked deep in thought, his eyes glazed over as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. 

I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hey, snap out of it. Let’s get into the lab first, before you start doing any deep thinking.” 

He nodded in response and stepped back. 

I took a deep breath and focused. A deep tingling shot through my left arm, and my right arm numbed. I bent my left arm’s fingers to test it out. Power coursed through my veins. Excellent! I dug my hand underneath the metal plate, the pads of my fingertips pushed against the width of the metal. I flexed my fingers, the metal slab driving effortlessly into the groove above. 

I flashed a smile at Will. “After you.” I gestured to the now revealed room. 

Will mocked a bow. “Of course my lady,” he said with fake graciousness. He walked into the room.

 I giggled. Will could be fun when he wanted to be. I shook the tingles from my left arm, my right one regaining movement. 

I walked into the lab. Various handbooks were stacked in the corner, and two well-worn swivel chairs were placed in front of a long desk and monitors, some relaying information, others just displaying camera feeds. A lit lantern hung from the ceiling, and our gear was piled in a corner. 

Will sat down on his chair, his eyes glued to the communications monitor. 

“Something wrong?” I asked. Will usually wasn’t this attached to communications, mostly because he didn’t really have any friends, at least none that he was particularly close to. 

“Uh, no. But that’s just the thing. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing about this new message sender,” Will replied, he sounded utterly confused. 

“Should we tell HQ about the message?” I said. I mean, I had no idea what to do. Surely, HQ would have answers.  

Will paused for a second, thinking. “No, I don’t think so, if this was an enemy then why wouldn’t they just stake it out and ambush us. But it also doesn’t make sense that HQ didn’t tell us about it either,” he said thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” I started dramatically, “someone’s gone rogue.” 

“Actually, that would make sense. I mean, it’s simply obscure for someone who doesn’t already know about this place to find it. Plus, there’s the passcode at the trapdoor. They obviously either couldn’t open the last door, or didn’t know there was more,” Will replied, taking my response seriously. 

I checked my watch, 12:30 We would have to hurry up here before someone noticed we were missing.

“Hey.” I nudged Will’s foot. He looked up from the monitor. I tapped my watch. “Dude. hurry up, we gotta go do our job.” He nodded, and quickly sent a message. 

“What did you send?” I asked. 

“Just asked HQ to send a message to make sure our receiving systems are working. Just to confirm this mysterious note leaver isn’t working on HQ’s orders.” 

  “Oh, okay,” I replied. “Are you ready to go?” He nodded again. 

We walked out of the room, and with a gentle nudge, the metal wall came crashing down. 

I inspected it for a moment, looking for any signs of strain or cracks. As perfect as ever. I flashed a thumbs-up to Will. He turned away, and started walking back up the tunnel. 

I grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, wait, we never finished talking about what happened back there with Kair.” 

He looked disgruntled. “You already know why I reacted that way. Do I really have to elaborate?” 

I balled up my fist and gritted my teeth. “Actually yes, do tell me why what I did was so wrong.” 

Will opened his mouth, “One, this is a reconnaissance type two mission, we aren’t permitted to investigate. Second, we are to report any unusual activities, which we did. HQ didn’t permit us to move forward with anything. Third, I’m in charge, not you. Fourth, on top of breaking the rules, you jeopardized our position by asking such blunt questions. If it was anyone but Reynolds we’d probably be captured, found out, or worse.” Will raised an eyebrow. “Explain to me how your actions weren’t wrong.”  

“But… but I just know there’s something deeper to this! I don’t care what HQ said, this is important,” I replied in protest. 

I mean, how could he just let an opportunity like this slide? A girl mysteriously disappeared from a virtually inescapable house. Any sane person would want to know what happened to her. Even if it did break some stupid rules. 

“Hey!” Will raised his voice, the tone angry. “We were given orders and we will follow them. Even if it goes against your hunch. Understood?” 

I looked at my feet. “Understood.” 

We walked in silence through the tunnel. The rest of the day passed at a snail’s pace. My nerves increased the closer it grew to 12. 

11:00. 

11:30. 

11:40

11:45 

I looked over my shoulder at Will. He was standing in the corner fiddling with his gun. I tapped my watch slowly. 

He looked up at me. “You know there’s no use obsessing over the time. All we can do is wait.” 

“Well, we could get a headstart, scout out the attic, maybe a little bit of investigating. What’s the point of just sitting here, let’s put our time to use, even if at the end of all of this it turns out to be pointless,” I suggested. 

Will shook his head. “No, if this mystery person was smart enough to find the tunnel, they wouldn’t be careless enough to leave anything to chance,” he replied, deep in thought. 

“Alright, if you say so.” I wasn’t convinced, but I trusted Will’s judgment. It has saved me plenty of times before, and I’ll count on it again. 

11:50

I tapped my watch again. Will was walking down the hallway before I could say a word. 

I speed-walked after him. “Hey, at least give me some warning next time,” I whispered into his ear. 

“Oh, um, yeah, sorry about that. Just had a thought though,” Will started. “Well, what if this mystery person slipped in recently? That would explain why we haven’t had any contact before. And, well, do you remember what Reynolds said at lunch today?” 

I blanked. “Uh, no. I tend to tune out whenever she starts talking.” 

Will ignored my comment. “Well, she mentioned this new kid, about 17. He was brought in earlier in the morning, before our shift.” 

It started to click in my head. “Wait… isn’t fieldwork permitted at 16? It could make sense that he would be the mystery person we are looking for.”

Will grinned. “That’s what I’m thinking! It didn’t click until now, but when Reynolds told me his name, I thought it sounded familiar.” 

“What’s his name?” I asked. 

Will smiled again. 

“Braylon Kramer.”

Lost at Sea


Prologue 

Hiding from that terrible woman was what we did every day. Hiding in a pocket of darkness, wrapped around each other. I would say something stupid, she would giggle, and I would use her silky, pinkish-tinted blond hair to cover my red face. She didn’t mind, it would only cause us to become more entangled in one another. That was our thing. Our daily routine, you could call it. 

Being in the foster home for as long as we had, it was hard to feel loved, so when you had a friend, you would never let go. But we were different. We were closer than just best friends, choosing each other over getting chosen. 

In an orphanage, Emy would be the obvious choice. She was tall, blond, pretty, and shy to the bare eye. Once you got to know her, she would reveal her feistiness and confident nature to you. 

I reach out my hand and sweep the precious strawberry golden locks out of Emy’s soft, olive, freckled skin and prompt her chin up. She shyly looks down at the base canoe and giggles to herself. When she looks back up at me, I smile to let her know that she is safe with me. She bites her lip and for a second, I regret making the first move until she smiles back at me with the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. The crystal clear sea sparkles with manta rays and dolphins swirl around us as we lean in.  

Her soft lips gently press against mine as the warmth from the sun makes it seem like we will float on the playful waves forever, as her tongue brushes against my teeth and slips in as she puts her hands on my neck and pulls me closer to the point where I can feel her heart race. I grab her waist as she tugs tenderly at my collar, she wraps her legs around my body and I sit down, still holding her waist with one hand but put the other hand on the bench so I don’t fall over. We sit there with the sparkling waters, kissing as we continue to melt into the sunset.

Chapter One 

Emy pulls away and gazes into my eyes only a few inches away from my face as I take a breather. I only half get my breath back before she runs her fingers down my short, deep brown hair and places her hands back on my neck, she pulls me off the ledge I was sitting on, to the bottom of the canoe. I look up at her as she slowly squats down. Our eyes are locked as she sits in a W stance on my lap. In this moment, she looks so beautiful that I can’t move or even breathe. She slowly pushes me down with her palm in the middle of my chest. In a movement, she now has her hands on both sides of my head, she leans forward, hopping onto her knees, coming into an adapted plank. 

In that moment, as we stare into each other’s eyes, and our body heat keeps us warm under the ever-darkening sky above, I am glued to the ground, and her arms locked in place. 

Until she does move. And yet again I am scared she has begun to regret this. She then starts laughing, and I feel relieved, but then concerned. Finally, I realize how strange this situation is, and how stupid my face must look. I also loosen up, and begin to laugh with her.

Emy lowers herself to kiss my cheek, and I pull her into a hug to safely plop her down next to me. We giggle, and look up at the stars. As Emy tries to point out constellations, I think about my life. Better yet my future — with Emy of course, she is my life. I think about this moment. When we go back, will we forget this? If we go back, will we be transported back in time, to before we had experienced this feeling? Do we have to go back?

Of course, we do. I’m not stupid, we don’t know anything about the real world. We would completely start over, a clean slate, you could say. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Starting over. A life with her. Nothing could be more perfect. Nothing.

I quickly shove the idea out of my mind, and try to think of the present. And what I can do to make clear to her that this date isn’t an experiment, or a summer fling, and that she is my everything, and I want to be her everything. Before I can think of what to say next, my heart has beat me to it. I sit up, and Emy looks at me, a tad bit confused.

“Emy,” I say, barely a whisper. Emy senses something off, so she also sits up. I look away, embarrassed, and I almost can’t continue. She puts one hand on my shoulder and uses the other to hold my hand that I am not leaning on. We lock eyes and share a small smile. The warmth flows in from her kind touch, and I now don’t see a reason to not say it. 

“I love you, Emy. I have for as long as I can remember. And not just as friends or family, my love for you goes deeper than that. You are my life and have been, always.” She releases from me, and looks shocked. She seems like she is about to say something, but I guess I will never know. Because right there and then, the canoe is flipped over, and I hit the water with a smack.

~ ~

The water isn’t clear anymore, the tide seems high when it is only deeper from an essence, pushing the sand around, so it is blurry and there is a shadow cast around us. 

Wait, us? Where is she? I open my eyes wider, the burning sensation where sand and saltwater mix up in your eyes covering up the feeling of something coming up behind me. 

There is a minute where I see her with her precious golden locks floating in the water, and her eyes are closed while sharks circle around her, giving me only a few glances at her. All of a sudden, she opens her eyes. The sharks dash away, as I look closer, I see she is looking slightly over my shoulder with a blank expression other than a slight look of anger, and a bit of evil in her eyes. I flinch, and a little bit of air escapes me, but I stay calm. I look closer, her eyes normally ivy green are now a deep magenta, I rub my eyes, not believing what I’m seeing. I open my eyes, hoping that it was just a mind trick because of all the sand and seawater, and that she would be her normal self again, but when I open my eyes, I don’t see her. I look all around but I can’t find her anywhere. 

Where could she have gone? Suddenly, something warm and furry brushes my neck. Could Emy be playing a trick on me? I turn around, hoping to laugh it off, pull us up and figure out what happened. 

The smile fades from my face as I see a slimy tentacle that is connected to a much bigger, bulging figure with rows and rows of jagged, rusting, moldy teeth that has deep, red blood gushing out of its mouth, making the water around me darken as the blood flow starts to pull me towards the monster. It takes me a second to figure out what I am going to do, but when I figure it out, my petrified state only leaves me spazzing out. 

Without warning, the tentacle latches itself to me and squeezes almost all the air out of my lungs, its nails claw at my bare skin, leaving bloody bruises all over me. 

I still can’t see Emy, so with the last of my breath, I yell for her. Still no sign of her, and that is the last bit of oxygen inside of me. With the water filling my lungs and pumping the last bit of air out of my system, I go limp, and my world starts to blacken…

Chapter Two

I awake with a squeak. Sitting up, looking in all directions, not knowing where I am, my familiar den with dark purple curtains on the moldy window that looks out into a brick wall (beautiful view) has been replaced with dim crystals and rocks to create a shaded cave which I am in. I have been washed up in this cave, it is clear to see, the only question is… how?

Clearly, I came in somehow, but where could I have come from? I look around, seeing no obvious exit, and wonder if there was no exit where I could have entered. I slowly put my shaking hands on the ground and push myself up, removing some of the excess dirt and sand from my clothes that smell heavily of seawater. I touch my fingertips to the edge of the wall that I am closest to, and start walking around the perimeter of the spacious cave, feeling all around to make sure a hidden door is somewhere around here.

Halfway through, I start to get really bad headaches, they start getting so bad that I collapse to the floor, hands clenching my head, screaming so loudly that some crystals fall off the ceiling, but I can’t hear, having this migraine hurts so bad that I can’t hear anything. It starts getting so bad that I keep starting to blackout, but have it pass just as I start to faint. Then, as fast as it comes, the brain-crushing headache finally passes for good. I let out a sigh of relief and unclench my hands from my head revealing blood, (yikes). I quickly wipe that on my shirt and get up and cautiously start tracing the walls with my fingertips again. Soon after that, I fall unconscious as memories flood back. I start to remember what happened on the previous night, the ride, the kiss, and the monster. I now also remember small memory clips of how I got here. I see myself rising and then falling, and then another clip where I scream, and then the echo of my voice causes rocks to rain on me. That’s probably why I fell asleep. I look on the ground, yep, these are the rocks that hit my head. I look back up, must have been a nasty fall, sharp boulders, and slimy moss surround the opening of the cave which would make the attempt of my escape fairly brutal.

  Once, twice, five times, I try. There are blisters, bruises, and cuts all over my body, making the purpose of climbing halfway up and then falling down because my arms are about as thick as a stick, then brushing myself off and giving myself a pep talk, saying that I am going to get all the way up and that I am not going to give up halfway, but of course, I would manage to give up.

On the sixth try, I hear a neutral-toned voice say, “Oh, you should probably give up, you’re never going to get out anyway.”

“Well, I think I will with love as my determination,” I manage to grunt as I pull myself up to a rock that I didn’t see before.

“Well, it’s your fault we’re in here,” she snarls. For some reason, that freaks me out and I fall to the ground. Brushing myself off (again!). 

“C’mon, man, I was farther than I ever went before!” I mutter, still not turning around. “I mean, I was right there, I could have reached up and — ”

“Carna,” she whispers. The only person who calls me by my real name is Emy. I whip my head so fast around that my neck starts to hurt.

Chapter Three

“E-Emy? It’s really you? Oh, Emy, are you okay?” I exclaim. ”I’m so sorry,” I whisper, coming closer to her. I reach both my hands behind her neck and pull her even closer for a kiss. Only for her to push me away and flash her magenta eyes at me and say, 

“Stop being so nice like you were to my mom when she didn’t expect you to be gay.” Her eyes look into my soul. It is that moment when something inside of me sinks. Just then, the ceiling comes crumbling down. 

“Emy, what’s going on!?!” I breathlessly scream through the pile of deadly sharp boulders that have come down and just barely missed me. The rock rises and scatters across the walls and the empty space that used to be the ceiling. “E-emy. Emy, please, j-j-just tell me what’s g-going on,” I whimper. She just makes a half-hearted attempt of laughter.

“Hahaha, ha. That’s like what your mother said to me when you didn’t have the guts to tell her that you were lesbian, instead, you ran off like a little baby and hid in some shelter or some crap like that, leaving me to lie to your helpless mom, making me seem like the bad guy when you’re just sitting around doing who knows what, having me do all your dirty work,” she screeches in my ear with a look of either pure disgust, or pure hatred, maybe both.

“Em, I — ” I say with all intentions of apologizing, until she cuts me off.

“Oh don’t ‘Em’ me,” she scoffs as the rocks that I totally forget are there start flying across the cave with a flick of her wrist. “You are the one who convinced me to steal my dead parents’ boat just to have it flung around in the open ocean.” Then, as if I were mad at her, I yell back at her, hopping around trying to avoid the flying rocks.

“You did not steal the boat, you borrowed it.” Realizing how wrong I am with every word I say, I hesitate, allowing one of the rocks to knock me off my feet.

“Oh really, taking it against my mother’s command and then trashing it would not be considered stealing?” she squeaked, her hand now throbbing back and forth, sending boulders smashing into the walls, making everything fall on us.

“Emy, you’re right, I shouldn’t have done that, or anything else. I shouldn’t have been a baby, and hideaway, I should have come clean to my mother and told her I was gay, but that doesn’t mean you should make this whole cave come down on us.” Emy doesn’t stop. 

“Emy, please, I-I-I love you.” Emy falls to the ground and the rocks drop. “Emy, are you back?” I whisper, shaking as I carefully step forward. She rocks back and forth and starts shrieking. While the color drains from her face, a ghost-like figure starts to separate from her face, but just as the demon is about to leave, it gets sucked back in her, giving the color back to her face.

“No!!! Emy will never come back! She is mine forever. She willingly gave me her body,” The demon snorts. “And now I will destroy you.” Emy’s body starts glowing brighter and brighter until she is blinding me. I close my eyes as the cave goes down.

Chapter Four

As soon as I open my eyes, I see that I survived another rock attack, by jumping in a crevice right before the walls come down on me, but what about Emy? Sure a demon that wants to kill me is possessing her, but I still care about her. Would a human body survive if a demon is possessing it? I don’t need the answer ‘cause little do I know I will be finding out soon enough. It starts with a low rumble, and as it gets louder, the rocks start shaking, Then it starts to get to the point where the noise becomes screeching, and the rocks fall out of place. Soon, the location where I am standing becomes discovered by the demon, and the treacherous sea monster waiting to feast on my flesh.

“Hi?” I whisper stupidly, hoping to make up with the monsters. For a second, nothing happens and I think that it is over. “Oh good, I thought I was going to die for a sec — ” 

First, I feel it, another burning sensation, except it is on the outside, then I see it, the flaming red fireball melting anything around us (even the rocks). I panic as my skin starts peeling upwards and the ground starts to suck me in.

“Ahhh!!!” I yell as I jump away from a drop of boiling rock liquid from the raging fire that makes holes in the ground bigger than me and Emy combined. What to do when standing in the middle of a burning fire under a pile of melting boulders? Then I see it, the small opening created by the screeching noise would be the perfect hideout. I crawl through only to remember that is the only way out, and the only way for the fireball to get in, so I am going towards the threat with my near red skin that is still on fire… oh well, can’t go back now, the fire still in there has melted the rocks over the hole and now has solidified. Great.

Before I know what to do, I am whisked up into the clouds by the easily recognizable barf-colored tentacle. Only this time, if I don’t get out soon, my ribs will probably crack. “Please don’t do this. Please don’t kill me, I know that I have been a terrible person while I have been trying to keep my life together, Emy has helped me see the error of my ways, and I hope to change for her and for the better of me.” The monster’s grip on me loosens. I try to shoot a hopeful glance at Emy, but she has disappeared. I look at the creature’s black shadow of a body, and stare dead into its beady red eyes as its glow fades slightly. “Please, I don’t want to die here, I want to be at home with Emy by my side when I finally nod off. Don’t you?” The last thing I see before I fall to my death is the red glow coming back to its eyes.

When I open my eyes again, I am in Emy’s bruised arms at a nook in the still-standing section of the cave, the crystals shine against Emy’s soft smile, forgetting whatever demon was inside her for a moment or two.

“How long was I out for?” I whisper, brushing a golden lock out of her scared face.

“For only a few seconds,” she replies, holding my hand to her face. I pull her into a tight hug. Realizing that I just fell from the sky, I panic and pull back.

“What’s wrong?” Emy asks, loosening her grip on me.

“How am I not dead? Am I dead?” I yell.

“What? No, you’re not dead, why?” she questions, looking concerned.

“The fall. When I fell, wait, did you catch me?” I exclaim. She smiles at me warmly. “Wait! What about the demon, did it leave you alone? Did you defeat it?” I ask, hope in my eyes, while also pushing away as far as I can still being in her arms.

“Well, not — ” Emy cuts herself off, 

“Exactly,” the demon voice finishes. She falls, dropping me. She holds her head in a circling motion.

“Emy, pull yourself together!” the demon voice inside her screeches, making her shiver uncontrollably.

“No! I will not give in to you!” Emy yells, trying to separate herself from the demon. Seeing this, and not knowing what to do, makes me hate myself, it is horrible watching this, but I can’t just leave her to fend for herself, what type of heartless monster would do that?

With this destruction, whooshing noise becomes louder from a small section of the cave, but I don’t turn because I am too busy trying to figure out what to do.

Then, something starts illuminating the same dark and damp part of the cave that is not destroyed by the demon. Abruptly, white flames erupt from the illuminating section of the cave, blowing up the whole place and leaving rusty white spots in that area. Ouch, that must hurt insanely. From the dust comes the terrorist sea monster, which has a look of hunger in its eyes. I guess it has come to take my soul, too. 

I watch, petrified, in fact too much so I can’t even hear the constant battle between Emy and the demon. I look down, sensing a tickle that is constantly getting worse. I realize that the fire has gotten to me and my skin has been rotting for at least five seconds because the fire has some sort of acid chemical reaction that is eating at my skin. If I didn’t feel it before, I definitely feel it now, the pain of it tearing through my skin, even muscle is too much for me to handle, even with it slowing down, it is eating at me pretty quickly. With some muscles gone, standing is not an option, I fall back, hitting my head, hard.

“Uhhnn!” I moan, rubbing my head. “Ahhhhhhhhh!!!” I scream, the pain of my muscles overwhelm me with absolute and utter pain! If that isn’t enough, the Kraken-like creature is now charging at me. I try to get up, but all I can do is sit still. Sitting stiller than stone, wondering what to do with my seemingly last few moments on Earth. I build up the courage to say my last words. 

“Through everything we have gone through, we have stayed together. I have always loved you Emy, even before I knew I did. Through thick and through thin, you have always been there for me, and I love you for that but I’m just sorry that I have not been the best to you these past few years, and I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me for that, but I just wanted to let you know that I love you!” I cry as life fades away from me. With that, I close my eyes, hoping my death will be an easy transition to Heaven or, more likely, Hell. Lying, running away from home, and making my girlfriend do all my bidding for me will not get me into Heaven.

Chapter Five

Thump thump, thump thump.

Is all I hear.

 My heart beating, everything else is silent.

 Scared to open my eyes. Cold all around me, I shiver. 

Scared to open my eyes… I do anyway.

Chapter Six

Slowly, my eyelids open to see my bare, scarred feet, drenched with blood. Confused, I quickly look up and see the same cave I was just in but only, the creature is leaving the cave, looking satisfied. Maybe the shot did hit me and I’m dead. That would make a lot of sense, and why is Emy sleeping? Nothing really made sense. If I’m not alive I wouldn’t get the honor of Emy in my living Hell, unless I got into Heaven. (But we all know what the chances of that would be after all that I’ve done.) On the other hand, I would still doubt that sleeping is the last thing she would be doing while she tried to battle the demon. 

I walk over to her, and look down, seeing a big tear of fabric near her torso. I feel my jaw drop when I can see deeper than just her skin, but before any sounds can come out, I feel the warm, heavy breathing of something behind me. The moistness, and height of where it came from make me freeze. I gather up courage and slowly turn around.

The Kraken thing looks at me as if it were grinning. I feel as if there were something building up inside of me. To my surprise, it doesn’t feel like fear, it feels more like anger. A deep rage burns hotter and hotter inside my soul. Suddenly, I do not think that Emy is sleeping anymore. I don’t feel like she is safe.

And I have a strong feeling it has something to do with the Kraken. I feel it with each heave of its breath, and every time a basketball-sized glob of drool falls to the stone floor we are both standing on. I sense that it knows something I don’t.

In the moment of stillness, the Kraken suddenly gets impatient for a reaction, and it swings at me. Somehow, I manage to dodge the attack as if I know it will happen ahead of time, and with even more anger fueling my actions, I charge at the oceanic beast, and manage to throw it across the cave in one fell swoop. 

As soon as it hits the ground, it vanishes in a cloud of dust. I don’t even take the time to process how in a flurry of wrath, I have not just lifted, but thrown the foul creature who had probably weighed about a ton all the way across the cave.

Not even a little bit. The first thing I do is check on Emy. Being able to take a closer look, I realize how much damage was actually done.

Chapter Seven

“God! Emy, this is bad. This is really bad!” I panic. She then wakes up, and looks at me with a sad smile, as if she has already accepted that there is no hope. 

“But…” I speed up, trying to put on a brave face. “If we get you home now, we can patch you all up, and we will be alright! I-I-I mean you will be alright.” 

I start to pick her up, but I stop when I realize she feels very limp in my arms as if she were barely even there, but she is there. All the way there, so I try again. This time, I try to ignore the emptiness within her and get her out of there as soon as I can.

I stop when I feel her small, stone-cold, hand against my arm. I look down to see her warm eyes politely asking me to put her back on the ground, so I do. How can I deny my dying girlfriend’s request even if it means a zero percent chance of her survival?

NO! There is no way she would have me stop trying to save her. She knows what would happen to me if she stops breathing, she knows how much she means to me… but does she? 

What am I even thinking? Of course she knows. She also knows what I could do to save her. That’s why she stopped me, she has a better way to save herself, a faster way to secure her survival.

“Okay, so what do you want me to do?” I ask, energized. She looks at me as if I had asked her if she wanted to do jumping jacks while fighting a bear. “You know… to save you and all?” I feel my voice get all scratchy, and I swallow hard to push down the bad feeling that has started to arise. She opens her mouth to say something, but without even realizing it, I cover her mouth.

I have just asked a question, but I don’t let her answer. I don’t even know why.

Yes, I do. I don’t want to hear what she has to say. I know it will be something bad. I KNEW IT THE WHOLE TIME! Ever since I saw her there, I’ve known she is losing to the universe, I’ve known she is slipping away, I’ve known she is almost gone, I know…

… she is almost dead.

Chapter Eight

Her eyes are wide but understanding as I release her mouth from my tight grip. My hands go up to my face and I rub my eyes. Hard. It hurts, but I hope I will see a different image when my eyes defog.

“Hey!” Emy tries to yell, but fails due to lack of breath support. Her failed attempt causes another wave of emotion that blows through me. I can see her readjust as she looks at the pain on my ever dampening cheeks.

“Hey,” Emy whispers this time. “Don’t do that.” She gives me a partially disapproving look. I look at her, confused, and she removes my hands from my eye region. I sigh, a bit relieved knowing that she still cares about me even during what could be her final moments. She also sighs, and brings my trembling hands to her face. I restabilize, as her warm breath slowly comes in, and out, from her subtly parted lips, onto the backs of my hands. Which she has placed on her cheeks to which her slightly pointed nose pokes out in the gap between them. It is slightly uncomfortable, but I don’t really notice. How am I going to get through her eventual departure?

“Carna?” she whispers into my hand.

After this, Emy and Carna share a moment where Emy tells Carna that she loves her but that she has to go on without her and, with that, Emy dies. Carna then finds some wood on the beach that she pulls together and puts a sail on and has to find her way home from being on this island in the middle of nowhere. I guess you could say that she was lost at sea 😉

Ott: Part One

Chapter 1

Lunging, leaping over logs and trees, the pitter-patter of light footfalls was eerily absorbed by the misshapen flora. Something was running. A huge noise sounded behind the runner, a noise reminding the four-legged runner of the danger. A huge golem-like pillar of stone and crystal, quickly folding its form into a shape that’s strange, and yet relatable to a tiger. The runner was interested, and yet terrified. The runner then made a decision. Veering from its path, it went to an area. Here, the trees seemed to take all hope from most creatures, and the area was forever coated in a thick, sickly green mist. He had spotted it earlier, and had quickly sketched a design on a special medallion that all tribe members took as a precaution. It looked akin to a piece of amber, its center now shining. The golem creature stopped on the edge of this patch of woods. Its bright eyes blazed, a beacon of golden light, with a hint of aqua blue and red, before it padded its way back into the woods.

Ott, for that was the four-legged runner’s name, stopped on the far side of this evil patch and thought about his life. Before he became a fully fledged member of his tribe, the Amberpatch tribe, he had thought of its scout option as perilous, but thrilling. Ott loved what he did, of course, but things certainly weren’t easy. Especially for his species. They were the kornads, and, while very much sentient and intelligent, they sometimes felt out of place. Were the small, weak kornads really supposed to be here? Ott often pondered this question. Now his primary thought was, What was evolution thinking! (Of course, he didn’t think in English. It would be silly to believe that kornads, a species from another world, would think in a language they had not ever heard of. No, the kornads thought ((and spoke)) in the aptly named language kornadin, which will be translated.) His second thought was, I need to get back to the grus (village). Indeed, he did, for he was in uncharted waters, so to speak, and was in serious trouble unless he could get back to the Amberpatch village (grus). Ott knew this full well, and began to navigate homeward.

The sky was pale blue and had a fluffy aspect, and judging by the cloudless sky, nobody would have guessed that the day could have taken any bad turns. A pale orange was peeking over a now purple sky when Ott finally settled down. Climbing up a now not so foreboding evergreen, he thought on the events of the previous week. They were tracking a malfunctioning shape golem. These creatures were ‘tamed,’ so to speak, by the Amberpatch village, by feeding them a magical amber-like substance they called ‘thren.’ This put them into a state of pacification, which was mutually enjoyed. The shape golems loved thren, and could develop bonds with the Amberpatch tribe, and the Amberpatch tribe loved the comforting presence of the giant pillars of earth, and could also bond with golems. The comfort of the golems was normally understandable. The bonds between golems and Amberpatch were often so strong, that they would defend each other with their lives (or for golems, spirits), thus it was obviously comforting to have a friendly, extremely powerful, ever-shifting, mound of minerals and stone, from ages gone by in the bowels of the earth. There were, however, exceptions, occuring before the bonding of golem and kornad. One such exception fled from the Amberpatch village, into the woods. The elders of the village (as well as the inhabitants formed a democratic/oligarchy hybrid government) turned from hope that the golem went to a watchportal (a rift usually leading to the Deren mountains) or ran across a boundary bordering a neighboring village’s territory, to fear of the golem that replaced the peace. Ott and the other master scouts had been sent to monitor the golem. In his nook in the evergreen, Ott now wished he had his golem. Understand that golems are not comforting for no reason. All respectable full members of the tribe had golems, and they are extremely strong, capable of deadlifting over 300 times the weight of the evergreen that Ott was now sitting in. They are only truly destroyed if their heart of thren is removed, this being the reason that they consume so much. The bigger the heart, the stronger the golem (an interesting tidbit could, and will, be inserted here: if a golem reaches a certain age, possesses certain traits, and has a big enough heart, it can ‘ascend.’ This turns the golem a bright amber color, with a tinge of color based on the traits that it ascended with. Only two cases have ever occured where a golem has ascended). Also, their heart can only be accessible if the golem’s body is utterly destroyed, and its traits are somehow reversed. Anyhow, Ott was wishing for an incredibly fast mount and companion, and this was ideal for his golem. Called Goran, Ott’s golem preferred (remember, they are shape golems, they can be whatever shape they are inclined to be, but everybody has their favorites, and golems are no different) to be a huge bird, incredibly quick with the ability to send an electric pulse (Goran was made of a special electrical ore found deep underground) into things he pierced with his talons or formidable beak. He was always shining with a comforting glow, which was, though Ott was denying it, very vital. He was not afraid of the dark. 

This, however… this is nothing natural, he thought somewhat wryly, on an occasion when he almost succumbed to this dark, halfway through the night. He was far too close to the evil, hope-sucking glade. Touching his amber necklace, a gift from his family, he drew hope from it, even as it grew warm and started to glow. His thoughts unclouding, he shook the last strands of drowsiness. He began moving away from the glade, back toward his village. The darkness drew back, surprised that its prey had not succumbed, and realizing that it never would. Then that malicious presence fled back to the evil places of the world, having come to the conclusion that it had no power over Ott. Ott realized, as the presence was lifted, that he had won a small victory. He also realized, somewhat discouragingly, that he had still not attained complete safety. Complete safety would only be attained when he made it back to his village. Poor golem, he thought, remembering the chase that led him into the glade. What a great honor it had attained, but so lost. He remembered its coloring. It let me go. I know it’s an ascendant, it let me go.

Chapter 2

Thinking about the rank of the golem, he suddenly felt saddened. Based on studies of golems, he agreed with most of the Amberpatch scientists that an ascendant golem with no kornad bonded to it was incredibly sorrowful, and as shown by its behavior, would flee, becoming aggressive toward all creatures. It only wanted kindness, but when finding none or little, it became enraged. Ott, once or twice in the night, thought he faintly saw a golden glow, and a glint of aqua blue eyes. He had already thought about bonding with it, however, it was very rare that anyone could have 2 bonds. They were called the golem-loved, and by the nobles of the kornads, were thought of as greedy. Nobody really thought of the nobles well, as eventually most of their golems turned orange with an access of exposure to its master’s powerful greed. However, the nobles somehow managed to retain power, and often doubled as famous merchants. This was most likely why they were tolerated, thought Ott, as the sun began to glimmer through the dew laden forest. His kornad eyes noticed the beauty of the sight, and he made a decision. He drew out a large portion of thren from a nearby crystal using a pick that all scouts needed in order to provide for their, in this case nonpresent, golems. He delicately broke the slightly cylindrical golden substance in two, then cut (yes, cut, with a knife he had on him for precaution, thren is of the consistency of gold, and can be cut) it into smaller pieces, spending hours carving them into snowflakes, and leaves and drops of water as well as other nature related objects he could recall from memory. This was for two reasons. One, golems perceive time and effort, as well as emotion, as caring and happiness. Two, golems always want a specific shape. This is a way they learn, and there will always be at least one emotion (or element, the two are interchangeable when it comes to the heart of golems) that the golems will have at any one point, and they enjoy canceling it out, as it gives them peace. Ott carved an access of snowflakes and mini fires. He did this for a reason, too. He felt that anger and sadness could be combated with ice and fire. He faced toward the last position he had seen the ascendant golem, and layed out the pieces, making sure to put the fires in the back. He didn’t need an ascendant following him that was angry. After laying them out, he continued his journey picking up a few more bars of thren (thren, unlike gold, is very light. Also, if you were thinking he was foolish to add weight to his pack, then hush yourself. Remember, Ott is a professional. If you ever doubt him, try not to, as there is an equal chance for you to be wrong as to be right).

Over Ott’s next few nights, he felt the golem following him even more closely. He kept feeding it and he began to feel its anger lessening. As he neared the mountains (Ott was too far away from his village in order to go back the way he came, and therefore, went to the mountains in hopes of finding a watchportal), he felt the air becoming frigid, and a layer of frost began to coat the rocks and the wind started to pick up. He now had a requirement for fire.

On one of his firewood-gathering expeditions, he saw something gold glint in the trees. He went stiff, not sure whether to expect caring or another chase. The ascendant golem walked close to him. Unsure whether to run, he put an extra bar of thren in front of the tiger-like golem, the golem merely nudged it back to him with it’s tiger-like head. Returning to his senses, and realizing it did not mean harm, he drew a few large snowflake shaped pieces of thren. He had spent an entire day on it, ending up leaving behind only two. It nudged his hand and his hand tingled with heat, and an electrical feeling filled them. He fed the thren carefully to the huge tiger of earth and a sound not too different from purring rumbled from its throat. He wondered if his doubts about forming a bond with two golems were well-founded. From that point forward, the golden golem came closer and closer to his campsite, and by the time he reached the base of the huge mountain, covered in dark green forest that faded to a pearly white snow, with blotches of orange and brown from the softly curving rock formations lining the peaks, the golem was staying in his campsite. He fed it thren, and whenever he fell asleep he could feel the now calming warmth of the ascendant golem, and a soft buzzing filled the air (akin to bees, but not quite as violent). This humming and waves of heat coming from the pines and sturdy aspen (though not of the species of earth, mind. Remember – different planet, different plants, you get the idea) around his fire and shelter. Also, Ott excelled at shelter building in the wild, only using natural resources. Here is a description of a more long term one. He took a piece of a crystal (not thren, and yes, the crystal was on the ground, and the base is only shale, a fairly brittle rock, and easily broken) and flintknapped (to put it primitively, banged rocks together to make sharp rocks) a long slice out of the sturdy crystal (called yunzite) and cut (with his knife, the knife is very well made) wedges out of the slice, and attached it to a stick, making a saw. Then he cut down the aspen (different genus!) nearby to make the base of his structure. Then he laid more logs on the base (he pounded the base in upright) to make an elevated structure to which he added fern walls and a roof. He headed along the base of the mountain range until he figured he was in the middle. He then made a more elaborate structure, a small log cabin, using tools he made out of kunzite. He was, however, worried. Extremely dangerous things that had no name, or were too dangerous for their name to be used casually. Things that could easily tear through 12 feet of metal, much less 10 inches (or 30.48 centimeters, or 18 olges, which is the form of measurement in Ott’s world) of wood. At least, he thought, I have a golem around my campsite, and an ascendant golem, no less

On the 7th night into his wait for a watchportal, he heard an unearthly gurgling outside his cabin. A rumble shook the structure. Ott went outside through the back door, and as he prepared to peer around the side, another gurgle came from whatever was outside and a snort, a short ragged one. When his eyes almost peeked around the wall, he heard another snort and was pinned to the ground. A nameless fear overtook him as a giant shape slithered out and distinct fangs began to draw closer to him. He surely would have been finished if not for one factor. A golden glow began to shine, quickly coming closer, and the dark shape turned and lunged at the light. The light grew almost blinding and Ott could make out the shape of a golden tiger, or something that looked like one at least, slashing at the dark shape. An unearthly howl arose from where those awful fangs were and the shape went limp as it was blasted across the campsite. Ott, reeling from the light, approached the dead creature. He had a vague memory of seeing one before. It had killed the golem it was attacking. It was one of the few things that could truly kill a golem. This golem defeated something that nothing is meant to defeat.

In the next few days, he allowed himself to be outside at night, recognizing the danger was removed. This allowed him to gradually improve his shelter, until the point where it felt like a cabin in the woods. He made a small shelter near the edge of his camp, which was now well defined, and used it as a place to make and store food for the golem that was always nearby. It occurred to him on the 12th night that the golem was developing a bond with him. He did not feel bad about it. His other golem, Goran, back in the Amberpatch village, was of an accepting type, and as he began to discover traits of the ascendant, he learned that they were similar in more ways than he first thought. Goran and the ascendant would be close friends, that much was apparent. In the evening of that day, he heard the humming associated with watchportals. The ascendant golem’s golden ears (or what looked like ears) perked up and he bounded forward, curious. Ott followed him. When Ott caught up, they began a small hike to the source of the humming. As they passed through the trees, Ott thought it would be alright to tell the golem about Goran. As they came closer to the humming, Ott realized something. 

“I just now realized something,” he said curiously. “I’ve never asked what your name was.” 

Gradually, the golem responded, “Roont.” 

The golem said this cautiously, as if these were his first words. 

“Roont,” Ott responded, trying to hide his moderate astonishment. He was not too surprised, as he already suspected strongly that he had bonded to Roont. However, only golems with bonds can speak, and only with the kornad they had bonded to. This was his final proof that Roont had bonded to him. Coming upon the watchportal, he noticed something strange about it. The land beyond it looked unfamiliar. Putting this off as simply distortion, he walked through, Roont trailing behind him.

To Be Continued…

Some Dumb Stuff I Made Up

Once there was a 21-year-old dude named Jamie and he really wanted to go to the movies with his friends, but his dog AJ ripped up all of his money. This wasn’t something AJ usually did, but it was bad timing because that morning, Jamie and his friends were going to go to the movies. 

So he had to go ask some random dudes on the street for some cash. 

“Could you spare a dollar?” he asked every person who walked by. 

They all gave him a dollar each so he had 15 dollars and the ticket cost 17 dollars.

Just then, it started thundering outside. Jamie tried to come up with a strategy to come up with those extra two dollars. His favorite video game was GTA 5, which gave him an idea. He had to rob a bank, and steal two dollars. 

So he went home and got his airsoft gun and he went to Wells Fargo. He was really nervous because he was afraid to get caught, but the bank was practically empty when he got there so there wasn’t a lot to worry about. He robbed the two dollars from the bank. He ran home because they were going to see the movie at 6:30 and it was only 2:30 so he needed to kill some time before the movie. 

He fed AJ and gave him some water when he got home. He forgave him because he knew the dog didn’t know any better. 

Then he met his friends Johnny, Billy, and Timmy at the movie theater in Manhattan. And then he realized that before he robbed the bank, he texted his friends and already told them that he didn’t have enough money, so Johnny said that he would pay for his ticket, and that was when he knew, he got a free ticket. “Thanks, my boy,” Jamie said.

“No problem, my g.” 

The banker was so shocked that Jamie robbed the bank for only two dollars that he didn’t even do anything about it. Jamie learned to be patient and not be in a rush all the time.

Ally and the Broken Wing

Ally is a bird. Ally wants to fly, but her wing is broken.

For almost all her life, Ally has tried to fly but fell each time she tried. One day, she felt like she would never be able to fly again. On that day, she decided never to practice flying ever again. A week later, Ally saw a boy whose legs were paralyzed, trying to walk across the Beluga Bridge, which is as long as a real beluga!

That’s impossible! Ally thought. He can’t do that. His legs are paralyzed!

Ally was curious about what was going to happen next, so she continued to watch. The boy started walking, but fell on his third step. He hurt his face and was about to cry. But something changed. He looked different. He looked determined. He continued walking across the bridge. Even though he fell and was as slow as a turtle, he still kept walking.

Why does he continue to walk? Ally thought.

Once he got to the end of the bridge, a crowd of people hugged him and told him, “Great job.”

When they were praising him, a woman said, “Why did you do this? We thought you couldn’t!”

The boy replied, “At first, I thought the same thing. I fell every time I tried to walk, and it felt like I couldn’t do it. But then I noticed a quote in my hospital room. It said: never give up. I read the quote and decided not to give up on walking. Then, I read in a magazine about the Beluga Bridge, and decided to walk across the bridge. The first time I fell, I felt like crying and giving up. But then I remembered the quote. That quote was the reason I got through and was able to cross the bridge.”

Never give up, Ally thought. That day, Ally walked away with that quote in her mind. The next day, she decided to practice flying again. She practiced and practiced until her red wings became so wet. While she was practicing, a veterinarian saw Ally. The vet thought, That bird has a broken wing! I should fix it! And so the vet did! Ally was so happy that she cried tears of happiness!

“Thank you so much!” Ally said with her fixed-wing. And for the first time, Ally flew faster and higher than the other birds.

Leslie for President

I was made for this moment. Two days ago, I never would have thought that I would have the guts to do this. Just the thought of all my classmates staring at me sent shivers down my spine. The announcer called out, “Leslie Gellerstien, please come up to the podium.” I stood up, clutching my paper, and marched up to the front of the room. I can do this, I thought. 

Walking up to the stage, I saw Emma out of the corner of my eye. She waved and gave me an encouraging smile. Actually, she was the reason I was here in the first place. I made a tiny wave back.

Running for student president was a big move for me. I was known as the quiet girl who got good grades on tests, but not in participation. My competitors’ faces faded away and I floated up the steps to the stage. I could do this!

What happened next was extremely random and weird. First, the ground started shaking. Then, everybody started freaking out because it was actually a very big tremor. Outside, we also heard people panicking and cars beeping their horns. Suddenly, part of the roof fell down into the top balconies and a creature with a lion head and the body of a bird came crashing through the ceiling. It was very bizarre, and for a moment everybody was frozen in shock. Then the thing roared and everybody started jumping out of their seats and pushing each other to head towards the exit. 

I, however, stayed in one place and stared at the creature as if he were a misbehaved kitty wrecking a glass vase. Eventually, he met my eyes with his own. They were gold and red with little orange specks all over them. I made my gaze fiercer and fiercer. On the other hand, his gaze seemed to be getting weaker and weaker. I kept wearing him down like that until he slowly started to back away. With my eyes, I tried to communicate to him to go or else. I didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t go, but I was assuming it wouldn’t be good for me so I kept staring him down. Suddenly, he opened his yellow wings and flew away into the sky. From then on, I wasn’t known as the quiet girl anymore. I was the girl who saved everybody’s lives.

PENGUIN

I woke up to find Otis staring at me.  “Are you ready for your ‘check in’ today?” Otis’ simplistically announced reminder rendered me a little startled, for I had forgotten the events of the day. “Perhaps you will be granted your surgery today,” he pointed out. “Then you’ll be better once again.” 

I was supposed to go to the hospital to have a, what they labeled for the more timid kids, “check in.” On these monthly dates, my school schedule remained unchanged, per usual. The minor difference of where I would go after school was the only change that took place.

“It’s hardly frightening,” I said.

“Shall I go down for breakfast, or are we not hungry this morning?” Otis asked.

“I don’t think I wish to eat this morning, but of course you have the bowl,” I said while pointing towards the golden bowl, which was originally room decor but was now filled with chocolate Easter bunnies that Otis had brought with him and eaten when he did not share a meal with me. He now rummaged through the bowl, looking for the one that first drew his attention. I finished dressing for school while he did this, putting on a pair of light wash jeans. I added a belt I received from my mother yesterday, which was new and just unwrapped from its packaging. Once I slid the belt through the last loop, put on my usual black high top sneakers with penguin socks, brushed my hair, and grabbed my also penguin-themed backpack and lunchbox, I helped Otis get ready for school. I grabbed his black backpack and metallic lunchbox. Today I packed him a chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookie so he wouldn’t squirm under the irresistible want of cookies when they were just laying on the kitchen counter. I could hear them rattling in their foil wrappers, stuck inside the metallic prison. While they rattled, I let the box fall into his backpack, empty except for a chocolate bunny he had grabbed just now, his mustard yellow backup beanie and a folded piece of paper that appeared to be garbage, although this one was folded into a perfect square.

Otis and I left the large brick house and admired the reflective dew placed on the petal of each flower in our front yard. Our gravel path from the house to the sidewalk was wet, and disagreeable weeds were bursting through exposed patches. Gravel was dispersed across our grassy yard, usually of a vibrant green color in the sunlight. Otis didn’t arrive with shoes, and standard pairs don’t come in ovalular shapes. Therefore, Otis now suffered the painful task of trudging barefoot down the path in question. My father was in the car already, prepared for his daily task of driving Otis and me to school. We approached the silver Toyota and could already hear the music my father practically professed love to. While he played his favorite songs, I announced that Otis and I were, as my father liked to say, “buckled up and ready to go,” and we drove off to school.

School days tended to be normal, though the first school day I shared with Otis was of an opposite atmosphere. My teachers and peers had been notified of my penguin friend, or what they referred to as my “situation.” That day I was stared at by all. Even by the group of seven year olds that claimed they didn’t care about any matter except for those relating to them personally. My teacher’s attitudes shifted drastically and were overbearing and tentative, the qualities a worrying mother holds. I sat in the back of the class due to the shyness that emerged whenever I had to sit in the front row of a classroom. The teacher that morning had created a scene while dragging a heavy desk and letting it rest beside mine. This seat had been established as Otis’ seat. Periods of learning were seemingly normal, but the interactions between the beginnings of classes were displeasing. During recess I received countless invitations to partake in lunch and activities with kids who had the word pity clearly written on their eyes and face. I refused the forced offers with a stern, “No thank you.”

 I sat with Otis at a green table adjacent to the sandbox, which I soon hoped to introduce to the penguin. Once I flaunted the magical sandbox to Otis, we quietly gazed at the individual grains of sand, and watched them fall from shovel to bucket. The 40 minutes of time permitted for recess ceased eventually and academics resumed. My father and mother accompanied Otis and me on the car ride home that day. During the meager five minutes we spent waiting for them, he and I sat on an artificial patch of overly green grass, under a weak and small tree, and we stayed silent, but in an enjoyable way.

Today my father insisted on playing his music throughout the ten minute journey to school. The roads had small chunks of ice placed on curves and street corners, and most of them were half dirt and sewer water. The view was unpleasant, but the car was warm, filled with music, and smelled of cinnamon and hot chocolate. Otis and I sat in the back of the car on the grey cushion that was home to stains of brown, green, and purple. Now I felt free to talk to either Otis or my father whenever the opportunity pleased me, however I was rarely in a talkative frenzy. On the ride to school today nothing varied in my usual manner, so I thought about the “check in” and possible surgery. I could picture my calendar, existent for only a month, with very few dates marked and holidays yet to be acknowledged. I knew, though, that I had marked this date as the day of surgery, and I trusted the permanence of the black sharpie I used would rub off on my chances of surgery today. My head then manifested certain ideas, such as images of sharp metal tools poking at my brain, like how a curious child would use a stick to poke a dead squirrel. While thoughts of such things were present in my mind, the car had pulled up next to the new strip of sidewalk separating school and vehicles. I felt no rush as I slung my bag onto my back and helped Otis do the same. “Thanks dad,” I blurted out after I had already swung the heavy car door open and, with Otis, stepped onto the ice cold pavement. 

We walked confidently, or maybe it should be described as a walk that didn’t show any signs of fear, for confidently was far too strong and adjective to apply with such ease. I watched the parking lot of the Jones School, which we had now managed to reach, stab Otis’ unarmored feet. I also perceived that his face was still pleased and his current disposition unchanged. I then brought my gaze to the American flag on our school’s rusting pole, thrusted around by a strong and sudden wind. There was no urgent need to describe the school day today, for as I mentioned previously, even on a day involving hospital matters, school remained quite bland and redundant. Even the presentation I looked forward to had been postponed 24 hours. Until Wednesday I would have to wait to give the gift of my eloquent speech, and surely my audience would have to wait for me. For every normally scheduled class, Otis and I took our seats, as each student must do. During recess, Otis and I enjoyed the presence of each other in the sandbox. Previously, Otis had thanked me for the cookies that had been rattling in his lunch box all day, and he finished them both shortly and without creating any crumbs. We had lessons about our universe and solar system during the period assigned to science. I knew that I would never wish to traverse the vast Milky Way but instead wished the teacher knew that not all students have a vocation to be an astronomer or astronaut. Most periods consisted of this same pattern: a lesson taught and aspects of said lesson thought of as useless or uninformed. My criticisms may seem harsh, and they truly are compared to the fact I originally endured each lesson with a fake smile plastered on my face. But to argue in favor of myself, humans evolve, and therefore I have acted knowing that it was a mere repercussion of that piece of information. 

After I saw the silver Toyota emerge from the street corner, I felt apprehensive. Otis placed his wing on my clammy and sweating disaster of a hand while I gazed at the vehicle that could possibly be driving me to my death. If I failed to mention before, the surgery had a high fatality rate and therefore a low percentage of survival. During the time they announced all statistics to my already rotting brain, I hadn’t had the option to save them for later use. While I fretted, a playful pair of siblings were horsing around on their way to their car, their mother joking with her two strong and healthy offsprings. Superstition has no home in my heart, but maybe this meant I was to leave the hospital, surgery accomplished, ready to horse around with Otis (I had no siblings to do so). I was sure that I was just irrational, for I had never seemed so close to insanity than I was then. The Toyota slowly glided into the spot right in front of me, and stopped driving. Otis glanced at my entire body and turned his head down to look straight at my face. I took a step closer to his body, emitting warmth and kindness from its large figure. I wrapped my arms around him as far as they could reach, my fingers never meeting each other, and Otis and I molded into one. I leaned on the supporting figure while he employed his strength to push me towards the open car door. I slid into the backseat with cold feet, in the figurative way while it was also true in literal terms. I let Otis plop, which was the best word to describe the bounce he applied to each move, into the seat beside me. “Hi,” I said, addressing my parents and their phony, drawn on, smiles.

Pediatric wing hospital rooms don’t change. Yes, the peculiarly placed cartoons differ in rooms, but the idea of a stereotypical pink image plastered on one wall and some form of action movie hero or machine on the opposite wall remained the same throughout. It would be strange for any child to announce that they have a fondness for room 310 yet not room 306, due to the fact that each room was an unexciting replica of the other. I sat now in room 316, staring at a much too large image of Batman in the middle of realizing this action was wasteful and frankly dissatisfying. I turned away from the agitating sight, knowing very well I didn’t want to turn the other way just to see another particularly galling image displayed of a perky cartoon princess, who apparently had a dress code that stated they must wear a pink gown on all occasions. You could already see a dilemma had arisen and was now inducing inactivity, therefore I let every part of my anatomy fall into the slightly comfortable hospital bed. I had become accustomed to the features present in each hospital room, so I rolled over, after only being bored for a modest time of five seconds, and seized a long black remote control. I then turned to Otis, sitting in the region of chairs designated for family members of the sick patient, and asked him, “SpongeBob?”

“Whatever you feel suits this situation,” replied a happy, and faintly smiling, Otis. I communicated my wants to the television, hung up next to cobwebs on the corner of the right wall, and it flickered from black to an underwater reality where sponges may speak if they wish. 

I watched SpongeBob for the timelapse of an hour, not including the intrusions and disturbances, which caused me to pause on several occasions. These occurrences were commonly periods of five or 45 delaying minutes, and consisted of obtrusions by my parents or doctors coming in or my departures for various medical tests. Otis, however, always remained seated in the room while I was about and speaking to the adults that currently dictated my life. I attended to his needs while doctors tended to mine. Dr. Roberts would come in and demand my presence, and for me to cease my current activity. I was prepared to do so, but then I would hear Otis utter words such as, “If you leave the show playing while you leave, I will be much obliged.” I would then repeat his words to Dr. Roberts, and he would either agree to the simple request, or on other occasions he might claim he didn’t wish for any energy to be wasted by the continually running television. These moments of argument, obtrusions, and departures plainly summed up every aspect of a “check in.” The only part to ever be frightened of was if your doctor affirmed that the tests showed no progression, meaning that your sickness had worsened. In my experience that day and in the past “check ins,”  the situation in question had never been mine. 

It had been a three hour “check in” that day, most likely due to the fact that I might be rushed into surgery the second I was noticed again, and therefore the tests done on me needed to be extensive and certain about my capability to have the surgery. The night sky was darkening rapidly, and the sun was falling like a large and fiery stress ball from its high point in the sky. The hospital room was almost completely engulfed by darkness, and I was only partially sure that the surgeons had enough light to operate during this dark hour. The sound effects of SpongeBob were likely quite audible to the patients of the rooms near mine, yet I refused to turn down the volume of my distraction. I had pestered my mother about five minutes earlier to fetch some chocolate items and drinks from the vending machine down the eerie looking hall. She would squarely refuse each time I begged.

“Please mom, I’m sure it won’t harshly influence my health!” I had pleaded. My father, a less overbearing parental figure, announced that he would bring me a singular chocolate bar for me to feast on. I didn’t bother to request one for Otis because I knew he always had  a chocolate bunny, or even one in bar form, at hand. My mother accompanied my father on the short journey even though it required only one being, but still I had been left in the dark room with Otis. The flickering TV was the only light shining on our complexions, for none of us took the liberty to turn on one of the lamps on the Ikea nightstand. I had not seen Otis rest yet, but he stood beside me for quite some time, proving his steadfast loyalty. He still stood, unwavering. 

My father and mother returned with a pea sized chocolate almond, a large disappointment compared to my hopes of a king-sized Hershey bar. I scowled at their failure to meet my needs until I noticed three other people making an entrance. One was Dr. Roberts, and it wasn’t a very shocking sight for he came and went as he pleased, but he was accompanied by two other young and quite timid looking doctors. I could now understand that my parents had been bombarded on their way to the vending machine by these doctors, and I could see that they knew further into my future than I did. They had a faltering smile on their tired out faces, and I recoiled from the disgust of the fake happiness they put on display just for my benefit. Otis had backed away into a chair without me noticing his movement, and he sat there now, staring at the scene that unfolded in front of him. 

“Am I having the surgery today?” I asked while quivering, just so I could get the thought out of my head and into the room. I was somewhat annoyed that these grown adults chose not to disclose this information yet, allowing it to be much more awkward for the child in the room.

“You are, Bella, but don’t freak out kiddo,” Dr. Roberts said while attempting to be humorous. He clearly did not know my prior hatred of the degrading word “kiddo,” but I let him continue. 

“We don’t think you’re going to die Bella, I mean we can’t promise life of course,” he continued while I thought, So he’s basically assuring my death. I suppose I was just indignant that he mentioned that he couldn’t promise life to an eight year old girl. Of course she was going to interpret that she was going to die. I hardly listened to what he half told me and half told my parents about the way the surgery would work, and the confusing and unpronounceable medical terms. I now stared back at Otis, noting earlier that he had still been staring at me. He got up, unnoticed by the adults of course, and handed me a chocolate bunny, similar to the time I had first been in his presence. I was in no mood to eat, so I rested the bunny on my nightstand, ready to eat and enjoy it with Otis, post-surgery. For now I let the muffled noises of speaking be mere background noises, and I stared at the TV that was still, now quietly, playing season one episode three of SpongeBob.

Shortly after the time spent talking over the surgery, I was to prepare for the event itself. If I am to speak candidly, I had still not quite accepted the fact that I would soon be the dead squirrel poked by a stick, but I supposed at least the poker knew what they were doing. The two young doctors did not seem like highly competent surgeons. They were both much too clumsy, and shuffled reluctantly to my side. They began a painful and maddening process so I could go into surgery shortly. I felt like the turkey on Thanksgiving day, being prepped and touched by others. I was handled and medicated, and grabbed and poked, and I was stared at by my blood relations, and by my penguin friend. A rather embarrassing thing for them to do in this scenario. My mother and father stared and yelled lines of what they thought of as encouragement. If you compared them and Otis, Otis would seem quiet and bad tempered. However he was quite the opposite. My parents constantly repeated things such as, “It’s ok honey!” and, “You got this, it will be alright,” but Otis knew to sympathize, not encourage, and to do so whenever I flinched or quivered. He would then say cooly, “I understand it’s frightening.” I wished for him to embrace me once again, but he hadn’t the chance for I was now being lifted, similar to the first scene in the Lion King movie, by the three doctors in the room. I strained my neck to glance back at the TV which no one had turned off. I didn’t wish to lose my spot in the show. While I did so, Dr. Roberts practically let me fall onto a new and uncomfortably hard cot. My parents dared not to hold back their tears, and they looked as if they were already mourning my death. Otis stood unharmed by any trauma, and he just stared with sympathy as they rolled me away from him. 

“Bye,” I whispered to Otis, hoping to make it out of the surgery to see him once again. I then turned to the humans who created me. Our loving family, I could tell, would likely not be complete without me to look after. “I love you both very much,” I cooed, calming my parents down instead of the opposite. I had now officially been rolled out of my hospital room, and I felt dizzy while I stared down at the moving nauseating green tiles of a long hall. I tried to look back, to see Otis, to hear the ending credits of SpongeBob, to see how dark the room had gotten, to eat the chocolate almond, to hug a penguin. I was slipping away from the friend that cared about me the most, and I nearly screamed. The doctors pacing in front of me burst open a set of double doors, the same dramatic way they did it in TV shows. My parents were pushed back, not allowed to go any further into the sterilized room where my mind would be opened up to the world. I hoped my thoughts of contempt against the doctors stealing me from Otis would not escape in my weak moment and reach their ears. I eagerly wished to see if Otis was there, right next to my parents, wishing me luck. I was quite indignant at that moment and wanted to yell at the doctors, but instead I was instructed to count back from ten, “nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three…” I trailed off. That is all I remember.

I was extremely warm. My mind immediately asked the question if I was being eaten up by a raging fire or being burned by a dying out candle. To find the answer I had to see what was happening to my body. That’s why I opened my eyes. Contrary to my predictions, I was under three layers of heavy blankets, and I felt like the bottom layer of a piece of lasagna. I wasn’t sure what to do with my limbs, and I felt uncoordinated as I tried to move and failed in the process. My legs had been immobilized from the pressure of these blankets, and my tongue had never been so dry, and my eyes never so heavy. I tried to open my eyes, to rest them on the world, without using my fingers to prevent my eyelids from falling and hiding my sight. I gazed around as long as my exhaustion would permit. I let myself feel numb and morose for yet another moment, until my slow-moving mind undertook the reality of the situation. I was briefly paralized by the shock surging through my now profusely sweating body. I was alive, and from what I could tell, I was also healthy. I had the inclination to burst from my restraining sheets, but It was doubtless that there was certain medical equipment attached to my body. I imagined I had survived my brain being removed and then placed again in my head. To be frank, I knew that was most likely not the case. However, I could still claim I had survived a surgery, counting on the fact I wasn’t dreaming of life in this current moment. My face now swelled with pride. I was beaming, a fact I knew without needing a mirror. I soon thought of not myself but my loved ones. I could let myself relax now that I could keep the promise I made of eating that final chocolate bunny with Otis. I gave myself the courage to finally cease the resting of my limbs and to move around. I suppose I had been quiet while I pondered my mortality, for I now noticed my mother and father sitting in a chair, simply staring at their brown shoes. The awkward moment refused to pass, therefore leaving me to start a conversation. “Hi,” I croaked with my raspy voice. 

As basic and cheesy as it sounds, my parents looked as if they had seen a ghost in their presence instead of their once sickly child. My mother had a thing for the dramatics, and her reaction proved this statement far better than I could. She choked on tears as they rapidly streamed down her face, and she contorted her face during this period of carrying out and what I thought of as a celebration. My father simply swallowed, in a very exaggerated way, and tapped his foot repeatedly on the tiles beneath him. Shortly after I spoke, my parents both tightened their arms around my fragile and weak waist. I flinched for a moment before I enjoyed their loving embrace of affection. I too hugged them with the best of my ability, for my hands were too small and their bodies too large. We sat for moments of tranquility, until my mother felt the need to explain the fact that I was still alive. 


“The surgery went great!” she boasted, “You’ve gone from a pale ghoul to my lovely daughter.” Yes, that was a truly kind sentiment for my mother to speak, however no tears rose to my tired eyes just yet. After the strong feelings of reunitement subsided, I longed to meet Otis once again. I hadn’t been able to scan the room for the presence of the perpetually quiet penguin. I did so now, and returned with frustrating results. Otis did not appear to be in the white hospital room currently, an odd occurrence for the clingy penguin. 

“Do you happen to know Otis’ location?” I asked my euphoric mother. She bit her lip as if it wasn’t obvious for me to take that as a sign of worry. “Mom,” I said flatly and quite frustratingly. I thrashed around my bedding for some time until I was able to free my puny arms. I panted like a dog in hot weather after my draining struggle. Next I looked on the fragile nightstand for the Easter bunny chocolate I had left behind, part of my promise to Otis. I threw my head from side to side,with my eyes now wide open but still glazed over. I looked at each parent as they avoided my gaze. “Is this the same room I had before?” I quickly spat. They took quite a while to submit a valid response, but my mother answered with the short word, “Yes.”  

“Did they throw away the chocolate by chance?” I asked with the hope I could still indulge in eating. My father chose to chime in this time, with another one syllable, depleting word.

“No,” He murmured. 

I meditated for minutes trying to figure out how the chocolate did not sit before me and where Otis might be. During this exasperating period, Dr. Roberts chose to make his entrance. Poorly timed, but crucial. He entered with a lively attitude and did a strange and horribly executed dance on his way towards my bed. 

“There’s my number one patient!” he squealed like a schoolgirl. “How are you feeling today Bella? I’m sure your parents announced that we removed all tumors and you should be strong and healthy in no time.”

“I’m feeling fine Dr. Roberts,” I replied, contradicting his happy demeanour with my sullen one. “Yes, I have been notified about my current state of being.”

He then proceeded to flip through what I have identified as my chart, ask a few more questions, and speak to my emotional parents. They, like most times, left the room during this conversation. They all soon re-entered, coming back to my side clearly not as high-spirited as they were a mere one minute ago. 

“What?” I said in an angry tone, but with a slight quiver in my voice. 

“We were just wondering if Otis has interacted with you this morning,” Dr. Roberts said, addressing me, yet looking at my parents. He most likely intended the question to be smooth and calm. This dear doctor failed in that case. He scratched his head and couldn’t keep his sight in one direction for more than a moment. 

“I haven’t seen him yet,” I answered quite indignantly towards my nervous doctor. Dr. Roberts apparently felt no need to respond to my snappy remark, and he tripped towards the wide-open door. My parents took whatever signal he had made, and sat next to me. I wished they hadn’t. For the bed was too small for a group of three. 

“Bella, we’re really sorry…” my mother began but could not complete. She had unplugged whatever was keeping the dam together, and the tears appeared once again. 

“Honey,” my dad cooed, taking over for my saddening mother. I felt the redness in my cheeks, and from my current state of feeling I could tell they were the same shade as a ripe tomato. My nose soon became a peach-like color, and rain from my fading blue eyes watered the peach and tomatoes. “We don’t think Otis is here, anymore.” my dad finally finished. I watched as my statuesque father let rain onto his face as well. It was surely a rainy day for the Court family. I was no idiot, and I could easily put two and two together. I would not protest Otis’ disappearance. I would not argue with my father and mother, for I had no case. Calm, collected, accepting. These words did not describe my presence. The drizzling rain turned into a flood, and the dam was crushed into pieces. I forced my hand to reach the nightstand. My uncut nails yelled while they were pushed into the chipping paint, and they tried to grasp the form of an abandoned bunny. My beady eyes saw no presence of a black backpack and metallic lunchbox, no beanie left in the hallway, and no penguin asking for SpongeBob. My parents backed away, and now they really saw a ghost in me. I screamed for my neighbors to hear, for them to feel my pain. I thrashed around, pulling my hair, until the loudspeaker announced my room number. Blackness. 

I was Bella Court. Today I turned nine, and my mother bought me red wallpaper.

The Woman in the Moon

Some dare to love the night. They wax poetic on the velvet warmth of the air wrapping around them, write odes to the nightingale and to the bright stars that twinkle and provide only a smudge of light

—a lit candle in a yawning abyss—

—a campfire that casts as many shadows as light—

—a crystal sewn into a wedding gown’s silk for color—

Light. But swallowed up by darkness.

Of course, you wouldn’t find those kinds of people around here. And of course, I am not one of those people. I wish I were back in bed right now, but instead, I am stumbling through the woods at midnight. 

I squeeze the stone The Goodmother gave me at dinner.

—well dinner is a bit of a stretch isn’t it—

—but The Goodmother knows best—

Normally, I’d take dinner with the other acolytes in the Hall’s dining room; this last week, I have been cloistered in a room of my own, carrying out traditional penance and Purgatory, preparing for tomorrow. 

I found the stone tucked underneath the pannikin of gray mush on my dinner tray. On it is a painted map of the Hall of Golden Fire and its surrounding woods. I could smell the ground charcoal, still fresh, in the ink tracing my path to the lake in a nearby forest clearing, and could easily detect The Goodmother’s strong, forceful handwriting, present in all my textbooks, in the strokes of the one character painted on the stone: you must seek

My thin cotton dress snags on a spearlike tree branch. I huff and jerk away from the offending branch, wincing as the fabric rips free: The Goodmother may be censuring this voyage, but she will not approve of sloppiness. 

Serves her right, though. Only the heroines in fairy stories ever actually trip over their dresses, get stuck on a low-hanging vine, and such. I am hardly the type of person who would make a good adventuress, and yet here I am, in the middle of the night, stumbling my way through a dense forest in hopes I’ll find the place to practice my magic. 

My toe, encased in a rather feeble cloth slipper, stubs on a thick root, and I bite my lip to swallow my yelp of pain. Most definitely not a good adventuress.

—what am I thinking I’ll be mauled to death by a bear—

It’s been a long time since I actually read a fairy tale, or any kind of storybook for that matter. What I can remember is the memory of what The Goodmother told me in my first lesson as a fresh acolyte in the Hall: people like us are not heroines. We were not born golden-haired and apple-cheeked with flowers and silver spoons in our mouths. No, The Goddess chose us to act on the sidelines as witches. 

Maybe as the evil witch who decorates apples with poison. Hopefully as a good witch, who provides an invisibility cloak with which to spy on the twelve princesses who revel ceaselessly through the night. Perhaps both. 

A pretty picture, a pretty story. I smooth a curl of black hair out of my eye. I remember sitting at the feet of The Goodmother, one fist clenched on a cloth bundle of clothes that I suppose my parents gave me before abandoning me on the Hall steps. 

The Goodmother’s eyes twinkled kindly at me as she asked, “Do you understand why you are here, dear?” I nodded, jiggling my chin as fast as I could, to show her just how much I understood. I wanted to be that romantic, shadowy figure hovering around the edges of a story, the most talented kind of weaver who could smooth out the rumples of life. If being a witch only required determination, I would have been inducted that very day.

A breath of wind curls around me, its fingers stabbing my shoulder blades and massaging them into a shiver. I again wish for my bed, and my soft blankets, far more comfortable than a mantle of night air. But I am out of time.

When I was younger, I watched The Goodmother and the other mistresses command air with a deft twitch of the fingers, fling fire onto faraway candles with a bronzed flash of their eyes, and coax water to envelop them in skirts of blue sheets by casually waving a hand. It’s been ten years, and I cannot do the same. 

Maybe this is Anli’s gentle nudge to quash my hope and find some other job outside of the Hall before I am expelled. Expulsion would make me a pariah. I can sew beautifully, and I know all the secret recipes for the vividest dyes, but expulsion would steal any future I have. 

No one would want me. 

But try as I might, I cannot summon my power. Tomorrow is the capstone of my Purgatory. My eighteenth birthday, my Ceremony. I’m not sure what it requires, but it is my final chance to prove I have some calling in magic and some—any!—ability. So here I am, practicing at midnight. 

I shove my shoulder through the final barrier of stubborn brush and burst into the clearing, Lake Anli lying ahead of me. I suppose it’s foolish to name a lake after the sun Goddess when water is the domain of her brother, Azyan. But after all the trouble I’ve taken to sneak out and practice my spells for the Ceremony, I’m counting on any luck I can find, even if it’s simply finding a lake named after the One who is supposed to fuel my magic. 

Any scrap of luck.

—this is pathetic Su-enna, you’re more rational than this—

—you could run away, already halfway—

The lake looks astonishingly peaceful; I expected more pesky possums to be frolicking around. The moon looms large and heavy in the sky.

—shards waiting to break—

—a giant pearl weighting the center of a necklace—

—a pregnant belly, cradled and treasured for the potential inside—

—a compass? a wheel of time—

—a spinning wheel creaking above and below the water—

The moonlight sings strong and bright over the entire clearing. I wade knee-deep into the water. My nightgown flows out in tendrils, like the hair of a mermaid, and sends ripples across the lake, fractures the moon’s image into vaguely circular waves and enjambed parts.

—shards—

I wade purposefully, if such a thing is possible when water pushes against me and whispers to slow down, toward the moon floating restlessly on the surface. Just a few hours siphoning its energy should be enough—morphing a toad or two into doves, healing the pinkish scar on my knee. All very easy, beginner’s magic that I probably should have performed years ago. I know the technique, at least. 

Strengthen my core. Dip my head forward in reverence. Gather power by thrusting my hand into the image of the sun . . . well, the moon will have to do. It is a disrespect to Anli, but

—one celestial object is so like another—

—no time to worry, I’ll pray forgiveness later—

Surely The Goodmother would not have aided me if she did not allow me this indiscretion. My fingers tremble, an inch away from the surface of the lake. I take the plunge before my thoughts can hunt me down.

And the yellow moon, so invariably round, disappears, dissolves through the cracks and calluses of my fingers. 

—yellow stardust—

—is this magic?—

My palm fills with golden powder. 

—did I just scoop it out of the water?—

The moon glows, alight with fire, above me. 

—a paper lantern, finally lit—

The scar on my knee seals itself. Was it ever there?

—this is magic—

The air seems to quiver around me, to glow with the light of midday. And the glow snakes in, coils around my insides.

—magic is a drink of silken water after wandering for years in the desert—

—a tree that has burst from an acorn—

—a blinding light after days of slumber—

—it is me, I am magic—

It is terrible. Who am I? 

—magic—

I gasp and cry the tears I stored inside when I 

—summoned no spark of power at any end-of-year examination—

—was shooed away from the seamstresses’ hall with flicks of their glowing fingers—

—couldn’t succeed—

Well, I am no longer a failure. The Goodmother will be proud when she sees my performance tomorrow.

—or will she?—

A crack echoes, jerking me out of my stupor. It’s the unmistakable noise of a person stepping on a twig, which means someone is here, not fifty paces away from me.

Me, as in I, I who am breaking a law and a handful of Hall rules by cavorting in the darkness—the ultimate disrespect to Anli.

The warmth that was inside me just a few blinks ago fades into a whisper, waiting but out of reach. I can’t possibly expect to escape—it’s nearly as bright as day. We have learned about the perpetually full moon, but never had the chance to see it. No moonlight filters through the gaps between the walls’ bricks. 

—no sunlight either—

—heavens above I have to hide—

I have nowhere to hide. As I turn in the water, running critical eyes over my surroundings, a figure marches out of the trees, gently coaxing a fussy horse. Its back is turned to better administer to the horse, giving me a few precious seconds to send up a prayer to Azyan and dive underwater before I’m seen.

Bubbles rush around me and fill my nose. I paddle backwards with frenzied, weak flaps of my hands toward the other side of the lake. My feet scrabble the ground for footholds, but the mud is soft and cloudy and doesn’t provide much to push off of. 

It’s a small lake, barely larger than a pond. Something thick and solid bumps against my back—I’ve reached the opposite shore. I plant a hand behind me and turn to face the earth, digging my toes into the slightly-less-soft mud here and shooting up to the surface with a bounce of my knees. Air sticks to my face, and I suck it in with eager pulls. That’s when I look across the lake and see the figure brought friends.  

The gods are well and truly laughing at me: after all my careful rule-following and toeing the line, my one night of adventure teeters on implosion. I will be expelled. I will be thrown into prison for an amazingly long time for my crimes. I will have no future. No future, and no life. What starts as a yawn, a gap in my chest, races into my throat as a sob.

—but there’s no one to cry for—

—no one to see and no one to care—

—not a person worth caring for—

I am mourning my own death, and realizing I have not had a life. 

A voice cuts across the clearing; I squint, and guess that it belongs to the first person, with the horse. “Did you all get the plan?” It’s a husky voice, with a slight magnetic pull. The timbre of charisma—I’ve heard it in The Goodmother’s voice. 

And it’s a man’s voice. It must be. At least, I think so, I wouldn’t know. If The Goodmother were here, she would sniff and say, “and a good thing, too.” No boys allowed in the Hall of Golden Fire, because none have ability anyway.

Some of the other figures must be men, too. I hear more than one deep voice in their collective response. The first figure—the leader? I wonder—steps back and brandishes a club in the air. “We ride tonight, Shadows! We fight the powers that be!” 

A raucous cheer explodes out of his followers. I compress my shoulders and flatten my palms against the bank of the lake, making myself smaller around their noise, which will surely have them caught and thrown in cells before long. The Goodmother will know, and she will come find them. 

These rebels, or whatever they are, are not my problem. They are so wrapped up in their own sacrilegious mutterings they might not notice me.

—little old me—

This same time tomorrow, I may well find myself in the same woods with nothing but the clothes on my back, never mind any kind of future. But for now, at least, I have a home to go back to. 

I hoist myself out of the water so that I’m sitting with my feet in the water and begin charting a route home in my head. The moon has almost set: when I called my power it was directly overhead, shining clearly onto the lake, but now it is sunken and pale as it sinks in the west. If I’m careful, I might be able to circle the clearing all the way to their side before going back through the woods to the Hall. 

Mindful of the moon shining on the left side of the lake, I creep into the trees on my right, holding my breath to make less noise

—any scrap of luck—

and dart from tree to tree, pressing myself into each trunk and inhaling the moss and rough bark for a full ten counts while I peer at the group, checking that it remains oblivious to my presence.

I’m only a few paces from the trail The Goodmother indicated to me when two hands clamp onto my left and right shoulder. My reflexes kick in—hand-to-hand combat was one of the few classes at the academy that I could do just fine in, without adding a magical component. From the angles of the hand on each shoulder, I figure that I have two attackers. I place my arms diagonally across my chest, pinky to shoulder and other thumb to hip, and whip them around in the way I was taught. One arm coils back to my hip, my elbow jutting behind me. The person on my right lets go of me with a quick huff of pain. I don’t have time to dwell on my victory, once  I break free of these people, I’ll have to rush back to the hall if I can hope to attend my Ceremony in time. I swing my left arm down and strike my fist against a tender pressure point on the side of my other attacker’s leg. But he or she does not let go. Instead, I’m pulled back into the clearing and forced to face a dozen moonlit, weathered faces, wearing a range of emotions, from shock to anxiety to sour hostility. 

I exhale shakily. “Let me go. We can forget this ever happened.” 

The Shadows’ leader steps forward. “You know of our existence now, maybe even our plans. You’re coming with us.”

I raise my hands and pray for strength, for a miracle, for some kind of shield. None comes. I stare at my stupid, powerless, pointless hands, clench them

—it is not too much to ask, to be loved—

and I think of the moon,

—glowing bright and soft and hot—

—hot, hot, hot, I feel it—

feel the moon. And my hands flame. The light illuminates the Shadow leader’s green eyes, etches his fearful expression with shadows. He stares. “You’re one of the witches.”

I nod impatiently and creep toward the trees. 

He bars his teeth. “Then we’ll return you to the Hall, poor lost lamb.” 

As if I would ever give help to rebels. But the sky is turning rosy, meaning I need to be back in bed right now. I send up another prayer of forgiveness to Anli,

—lots of praying tonight—

and lift myself onto a horse, imagining all of The Goodmother’s disapproving expressions. 

But when the Shadows dump me on the front steps, no surprise or disappointment flits across her face. The Goodmother is as old as she is wise, with snowy white hair hanging down her back and her fingers warped by arthritis from years at the loom. Her face is a map of wrinkles: here is a dimple, showing only in true smiles, and there is where her jaw clenches when she is angry. Lines revealed when she worries, fumes, or laughs. As I stagger up to the door, she doesn’t blink—merely says, “Ah, Su-enna. We shall ready you for the Ceremony.” 

I bathe with hot water, a luxury required to purify me to the Sun’s exacting standards. Then I dress in pure white and stick buttercups in my hair, bursts of sunlight in my dark tresses. Two sisters ride with me to the River Azure, which cleaves our country in half, and force me to the very center. 

I’m trembling now. The Ceremony is a mystery, as unknown to me as men’s voices. I do not know if I will be flayed alive or asked to display my power. I lift my chin and wait for The Goodmother to explain. I see the image of my trembling fingers in the water, and I clench them out of sight, into fists. 

“To please Anli and be accepted as a sister in the Hall of Golden Fire, you must prove your worth.” The Goodmother’s voice is high and clear and keen. “The water will wash away any sins you carry. To balance water is his sister, fire, and She will test you.” 

—wait what—

She cups her hands over her mouth and hurls a bloom of fire at me. 

—too late to close my eyes—

—death by a bear would have been mercy—

I am not burned. The fire spreads over me, sliding butter in a pan. My hair is burning away in a thousand pinpricks, the buttercups wilting. But my face feels no warmer than a blush. My fists flame. I welcome the fire, but what now?

—banish the orange beast—

—do something—

—the moon—

My closed lids flash soothing yellow. The fire dies. I feel my scalp prickle in relief.

Then I feel The Goodmother’s slap. “Foolish girl! Irreverent girl!”

—well what should I have done—

“What did I do, Goodmother?” I lower my eyes. 

“You should have waited,” she snaps, “for the fire’s color. Black for evil magic. White for Anli’s approval. But for you . . .

“neither.” 

My heart clenches. “But I am magic!”

“Such audacity!” she squawks. “Magic is divine. You may receive the gift, that is all. And your magic . . .” She straightens. “Impure. You worship the moon, not the sun. Ultimate betrayal! You are dark. You—” her withered lungs wheeze. She points across the river, away from the Hall. “are not wanted here.” 

“Where can I go, Goodmother,” I plead, “If I’m unwanted?” 

She shrugs. “Join the rebels? They’re so desperate for any leverage, they’ll harvest you and your power happily.” She climbs out of the river with a splash. 

—the slap of rejection—

I sink onto my knees and stay there. My face wavers in the water. When the tears come, it’s so easy to turn them loose, after years of suppressing emotion. They drip down my face and into River Azure’s steady current, a cycle returning to the water, where the salty drops instantly melt into a home. 

—o to be gathered up as efficiently, lovingly—

It’s so easy to stay there, swaying in the river, curled over to keep my heart inside my chest. It’s so easy to accept this fate. I’ve always felt 

—unwanted. 

Eventually, my hair dries; so does my face, sticky but warm. When my stomach rumbles, I finally climb out and walk, finding some berry bushes. 

The sun is setting when I hear the clop of hooves along the bank. I peer out from behind the bush I’d picked to sleep under and see a band of people dressed in black, led by a familiar green-eyed man. 

The Shadows. 

—I’m desperate and cold and aimless—

“Wait!” I implore with an outstretched hand, stumbling forward. “I can help you!” 

The leader halts, signaling the others to do the same with a jerk of his head. “Explain.” 

I’m in too deep now.

—jumped off this cliff a while ago—

“Whatever you’re trying to do . . . ” I pause. “My magic can help. I can summon rain, wind, fire—make plants grow, anything.” 

—nothing left to lose—

“You want to overthrow the government? I can burn it all down,” I rasp. 

The leader frowns. He turns to a fair woman just behind him and whispers hurriedly. She nods eagerly, casting hungry eyes over me. Finally: 

“We can use you. My name is Kai, and that’s Rafiya.” A nod toward the blond woman. “Welcome to the Shadows.” Rafiya helps me onto her horse, settles behind me, and whips us into a gallop. 

We ride north, hugging the river, for most of the night. I don’t know where I am going, and I don’t care. The grim black sky and stinging wind blind me

—and my judgment—

but I keep up with the group. I’m wanted here, maybe for all the wrong reasons, and it is enough. They promise me a roof and a bed, companions to chase away my loneliness, so I’ll do anything they ask. 

—morality has stolen too much of my life for me to heed it now—

When the sun rises, it does so over a ramshackle village and, not too far off, a large, tall building of white stone, boasting turrets capped with gold. Clueless about any geography outside of the Hall, I raise my eyebrows at Rafiya. 

“It’s the Governor’s palace.” She leans closer and whispers, “You’ll kill her. We have a few things to teach you first, but if you do this for us, we will officially accept you as a Shadow.” I’m dazed but weary, so I nod. 

The Shadows have been scouting the palace of the current Governor, Nette Flysalle, for weeks. Their planted agent lets me into the kitchen through the palace’s back door, along with the local baker when he makes his daily bread delivery. He whispers hurried instructions to me as he stirs onion soup—how many lefts and rights I must make to reach Nette’s receiving room, where she will be alone and ready to receive petitioners. He slips me a maid’s uniform, which I pull over yesterday’s white robes. 

I’m counting my left turns as I scurry down the plush carpeted corridors when someone pokes me in the shoulder. Whirling around, I see Rafiya in a costume similar to mine. She presses a finger to her lips and taps her dagger at her hip, mouthing just in case as she follows me. I contemplate whether the dagger is for Nette or for me as I race around the last turn and ease open the waiting red door

—why is the goodmother here?—

“Where is the Governor?” I scan the room frantically, noting possible escapes: there are no windows. There is a skylight, but the ceiling’s too high to reach. 

The Goodmother laughs. “There is no Governor. We at the Hall are blessed by Anli Herself. Heaven would not want any other ruler of this country.” She steps toward me, poised and calculating. “I’m only telling you all this because you’ll soon have no one to tell except your fellow inmates in Hell.” 

I press a shoulder against the doorframe and gesture with my hidden hand to Rafiya. I hope I correctly make the shape she taught me a few hours ago: a warning to hang back, and get help. “You’re sure I’m going to Hell?” I toss out, listening for Rafiya’s footsteps to fade away. 

“I have sensed something off about you since your childhood. As you grew, that manifested as a nocturnal sleep cycle, a fascination with the library’s moon myths. An irreverence for Anli, and for my authority. Oh yes, you tried to hide it! But I knew you failed your magic classes because you had the wrong kind of magic.” 

Maybe before I would have cared. Now her words are rote, targeting the approval-seeking person that has slipped farther and farther away from my consciousness. I walk toward her and snarl, “If I can’t kill you, maybe they will.”

With beautiful timing, Rafiya, Kai, and the other Shadows appear in the doorway, knives gleaming in different parts of their clothing. “Finish it now!” I hear someone crow.

The old woman changes tactics. “You know you want to belong. Come home. Only I understand you. These rebels only want to use you—I sent you to them so you could realize this. Kill these rebels to show your loyalty, and we can overlook your taint.” 

She has set up this whole situation—my encounter with the rebels in the woods, my flee to them after the Ceremony, my presence here to kill a nonexistent Governor. 

—the most skilled weaver—

—engineering us all into place—

I turn to the rebels. Kai says impatiently, “It’s not true. You’d rather be with us than this manipulator. We don’t believe in rejection. Now kill her.” But his eyes are wide, and Rafiya’s knuckles are white. They fear me. 

I step back, so I can see both sides at once. My heart squeezes and prompts me to imagine, just once, what life as a Hall inductee would be like. I’d finally be able to join in on games like flip the coin, where one had to do so only by controlling the air around the coin. I could live and die cushioned inside that community. 

—they would never accept me—

—even with the Goodmother’s sanction, all of them will always distrust my power—

What about life with the rebels? With one killing blow, I’d win their approval. They have already welcomed me. I could put my fighting skills to good use, help them end the Hall’s iron-fisted reign over the land. We might go hungry, but always together. I may not grow old, living in such danger, but I would live fully. A hardscrabble life softened by company. 

—if I were powerless they would eat me for breakfast—

—they don’t even know my name—

If I kill the Goodmother, I choose the Shadows. If I kill the Shadows, I choose the Goodmother. The thought spins in my head.

—simple math—

“I choose the good and righteous side. For all that I’ve railed on morality, it still lives inside of me,” I say, as much to myself as to my audience. “I’ll kill nobody.” 

—the shadows aren’t heroes, nor is the goodmother—

—my life is not black and white—

—my life is not a fairytale—

—my life is Mine.—

I stop speaking, but my thoughts are pounding-loud, reverberating in my head. 

I choose my side. I don’t care if I’m alone. My conscience can keep me company. And I choose not to be lonely, but happy.

“I choose myself.”

The skylight glass shatters, revealing the pale dawn sky. The moon and the sun twinkle in tandem, in this intermediary between night and day. The forever-full moon calls to me once more.

I let myself answer.

I dissolve out of my worldly body and reach the moon.

And that’s why the moon has phases. 

Oh, did I skip ahead again?

And that’s why people see a man in the moon. It’s actually me. The moon seems a cold place, but it’s quite warm up here. Perhaps a bit pale and empty, but it’s not so lonely. 

I am not unwanted either—rather, quite in demand. The witches distrusted my power, while the rebels lusted for it. Either way, they urged me to hoard it and hide it. But the ordinary people, the ones who seek a pinch of magic in small miracles—

I help them. My magic melts off the moon in small bits and pieces. Every time my territory melts away completely, their faith in the power of the moon—

—light in the darkness—

Restores it. Mortals are a thankful lot, even for the little help I can give them: in puzzle pieces with corners broken off, in small drops of magic swirling down different drains, in wrinkles ironed out. In broken shards reformed into souls.

And these souls may grow old and grey, but they will always understand the Moon. And me, Su-enna. I will be here for them. I will still be here for the grandchildren and the great-grandchildren, who have heard the stories. 

Now I watch. I wait. I feel. 

—I give myself away.—

Drifting Apart

The only place where I felt truly safe was at the beach. If it was raining, it didn’t matter. There’s a blizzard, you say? Then we would still go to the beach. I know it’s odd, but my grandma and I, ever since I was a child, had always gone there when we needed to talk, I mean really talk. But today was different, I knew that after I told Grandma what I had done, she wouldn’t love me the same.

“Grandma, can I ask you something?” I asked, trembling.

She looked worried, as she should have been. “A-anything, Jessica. What’s the matter?”

“Well, there isn’t any easy way to say this, but I might have done something to betray Sam’s trust.”

Samantha was my best friend, we’d known each other since nursery school and we had never gotten in a fight, ever. After my parents got divorced, I started spending a lot of my time with my grandma. She really understood me, in a way that no one else did. 

She really had to think about this. “Samantha, your friend from nursery school?”

“Yes, she asked me to keep a secret and I told the teacher. She doesn’t know, though.”

“What — what was the… nevermind. Well, you have to tell her at some point. If you tell her what you did, at least she will know. If you don’t tell her and she finds out one way or another, it won’t go down well, trust me.” 

She was suspicious, I understood why, but I wasn’t going to tell her the secret, it wasn’t any of her business.

“But I’ve known her all my life,” I said, sighing. I knew she was right, but I still didn’t want to face the truth. I held on to my hat, the wind was aggressive this afternoon. It was as if the wind were trying to tell me something. Sam was my best friend. If she found out that I had lied to her, I might not have a best friend anymore.

“It’ll be ok, I promise. If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here, sweetheart.”

“I know.” 

That night, I couldn’t sleep, although my eyes were heavy and I was all snug in my bed. What if Sam hates me, what if she never wants to talk to me again? No. I have to tell her, just like Grandma said, she will find out one way or another. All the secret was was that she had copied off someone’s paper during our geometry quiz. That’s no big deal… right? My mind was racing, I couldn’t stop shaking. I heard my heart beating, I thought there was a chance that it would jump out of my chest. The palms of my hands were sweating, I tried to wipe the sweat off on my pants but the sweat somehow just kept crawling back to my fingertips. 

Maybe about one hour later, I somehow drifted off to sleep. 

Buzz, buzz. My alarm went off. Ugh, time for school. My eighth grade teacher, Ms. Summer, was so sweet and cared for everyone and I say this truthfully, the only reason I told Ms. Summer Sam’s secret was because I knew Sam was beyond capable of doing the test all by herself. Without cheating.

Mom dropped me off at school that morning and when I arrived, I saw her. She was looking so happy, which only made me feel worse. How could I tell her what I’ve done. It will ruin her day. 

“Heeeey, Sam,” I said awkwardly, as if I had never talked to her before in my life.

“Hi! What’s up, you seem a bit… tense.”

“Hehe, do I?” What was that, Jessica, “Do I?” Ugh.

She looked confused. “Um, yeah, you do. I know you pretty darn well, what’s up?”
“The sky?” Jessica, are you serious right now? Just come clean, you’ll feel better.

“Fine then, don’t tell me.” She huffed off in a hurry.

Well, I might have just missed my only chance to tell her what happened, no big deal… no big deal.

We got to our first period class, and of course, our assigned seats were right next to each other, great, just what I needed. 

“Good morning, class!” Ms. Summer said, almost singing the words.

“Good morning, Ms. Summer,” the class chanted back to her.

I nudged Sam. “Can we talk after class?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes didn’t even move off of the chalkboard.

“Sam?” Ms. Summer asked as she came closer to our table. “Can I see you for a minute? Privately,” she said, looking directly at me, almost through me.

My heartbeat quickened instantaneously, I started to pant. I couldn’t see clearly, my head was pounding. What was she telling Sam? Was she going to tell her what I had done? Was she going to hate me?

Only a couple of seconds later, the door opened, and I was suddenly very confused. Sam was smiling like she had just won the lottery. What had Ms. Summer said? I wanted to ask her but that would be impolite. I looked over at Ms. Summer, and she smiled and gave me a wink. I was almost frustrated now, I didn’t know what had happened in the hallway, I probably still had to tell Sam that I told her secret. This was a complete disaster. 

After school ended, I walked over to my best friend and I gave her a look saying, “We need to talk.” She nodded her head silently, and we sat down at a bench near the school’s entrance. 

“I need to tell you something and I don’t want you to get mad, can you promise me?” I pleaded.

She giggled.  “Well, when you put it that way, I can’t promise anything!”

I sighed. “Fine. I-I-I don’t like what you’re wearing today.”

You could imagine what happened next, she was confused, I was confused, and then we both went home wondering what had just happened!

When I got home, I plopped myself on the couch, propped my elbows on the edge of my legs, and my hands covered my face. The tears burned my eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was sad or angry tears. Maybe it was a bit of both.

I was currently living with my mom in this small apartment in Ohio, so there wasn’t really any way I could hide from her.

“Honey, what’s wrong? I know a sad face when I see one.” She looked at me and gave me a sad smile.

I wiped my tears off my face with the back of my sleeve. “It’s a long story.”

“Well it’s only 4:00. I’ve got time.”

“I want to talk to Grandma.”

She looked disappointed. “Oh, ok, I can drive you to the beach if you want.”

I texted Grandma, and I’m not kidding, within 15 seconds, she responded! I met her at the beach, it was windy again but I didn’t mind.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s bugging you?” She gave me an empathetic smile.

I stared blankly at the ocean, the waves crashing against the golden sand. 

I told her how Ms. Summer took Sam out into the hallway and she came back to the classroom smiling. And I told her that I hadn’t told Sam yet. And that I didn’t know why I had so much trouble telling her.

She looked disappointed, but not at me, at what I had done. “Maybe if you tell me what the secret was, I can understand the situation better.”

I knew I was going to have to tell her at some point, I just didn’t want to. I thought that was a perfectly good reason not to tell her, I just didn’t want to. But I knew that wasn’t really an option so I took a deep breath, “She cheated during a geometry quiz. I told the teacher because I knew she was very capable of doing the test without looking at someone’s paper.” In my head, it just sounded like a jumble of words, but I could tell that Grandma understood. The truth was I actually felt a lot better saying it out loud. Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell Sam what had really happened.

“Oh.” She looked like she had been expecting something worse. “That isn’t so bad, is it?”

“No, but if I tell her the truth, I’m afraid she isn’t going to want to be my friend anymore.” I blinked at least a dozen times in a row to stop the tears from escaping.

She looked perplexed. “Are you sure this is about being afraid of not having a friend? I think that maybe you’re afraid that you’re not going to have as tight a bond as you have had your entire life.”

Those were true words of wisdom that I had never actually thought about before until now. Maybe she was right. Maybe we would still be friends, but would it be the same?

“I don’t know.”

“And you have the right not to know. But we will figure it out, Jess. I know we will. Your mom said that she’ll be here in a bit. Do you want me to stay here with you until she gets here?”

“No, it’s ok. You can go. I’ll see you later.”

“Ok, good luck.” She walked towards the parking lot near the beach and she was soon out of sight.

I gave a shy smile to myself. I have a secret. Sam copied off my geometry quiz. I could have stopped her, but I didn’t. I’m the one to blame. I told the teacher because I wanted to get back at her. I wanted to get back at her because she had been avoiding me for the longest time. I know I should have talked to her but our relationship doesn’t really work like that. I wanted to tell her the whole story but she would have wanted to hurt me. I mean if I was her and she had done that to me and then she told me everything she had done all at once, I wouldn’t know what to say. Or feel. I was also worried about how Ms. Summer had taken Sam out into the hallway, I didn’t know what she was saying. I thought she was revealing my secret. I shouldn’t have told her. I shouldn’t have told anyone. I was angry and I wanted revenge. I didn’t think about what I was doing until after I did it. I am going to tell Sam about this.

That night, I tried extra hard to let my mind relax. For the longest time, I’d had trouble falling asleep. It isn’t the slightest bit fun because being tired and not being able to sleep are one of the most frustrating things ever. 

When I woke up the next morning, I realized that Grandma was the only person I actually trusted. It was quite a sad thought so I didn’t spend much time thinking about it or else I would have started bawling. I ate my breakfast cereal so slowly it became soggy and mushy, disgusting! My mom drove me to school as always because her job was never in the morning as an interior designer. 

“Have a great day, sweetie!” She blew me an air kiss from the car window and I, unenthusiastically, pretended to catch it.

I felt like a nobody, knowing that the only person I had to talk to was my grandma. That’s pretty pathetic, if you ask me! I had a huge unsolved problem, no friends except for Sam. The only problem with being friends with her at the moment was that we were on no speaking terms. I wouldn’t exactly call that a friend… 

When it was math class, I decided I needed to have a talk with Ms. Summer, I mean, she was a big factor in my anxiety right now.

I sat down next to Sam and I gave her the biggest smile I could possibly give without looking like I was up to something.

“Good morning, class,” Ms. Summer said, partially sitting on her desk.

This time, I didn’t say good morning back, because it wasn’t a good morning at all.

Ms. Summer, quiet as a mouse, crept up to our table, again! Are you kidding me, this seriously can’t be happening.

“Ms. Davis.” 

My head perked up, she had never said my last name before.

“Yes, Ms. Summer.”

“Can I see you in the hallway please?” She didn’t look mad, she just didn’t look like her usual bright and cheerful self.

I nodded.

“What is up with you, Jessica? You’ve been acting very strange lately. First, you tell me that Sam cheated and then you don’t say good morning. I don’t want to even start to talk about the grades you’ve been receiving from my class. Could you explain to me why all of this happened, just out of nowhere?”

“Um, sure. You know, Sam and I have been friends forever and lately she’s been avoiding me so I wanted to get back at her, she cheated on my test.” I sighed, I couldn’t take it back now, “I could have told her not to but I didn’t. I told you because I wanted to get her in trouble. I know it seems really bad but I had good intentions.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Those don’t seem like good intentions, Jessica.”

“I know. I knew she could do the test without cheating so I told on her.”

“Then which one is it? You let her cheat on purpose or you told me because you knew she could do the test without cheating?”

“Take a guess.”

She looked really disappointed in me. I’ve never seen a teacher look this way before.

“Let’s go back into the classroom, shall we?”

“One more thing, Ms. Summer.” She turned around intrigued by my words, “I know it’s none of my business but what exactly did you tell Sam yesterday that made her so happy?”

She giggled. “You’re right, it isn’t any of your business at all. But I will tell you that I won’t tell your little secret, you have something special, kiddo. Don’t let this one time get the best of you. Everyone has a downfall at some point, you’re lucky that you have a friend as good as Sam.”

“But then why does she keep ignoring me?”

She looked like she knew something that I didn’t. “Try talking to her again, see what happens. If it doesn’t go as planned, I’m here. Okay?”
I looked down at my feet. “Okay. I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t say anything after that, I was kind of hoping that she would have told me what had happened in the hallway, but I still had hope that Sam and I would continue our friendship.

That afternoon, while I was working on my math homework, a lightbulb went off in my mind. I suddenly had a brilliant thought and I didn’t know why I had never thought about it before. It was so simple, yet it made so much sense. I could still be friends with Sam, but friends drift apart and then new people come into our lives. Maybe someone new would come into my life. I’m not saying I wanted to get rid of Sam, I’m just saying, maybe I could make some new friends. I felt so smart, but not because I was doing math homework, because I was actually making sense to myself. 

“Hi, Sam, I know we haven’t been speaking much but — no, that doesn’t sound right.” I kept trying to write my little “I’m sorry” speech, but I couldn’t get it to sound right. 

“Hi, Sam, I have something big to tell you. No, that’s a little obvious.” I sighed, I’m never going to be able to do this. But I have to. Just stick to the plan and you’ll be fine.

When I got to school, I was confident, but when I saw Sam, my confidence level went down a few notches. You’ve got this, you can do it.

“Hi, Sam, can we please talk?”

She shrugged.

I took that as a yes. “First of all I want to say I’m sorry. I’ve been a really bad friend lately and I need to tell you the whole story. This time you can get mad, you probably will get mad. I completely understand if you do.” Get to the point, Jessica. “First of all, when you copied off my math test, I didn’t tell you not to and I told Ms. Summer about it. I did it without thinking, I wanted to get you in trouble. Only because you had been avoiding me and I was mad at you.” 

And then I told her about how I was so nervous when Ms. Summer took her out into the hallway. After I finished speaking, she looked shocked. 

She gulped. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner? I would have explained myself.”

“Well, I hope it’s not too late. Can you explain yourself now?” 

“First of all, there was a flood in my house and we had to move out this week, of course, all of our stuff was damaged so we didn’t really have anything to move in with. That is what Ms. Summer was talking to me about, she was offering my family some new clothes and bed sheets and stuff like that.”

How had I not known about this? “I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea. I would have done the same, I still can.”

“My parents said I shouldn’t tell any of my friends about it because they didn’t want you to be worried. I think you’re worried now, so I think that was a good call. I’ve been avoiding you because I wanted to tell you about it so badly but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. You actually had a good reason for doing what you did. I didn’t. I want to still be friends with you of course but… maybe we could take a break from each other for a little while?”

“That sounds good.”

“And one last thing, we need to promise each other that if we make new friends, we won’t be too jealous,” I said even though I didn’t think I would be making new friends very soon. But it was nice to know that Sam was there if I needed someone. I didn’t only have Grandma now, I had Samantha as well.

I wanted to go to the beach one last time this week, but I couldn’t go by myself.

“Grandma, can I ask you something?” I asked, grinning.

She smiled. “Anything, Jessica. What’s the matter?”

Here I was, sitting calmly on the warm sand next to my favorite person in the entire world, at the only place where I felt truly safe. I was having one of many heart-to-hearts with my grandma, she really understood me, in a way that no one else did. My rosey cheeks were warm to the touch and my eyes were a hazel brown with a hint of blue from the waves that I was watching in the distance. I have known Samantha since nursery school, I thought quietly to myself, but that won’t stop me from making new friends. I stared into my grandma’s beautiful eyes, wanting every single inch of me to be exactly like her when I grew up. 

Luca’s Timer

Luca rubbed the timer imprinted on his wrist. It was currently April 7th. 

312h

It was stuck at 312 hours. 312 hours. In 312 hours, it was his birthday. So what was this timer, you may ask? Well, this timer was not for his birthday, that’s for sure. This timer actually had nothing to do with Luca at all. This timer was for his soulmate. Kai White. But don’t tell him about the timer. He can’t know about that yet.

Luca was completely aware that Kai was his soulmate. The only problem was that Luca didn’t love Kai. Luca loved someone else. But that can’t be, you might be thinking. Soulmates are soulmates forever, through thick and thin, and life and death! That’s what you were told, at least. Luca Davis is in love with another person. Will King stole his heart. Or, he thought so.

Will was his favorite person to be around. Not so much anymore though, but I’ll get into that later. They spent many long, beautiful nights together under the stars and shared many important moments. Luca used to not care about Kai in the slightest. Or before, if he did, he showed no sign and put it in the back of his head to where the thoughts he had about Kai could get lost forever in the hormonal world of his mind.

***

Kai was suffering from one-sided love. He knew Luca would never love him back, and he gave up trying. 

753,360h 

You might question the fact that the timers on each other’s wrists were so different. The reason for that is quite simple. But I’ll leave you to figure that one out. Because the reason is vital to the ending of the story, and I can guarantee it will not be a good one. These boys are very different, but oh so similar in so many ways. Kai just loves to stare at Luca during class, when the teacher is distracted, he can get into the foreign jungle of tangled daydreams about him and his soulmate. 

This whole soulmate thing is a sick and twisted ideal. Especially when your soulmate loves someone else. Kai’s heart aches whenever Luca shows affection towards Will. He feels like a piece is missing. But he tries to not let it affect Luca’s relationship. Because if Luca’s happy, he’s happy. 

***

311h

Luca noticed the time on the timer was suddenly different. This is not the first time this happened, as Luca has had this timer on his arm since he was little. It was always counting down, and he could do nothing but wait until time’s up. It seemed an hour had passed since he last checked. It was the only mysterious thing about his explosive personality. He took it upon himself to google it.

What happens in 311 hours? 

The answers he got were no help at all. They were things like, ‘Dial 311 for NYC tax service!’ or, ‘The state of New York, 311’. Besides his birthday, he really couldn’t think of anything at all. Luca called Will in hopes of the redhead being in some help to this mystery. Alas, that was not the case.

“What happens in 311 hours, babe?”

“I don’t know, what happens in 311 hours?”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Is it?”

“No, I’m dead serious. What happens in 311 hours?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I can look it up for you.”

“I tried that already.”

“Why is 311 so important?”

“It just is. Nevermind.”

“Alright. I love you, Luc.”

“I love you too.” Saying that felt weird to Luca. It felt forced, like he no longer meant it but he had been doing it for so long that he couldn’t stop. Like a drug almost, except without the feel-good part. Luca hung up the phone and sighed. He loved his boyfriend, yes, but recently he seemed to have… fallen out of love? 

Is that the right mix of words?

***

Kai noticed sometimes that Luca likes to tuck a strand of hair behind his ears. Kai wonders how that is even possible, considering Luca’s hair was short. Kai knows that even though Luca will probably end up getting a soulmate reassignment, he’ll probably never find another soulmate. Or maybe he will, but the chances of that are really slim. Especially since he lost the love of his life so young, he is 16 years old. But just seeing that Will can put a smile on Luca’s face makes his heart drop to his feet. It’s been picking away at him slowly. It’s unclear how much more of it he can take. He doesn’t worry though, he knows everyone will have a happily ever after. But that’s not how life works. Everything can change. His whole life could turn upside down, and he’ll never be the same Kai and he knows it. But fate chose not to do that to him yet. So he’ll just have to wait everything out and see what happens.

To be continued…

Shoes

As I looked out the window, the 6 train was getting close to my stop, 77th street, with the usual EEEEE OOOOO sound. Getting off the train always made my heart race because I thought of it as the “critical moment.” In order to be ready to go to the main world, I looked at myself in the mosaic-built number: 77, and smoothened my hair down. Next, I gently tucked in my shirt, so that the coffee stain was not visible, and again flattened my messy, morning hair. “Decent,” I whispered under my breath, and walked up the subway stairs onto the sidewalk. Walking on 77th street always feels like paradise. As I look into the stores’ windows, I see shiny coats, bright-colored lipsticks, pants with big fancy logos, and many other flashy, Upper East Side items. I always dreamed of having a fancy wardrobe, I would be a whole different person, I would feel different, but as I walked closer and looked inside the window my jaw dropped. 

“$203.99 for a pair of shoes?” my inner voice exclaimed.

Looking at my watch, I realized that it is already 8:15, school started in 5 minutes and I had 6 more blocks to walk! I rushed up East End Avenue and ran as fast as I could possibly run, not letting anything around me make me stop. In the corner of my eye, I saw a big black van, it did a sharp turn my way. Looking up, I saw a red street light, my vision started to blur and blood started rushing to my brain, I suddenly lost control of my body and didn’t know where I was. “Probably will be marked late,” I thought.

I woke up to a loud beeping noise, it hurt my ears, so I tried getting up, but I couldn’t, because I couldn’t feel a single part of my left rib cage. I looked around.

“Where am I?” I called out. 

Managing to turn my head, I saw my mother and father sitting on a bench next to me. I had never seen them like this before. Mom’s face was swollen up and her eyes were red, like they were when grandma had died. Dad was holding mom’s hand, and as manly as he was, I also saw a worried look on his face.

“There’s been an accident, Kiki. Are you feeling alright?” said my dad in a soft and gentle voice.

“Thank God you woke up!” exclaimed mom, crossing her hands over her chest.

Suddenly, I started remembering: the black van, the red light, the shoes, East End Avenue. It was as if the puzzle pieces were somehow coming together to create a picture, a memory. I  laid back down onto the pillows. The pain in my side started to grow again. Through the glass door, I saw a man in blue scrubs and a white doctor’s jacket. He seemed very busy and sleepy, but once he opened the door into my room, he put a bright smile on his face.

“Kiara, how are you feeling?” inquired the doctor.

“Fine,” I answered as energetically as I could.

“You did great in the rib cage repair surgery this morning! The nurse will check on you again tonight, but it looks like you can be discharged soon!”

Surgery!? Ribcage repair!? I suddenly felt trapped. 

Get me out of here! I yelled inside my head, knowing that if I actually yelled, I would probably be brought to the psych wing of Lenox Hill instead of being discharged. Again, I started to feel weak, and giving up on my thoughts and worries, I closed my eyes. 

It was a normal morning, I was sitting in the kitchen biting into my morning toast (slightly hot with melty butter). 

“Time to get going, Kiki!” said my mother, sitting down at the kitchen table, putting down my jacket and my backpack on the chair next to me.

“I’m not 6 anymore, but thanks, Mom,” I responded, picking up my bag and jacket. 

Like always, I walked on the dirty, gum-covered sidewalk of 34th street and entered the smelly, underground world in which I traveled every day to get to school. There I sat, thinking about nothing at all because, well, it was the morning and I am NOT a morning person. When I arrived at 77th Street,  I quickly looked into the numbers, checking out how I looked today. I was my usual morning self, my curly hair poofing out of my head, my eyes still sleepy. I quickly fixed that up and began trotting to the place I was intending to go.

I opened the heavy, early 20th century doors of my school, entering the massive building embellished by a green sign, Chapin.

“Hi, Kiki,” said my friend Lili, greeting me in the lobby.

“Hey,”  I responded, stepping closer to Lili and walking up the stairs to the 5th floor with her. As usual, it was torture, because we weren’t allowed to take the elevator, and it was even worse in the morning, I was never up for this physical challenge. As we entered the 5th floor I saw the usual group of girls talking by their lockers, in other words, my friends. We smiled at each other, because even though it was morning, we were always glad to see each other.

“Where did you get that shirt? It’s super cute,” asked my friend, Sammy.

“Well, sorry, I don’t reveal my secrets,” replied Lili, making all of us laugh.

I lifted my head from the laughter and was ready to go to class. I looked around to say bye to my friends, and to my surprise, saw Sammy making a weird face. She was looking somewhere near me and seeming as if she just ate the grossest thing in the world.

“Ewww, Kiki, what is that on your shirt!” she exclaimed, pointing down to my waist.

Shoot! I completely forgot about my stain! What was I thinking?!

“Ewww,” agreed Lilly.

The other girls joined in and laughed, pointing at me as if I were a circus animal.

I wished that I disappeared. How was I not paying attention in the subway?! 

Suddenly, my vision started to blur and I saw the black van, the red light…

I woke up breathing hard and sweating. I still heard their “ewws” echoing in my head.

“Is everything alright, honey?” asked my mom gently, leaning towards my hospital bed and touching my hand as she would always do when there is something going on. 

I was not in the mood for talking, but I was glad that there was someone to comfort me after the nightmare. The thoughts of it still couldn’t come out of my head though. I couldn’t bear that feeling of shock, of being scared of nothing, when there were actual things to worry about. The pain in my side was like sticking a knife in my body every time I took a breath. I tried to take shorter breaths, but that only made it hurt more. 

As the doctor planned before, the nurse came in and checked on me.

“How is everything going?” asked the nurse politely, leaning over my hospital bed.

“She has been in a lot of pain,” replied my father, worrisomely.

The nurse gently touched the area around my left lung. I grunted from the pain. It was as if there were a million guns in there, shooting me.

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine, I will just quickly get Dr. Firn, who was on your case from the very beginning,” the kind nurse assured us.

Dr. Firn came into my room and examined me yet another time. After a while of feeling different spots, and asking me where it hurt, it seemed as if something was on his mind.

“Kiara, unfortunately, I have to tell you that there was a complication from the surgery. Since you had a severe rib injury, now you have developed pulmonary contusion,” said the doctor, informing my parents and me. He seemed very nervous and unhappy to break us the news. The clipboard he was holding was shaking the slightest bit and he began to bite his lip. I always thought being a doctor was hard. How hard is it to tell your patient that something is terribly wrong with them, that they are going to die?

I cried out, but that caused me a lot of pain. “There is no way this is happening to me,” I thought, “this is all a dream.”  But unfortunately, this was nothing like a dream, it was reality, I had a pulmonary contusion. What on Earth even is that? Beside me, Mom was on the verge of crying. I knew she didn’t want me to see her weak, to see her in pain too, but she couldn’t help but let some tears out.

“I know this is very hard to hear,” said Dr. Firn compassionately. “Since Kiara’s condition is basically a bruise in her left lung, right now, all we will do is wait for it to heal, and in the worst-case scenario, use a ventilator if she is short of breath,” he informed us.

“About when will it heal, doctor?” inquired my dad in a slightly shaky voice.

“It depends on how the process will go, but your daughter will probably recover in 5-7 days,” he replied, handing me a bright red lollipop. I know the doctor was trying to make me feel better, but, I’m sorry, that was the least I needed right then, especially with this lung thing I had. 

I felt like an animal in this hospital, all I did was sleep, grunt, listen, and eat nothing but strawberry flavored Jell-O. My parents always wanted me to be a good student, to be wise academically, and in life, right then I felt like I was doing the opposite. I felt useless! I understand now why everyone was feeling so bad for me, maybe I should have even felt bad for myself.

At the hospital, time seemed to pass very fast. My theory is that if all you do is eat Jell-O, take painkillers, and sleep, time is nonexistent: no worries, just lying down in a stupid hospital bed. 

5 days later, a different nurse came in. This time she was not so smiley and gentle, but after examining my lung, she concluded that I could be discharged. Even though I still had some pains in my side from time to time, I still wanted to end my long visit at this zoo. I could finally go back to normal! Go back to the place I was raised in, the place I belong!

Riding home from Lenox Hill gave me extreme deja vu. It seemed as if I had already been on that specific train, and sat in that specific seat. I was creeped out by how visually it reminded me of somewhere I’ve definitely been, and the spooky part was that I didn’t know if I actually had been there.

When I entered my apartment, I could already smell the scent of spices and carpets. Even though it usually didn’t occur to me as the best smell in the whole world, right now it was what made me happy.

“Kiara, since we know there has been a lot going on, your father and I have bought you a surprise,” said my mom, taking my hand and bringing me into the living room. What could it be? I thought to myself. I was intrigued, but knowing that my parents usually get me lame stuff like books and pencil cases, I didn’t keep my hopes too high.

On the couch in the living room, lay a box. It was neatly packed and lined with a fancy red rope.

“Thanks, Mom and Dad! You really didn’t have to do that,” I thanked them before opening the box. They smiled, and I was glad that I made them happy. I gently untied the rope and opened the box. My breath stopped. Inside lay something I didn’t expect at all, the reason for my injuries. I couldn’t stand on my feet anymore, and collapsed onto the couch. “The shoes,” I whispered.

Corry’s Dreams

Dream #1

Test Subject: Corry J. Bolns 

Age: 13

“Wake up.” A lady leans over and kisses a boy’s forehead. Her eyes have no pupil or iris but seem to be able to see. The boy sits up and hits his head on a sheet of glass. Through the glass, he can see a woman and what seems to be her dog walking over the glass. Her dog begins to scratch at the glass and its owner pulls it away. The boy rolls off of his bed and begins to fall. He lands on a chair where a plate of eggs and waffles are waiting for him. He eats them and falls backwards off of the chair. He then lands in a swing in a playground. Someone pushes him from behind and he flies upwards towards a ceiling, he hits his head. 

End of Dream #1

Corry Bolns was 13 years old when this experiment started. He was taken into this facility against his will and was put into what seemed to be a coma. He was not completely conscious but was somehow able to dream. He was asleep for 3 years. He had exactly 13,140 dreams. We recorded all of them. I will not include all of the dreams in this short pamphlet. I would like to state that I do not think that they should be using these children as their test subjects. I, however, do not have the authority to change, tweek, or stop these experiments. This facility is run by the government and is in an undisclosed location. 

Dream #879

Test subject: Corry J. Bolns 

Age: 13

“Mrs. Banaldi, I forgot my homework at home.” The boy says while fidgeting with his fingers. “That’s the 3rd time this week, Bolns!” The teacher throws an apple at the boy’s forehead. It hits him in the nose, making an apple-shaped indent in the center of his face. The boy falls backwards, splatting against the ground. His body begins to sizzle and bubble, the teacher runs away into the school building. But all of the students have turned into the boy. They say hi in unison. The teacher falls backwards. She wakes up in a bed where she is surrounded by apples.    

End of Dream #879

Corry is hooked up to a device, whenever he has a dream it shows on a monitor. His body still needs water and food. So there is a tube attached to his stomach. He also has a tube attached to his bladder. Some type of pill is fed to him to keep him asleep. Whenever a dream ends, the monitor goes blank. 

Dream #4198

Test subject: Corry J. Bolns 

Age: 14

“Please! Please, Mom, please!” A boy is being pulled away from his mother, and is being shoved into a car. His mother is screaming and struggling but her husband is holding her back. She punches him in the nose and he lets go. She runs toward the car just as it starts to leave. She grabs on to the door. It drags her along. Her knees bleed and finally she lets go. The car drives off and the mother sits in the street bawling as her child bangs on the window of the car.

End of Dream #4198

This was the saddest dream that Corry has had. It is a dream of how he wished his mother had reacted. Instead, when they came to take Corry away, she and her husband stood in the doorway waving goodbye. I don’t understand how anyone could watch their child being taken away and not try to do something about it. I think his parents were very horrible people. This was a recurring dream. He had it over 100 more times. Sometimes his father and mother went after him, but he never got out. 

Dream #8354

Test subject: Corry J. Bolns.

Age: 15

“I’m going to puke,” A boy leans over a toilet. He starts to vomit and then passes out. The boy literally pukes up his guts. His stomach is floating in the liquid along with his intestines. His stomach pops, splattering blood and stomach acids all over the bathroom. The boy is still unconscious but has creatures crawling out of his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. He begins to tremble. And then POP! 

End of Dream #8354

A lot of Corry’s dreams are gross and bubbly. I think it’s because Corry has seen some pretty traumatizing things in his life. When he was 8 years old, his big sister spilled boiling hot oil on herself. She got terrible burn scars, lost eyesight in one of her eyes, and she had to get a face transplant. She died two years later when she got into a horrible car crash. Corry and his family went to visit her in the hospital, she passed away a day later.

Dream #12063

Test subject: Corry J. Bolns 

Age: 16

“Get up!!” A lady shakes a boy.

His eyes slowly open.

“What’s happening?” he says groggily.

“There’s a fire!” she yells. His room is slowly getting warmer. He runs to the door but the doorknob is too hot to touch. He tries to kick the door open, but he passes out from inhaling too much smoke. His fingertips begin to melt and his body makes a puddle on the floor. 

End of Dream #12063

At first glance, Corry’s dreams don’t seem to have much meaning behind them. I never understood what we were trying to figure out. What the point of this experiment was, I still don’t understand to this day. Sometimes I think the point of these experiments is to torture these children. But for what? What did they do? Most of them have horrible parents or one horrible parent. So are they getting punished for being born into horrible families?

Dream #13140

Test subject: Corry J. Bolns

Age: 16

A boy opens his eyes. He begins to sit up but he is pushed back down by a man in a suit. He looks confused. He tries again. But is pushed down once more. He starts to struggle. But the man grips his wrist. More men in suits show up. The boy tries to go back to sleep. 

End of Last Dream

Before experiment

Interviewer: “What is your name?”

Corry: “Where am I?”

Interviewer: “What is your name?”

Corry: “Where am I?” 

Interviewer: “Name!?”

Corry: “Uh, Corry.”

Interviewer: “Full name?”

Corry: “Corry Jack Bolns.”

Interviewer: “How old are you?”

Corry: “13.”

Interviewer: “What is your date of birth?”

Corry: “Please, where am I?”

Interviewer: “Date of birth?”

Corry stands up, but a guard grabs him.

Corry: “Don’t touch me!!”

Interviewer: “Don’t be stubborn kid, what is your birthday?!”

Corry: “February, 12, 1977.”

Interviewer: “Please fill out this form.”

After experiment 

Interviewer: “What is your name?”

Corry said nothing, he simply sat staring at the interviewer.

Interviewer: “Kid,” he waved his hand in front of Corry’s face.

Interviewer: “Alright, your name is Corry Jack Bolns, can you say that?”

Corry still stays silent.

Interviewer: “You are 16 years old. You were born on February, 12 1977 in upstate New York. Your parents are Jeana and William Bolns. Ring any bells?”

Corry: “Mama?”

Interviewer: “Yes.”

Corry: “Where is Mama?”

Interviewer: “She is at your home with your father.”

Corry seemed scared at the mention of his father.

Interviewer: “Do you remember any dreams?”

Corry: “Mama!!” Corry begins to sob. I don’t understand why he misses his mother so much, she seems like a horrible person, but she must have done something right. 

Interviewer: “That’s all we need.”

Me: “Where are you taking him?!”

Interviewer: “Home.”

When Corry arrives at his old home all he does is stare for the first 15 minutes. He then goes up to the bright red door and rings the doorbell. His mother opens the door and shuts it the moment she sees her son. His father opens the door only to shut it once again. Shouts can be heard from behind the front door.

“I thought he was dead!”

“Why would you think that?!”

“You made it sound like he was dead! I cried for two years straight!”

“Don’t exaggerate Jeana! We are not taking him back.”

“Why wouldn’t we Bill? He is our son!”

“NO! I am in charge here!”

“Says who?!?!”

“Me!” 

“You never loved me or our children!”

“You think I married you because I loved you?!?!”

Jeana Bolns slaps her husband in the face. She then goes upstairs, fills her suitcase with all of her stuff, and walks out of the door. She grabs her son by the arm. She buckles him into their car and drives off.  I am not sure exactly what happened to Corry after that. I have a hard time believing he lived a good life. His mother’s parents were rich and they supported them. I did visit them at their home a year later. Corry’s mother smoked the whole time and she kept telling me that they were trying to erase all of the bad memories. So I wasn’t allowed to talk about the facility. I didn’t learn anything. I was on my way out when Corry’s mother stopped me.

“Why would you let them do this to my son!?!?”

I left without saying a word. I guess I do feel guilty. But this is not about me, this is about Corry, Corry J. Bolns, Corry J. Bolns’ dreams.

Windows

He stares at the painting, in a state of awe. I’m confused. What’s so magical about a painting? He’s saying something about how labor intensive it must have been to make a painting like this. How wonderful it would be to live in the painting. 

“It’s just a bunch of dots,” I say pointedly. “There’s nothing wonderful about it.” He just smiles, amused. 

“You have to look at it like it’s a window. Like it’s giving you a clear view of another person’s world.” He waits for my response, but it doesn’t come. I tap my foot against the concrete floor. The rest of the gallery is just as boring, and we’re here for at least an hour longer while Mom finishes up her shift. It couldn’t hurt to try. 

“Well…” I begin. “I… guess the white, yellow, gray, and blue make the sky look… sort of real.” 

“Yeah,” he says. I expect him to start yammering on about the feelings looking at the clouds give him, instead he looks at me again. “What else?” 

My ears feel hot, I can hear my heart beating in them. I look down at my scuffed up sneakers. I try to avoid eye contact by rubbing them against the ground. 

“I — ” I swallow my pride. What good is lying now? “Hadn’t thought of anything else… ” 

He doesn’t get mad. I can feel him smiling at me. A beam of light shining down on me just as the light shines down on these three people in the painting. 

“That’s okay.” 

I look up. 

“Really?” I smile back at him, confused. 

“I’d prefer to continue our discussion, but if you’re really stumped… ” I cross my arms.

“You’re really trying to take me on a guilt trip?” 

He smiles. A wide grin that succeeds in making me laugh. Dirty looks from all around the gallery find their way to me. I mumble an apology to the angry museum visitors.

A minute later, he asks me, “Did you think of something else eye-popping about the painting?” 

“Eyes popping?” I ask, excited. “Like in that video where they cut the lady’s eye open? But it’s ACTUALLY a SHEEP’S EYE?” 

He laughs. “That’s not what I meant!” He messes with my short hair, like I’m a dog. 

“I meant what comes to your eye first?”

“Oh,” I laugh. “I guess, those three people in the light.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I respond. “They look like the only people in the world.” 

“I get that,” he trails off. 

A scratching sound takes him back to the real world. A crow is dancing on top of the skylight. The skylight is right above us. Looking up at the light, shining through the dim gallery, I finally understand what my brother meant by the word “window.” 

A Prisoner to War

There was a prisoner lying on the wet ground, covered in mud from the battlefield so that their uniform was indistinguishable from the surroundings. Standing there in my own uniform, spattered with mud myself as one of the victors preparing for the punishment, I could not even make out the telltale signs that would show that he was from the opposing side. He was a prisoner, I told myself. That was how war worked. Thousands of lives could be lost in one day, one battle, lives that were indistinguishable from one another in the face of death, with all their separate memories and stories blending into one consciousness. War was good versus bad, each side convincing themselves that the others were subhuman and evil, justifying the slaughter and cruelty. But man was a single race, with only petty distinctions of appearance, separated into the categories of nationality and physicality. It was human nature to want to distinguish, I thought, as I saw the lesser officials march up under the gray sky and wrench the pitiful man to his feet. Was he even human in their view, a prisoner who was soaking and half-dead? Was this how they were going to justify his death at their hands? A feeling of horror rose in my chest and crept into every corner of my brain. How could this be routine? What had his life been like before the war? I imagined his wife and children standing in front of their house, waiting for his return that would never come. Did such deaths even mean anything in the grand scope of the war? I watched the proceedings continue with mounting dread. When the gun went off, I felt like I had been shot myself, and although I stood straight and showed no emotion as I marched away, my insides felt like they were melting away from me. I knew that I could not remain as I had been before.

Smile and Nod

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

“Elliott’s in the basement.”

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

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

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

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

Then came the casket.

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

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

A Loving Banishment

The man had seen many different worlds in his time, and knew a song from all of them. He walked across the mountain peaks singing one of them. He plucked the banjo with the edges of his koi colored hand guard. His hands were weathered, strong, and had the agility of a wild rabbit. He had bright green eyes that looked a little bloodshot. Though he may have seemed a little tired, his smile shined brighter than the light overhead. 

The coins in his pocket clattered against each other. He knew that the shop was only a little ways down the path. The sky was a beautiful seafoam green with clouds that bobbed and weaved through the air. A good place that the man would want to go to again in better circumstances. 

His backpack weighed down his walking. Each mile felt like the man was sinking deeper and deeper into the earth. Pots dangled off the side of the large pack. The small potted tree may have not been a good idea to bring along, but the man worked a while to trim that bonzai. It gave him comfort of some kind while braving each new planet. 

The two moons had their eyes open during the reign of the day. Standing perfectly still in the sky, trying not to be seen by the sun. The man hoped that they enjoyed his music, because he was essentially playing for no one. The sky was his audience and he was the only musician in the world. 

The man’s tune came from several worlds back. One that sang of contentment. The song was a little repetitive, but the way it flowed was beautiful. It felt like a song that a beast that could ride the clouds would hum on its treacherous journey. The man tried to add some spins in his walk to keep his spirits high. How much this worked was up to interpretation. 

His brass shoes kept his walk at a steady pace. Only a few more miles until he got to the home of his next supplier. 

The rocks and sand that adorned the warm mountain tops shifted slightly as a creature burrowed out of them. It was a small gopher. Massive black eyes that looked like goggles strapped to the squat animals face. His brown fur seemed to blend into the rocks surrounding him. The man stopped his march for a second only to look at the little creature. It nodded at the man, and dove back into the earth. It let out a little screech as it did so. 

The man chuckled slightly as he continued on. Trying to move past small roots and boulders, but after a bit of time deciding to just walk over them. His strumming grew louder as his song came to the final chorus. His voice was soft and melancholic, but he expanded it to heartbreaking and intense only for the final verse. The song could have been seen as one talking about how good life is, but with his voice he changed it to missing what was once barely in our grasp. 

The small silver ring on his finger shifted slightly, the pearl now facing the ground. He quickly put his thumb to the end of it and spun it around. It was subconscious at this point. The ring wasn’t exactly designed to fit his finger. The engraving on the inside expressed this as such. 

After around an hour, he got to the broken shack. The dark oak wood had termites decades back. Green mold lined the outside of the wood, sitting like an ornament of its side. The shack was leaning to the side. Resting on the grounds beneath it. The shack, though old, had a malicious aura gently resting in the air around it. A putrid smell gently glided out of it, daring the man to walk inside. Only come to me if you think you can come out alive, young traveler. 

The man took a small breath, placed down his bag on the rocky ground, and walked in. 

The room was duly lit. Dying candles lined the edges of the hut, giving off only the slightest bit of glow. The only other things the room had was a counter and the massive old woman sitting behind it. Her purple robes hid the top half of her face, leaving only a nose and mouth to peer out of the hood. Her broken-in neck and her boney skeleton outlined the side of the cloak. Her leathery skin was pulled across her unnaturally long fingers. Her face seemed to only have a small layer of the skin, making her face unholy in its angularity. Her yellow teeth were crooked and overlapping. She spoke in a small crackly voice to address the comparitally little man. 

“Well hello, young traveler,” the old woman said, leaning forward from her desk. 

“Hi,” the man said curtly. “I’m going to skip the formalities here. I need a couple things. I have over 3000 gold in my pocket, and I’m willing to pay for all of it up front.”

“Gold?” the woman chuckled. She wrapped her fingers on the edge of the counter. “I have gold already.”

She got increasingly closer to the man’s face. 

“I would need something for trade. Something important. Something valuable,” she said, dragging out each word. The man could see her bottom eye lids from how close she was. Her potent breath wafted over him, sending a shiver down his spine. She lowered her head to face the ring hanging off of his finger. 

“I-I’m sure I can get you something,” he said, yanking his hand to a position behind his back. He could feel his heart in his neck.“Just, not that.”

The old woman cackled slowly and leaned back. Her curved spine scraping the wood behind her.

“First, what would you like to buy,” the woman said, her arms motioning to the entire room.

“Um, I heard from a bunch of different people that you can sell me these things,” the man held up a small scrap of paper, his hand shaking as he tried to show her. It read; two marble earrings, a rabbit’s foot, and a box of baby teeth.

The woman laughed a dangerously high pitch howl. 

“I know exactly what you need those things for,” she said, drawing out her words to taunt the man. “Now, why would a young man need to summon an angry spirit.”

“That’s for this young man to deal with,” he said. “Now, what do you need for those things?”

“Let me see your bag. The one you put outside to hide from me,” the old woman said, extending a mangled finger to her wall, as if she could see through the thick oak. 

The man tensed up and quickly walked outside, grabbed his bag, and hurried inside. He plopped his bag on the counter, adrenaline rushed through his body.

The woman took her long, leathery hands and opened the bag up. She smiled and pulled out a little bonsai tree. She rotated the small pot, and eyed it like a predator eyeing its prey.

“This would do ever so nicely,” she said, running her deep purple tongue along her yellow teeth. “Won’t you give it to an old woman?”

“Well…”

“I’m so lonely. So lonely. Living on the tops of mountains. I haven’t had another living creature here in ages. Won’t you please give it to me?”

The man sat still. Trying to think of a way to keep the one thing he really cared about. He needed those components. The woman’s grin grew larger and larger.

“You have a deal,” the man said, extending his hand.

“Good.” The woman put the plant on the side of the counter. She never even looked at the man’s hand. She merely closed her hand and opened it. From where there was nothing, layed a rabbit’s foot, two marble earrings, and a box containing the pearly white teeth of a baby. She gingerly placed the items on the counter, and picked up the plant. She gently placed it under her desk.

She turned to the man.

“Now go,” the woman said. “You only have two more deals you can make with me, child.”

The man grabbed his bag, and slowly walked out of the room. As he opened the door and left the threshold of the house, he ran. Sprinted for around a mile, until he was panting on the side of a mountain. No terrifying house in sight. 

***

The man pulled out red chalk from a pouch from his bag and smeared it along his forefinger. He traced a circle in the air, where the essence and dust of the chalk stayed floating. He made a quick motion with his hand to create the ancient runes he had been using for years. With another cut of his hand, the sigil was complete. It glowed a bright orange and green as colors swirled around the floating chalk marks. 

The mark hovered waiting for the man to step in. He took a deep sigh and jumped into the undulating cloud of magic. The world changed around him. 

Everything went dark for a moment, and he landed in bright blue dirt. This was the world he was accustomed to. The two suns sat in the air. Ornaments that hung in the bright red sky. The blue soil held up the purple sprouts that protrude from its earth. He took a deep breath, taking in the air which he hadn’t felt in lifetimes. 

He ran his hand through his curly orange hair. This place was familiar, in what felt like the worst ways. The ruins of buildings still sat like corpses of a bygone era. The bones of the town he lived in buried into the forgotten earth. The mountains surrounding the town looked on in silent anguish. They had to watch something horrible. 

The valley town laid dead before the man. A horrid painting that he had to bear witness to. Only for one night. That was some form of consolation. 

He pulled out his banjo. The tune he started to pluck on the dragon haired strings was a way to calm him down. It worked like it was supposed to. The tune was a slow melody, very little plucking was needed. Just let the banjo do all of the work. 

The man swallowed a well of spit that started to build up in his dry throat. When he was fully calm, he pulled out his sundial. The lack of shadow present told the man that he had to wait around nine hours until he could finally do the ritual. 

He walked through the alleys of the broken buildings, taking deep breaths while he did so. He kept his head down. Choosing to only look at his feet may make this a little easier. He had to only walk a short distance before he got to the center of town. Burnt cobblestone ground showed the scars of an old design. Celestial beings stretch across the floor, a depiction of the universe being made. Their forges created the galaxies that lined the tapestry of the universe. The fountain that used to know celebrations and good harvests, layed a skeleton of its former self. The burnt marble seemed to cry out in pain as it sat motionless. 

The smell of ash and sulfur flew into the man’s senses. The roaring winds had something to do with that nonsense. He coughed like a seal and almost fell to his knees as the winds carried hazardous material into his lungs. 

He took a seat, still coughing, on the ground. The dead buildings and shops looking down on him. Watching his every movement. He had nine hours. He put his bag in front of him, taking out a small book and a globe. He placed the globe directly in front of him and the book in his lap. For nine hours he practiced the incantation and phrasing of the ritual. The hand motions needed to be perfect, and he needed to be ready for what came after. 

The suns set below the mountain peaks, letting the eye of night flap open. The pale green moon lay patient in the sky. It could see what was about to happen. 

The man placed the altar that weighed down his bag onto the cobblestone ground. The baby teeth, rabbit’s foot, globe, and earrings were held by the small wooden altar. He took a deep breath as he fulfilled the last component needed to begin the ritual. An item from the person being summoned. The man gently laid the wedding ring in front of the altar. 

He brought up his hands, copying the motions he needed to know to complete the final steps of the ritual. He muttered something in an incomprehensible language, bargaining his soul. He completed the ritual, and stood up. His banjo began to morph as he summoned the sword. The strings seemed to disappear and the entire shape changed. The banjo became a long samurai sword of sorts. The curved blade reflected the moon above as it was created. 

The winds stopped for but a moment and picked up again stronger than before, circling around the altar. The man tapped his blade twice against the ground, preparing for battle. 

An ethereal cloak started to form in the sky. It was long and flowing and surrounded a materializing man. He had long hair that reached his shoulders and flowed off his ghostly face. His eyes had the fury of hell behind them. The winds picked up more as the man drew his own blade. A curved jade sword that reached his feet. 

The spirit’s eyes lost a little bit of fury when he noticed who was standing on the ground. 

“Why,” the man said, looking up at his dead husband.

“You know I couldn’t change my nature, Remir,” the ghost said, the fury returning.

“Well by hell did I try,” Remir said, yelling. “We were happy. You were happy. You didn’t need to do all of this!” Remir motioned to the entire town. It’s charred remains didn’t even draw the attention of the swordsman. “You did this on our wedding day, no less,” Remir screamed, tears starting to stream down his face. 

“You wanted to love a demon,” the ghost yelled back. 

“You’re not a demon!” Remir stabbed his sword into the ground. “You’re a man. A man who did some things wrong. You control your nature, dammit!”

The spirit started to float back, putting his sword in a neutral fighting stance. 

Remir did the same, his tears not drying up just yet. “I can’t let you live, Mal,” Remir said lowly. “You just showed how you’ve stayed the same.”

The wind howled its unholy song as the swords began to clash. 

Mal threw up his left arm. A pillar of ghostly fire erupted from the now torn earth. Remir barely dodged this. He spun back to a position where he could actually fight. The ghost charged at Remir now, their ethereal sword cutting the air. Remir only had to shoot his hand in front of his face to block the blow. The sword effortlessly guarded him against the spiritual force trying to impale him. 

Their dance of deadly blades was one to behold. They pushed each other into buildings. Remir had to jump off of the fountain to try to get a good hit on Mal. Stone was broken, steel was shattered, and their blades kept clashing against each other. The wind turned to rain as they continued. The sonata their blades created only made more music to the entire valley. The fight raged on for hours. Each one not getting the upper hand on the other. 

Remir’s blade found a comfortable home in Mal’s ghostly chest. Mal’s breathing sputtered as he fell to the ground. Remir looked at his ethereal husband, and cried. Mal said his final goodbye. An apology, and a smile. As he faded from reality, the objects placed on the altar went with him. Including the ring. The memories faded with the spirit. 

“Fight against monsters, even if they are inside,” Remir read the inscription as he picked up the ring. 

Remir sat in the ground of his old town, not knowing why he was crying. 

The Smile of an Idol: Another Story

At our 99th performance in Akihabara, a scout found us. He noticed our performance and approached us for a deal. He invited us to the Akihabara School Idol Company Audition Session. Various school idols from all around the globe will be auditioning for a chance with us, he said. We think you’ll do wonderfully, he said. One condition, he said, only Karin. 

H-huh? What? Has my hearing gone bad or something? I glanced to my side, only to see Karin’s eyes filled with hope and determination. Her eyes were the complete opposite of mine, filled with despair and malice. I looked forward once again, trying to find the trace of a joke on the scout’s face. All I could see was joyful seriousness.

“Wait… REALLY?!” 

Karin started jumping up and down like a bouncy ball. Up and down. She was so animated, I could almost see the sparkles in her eyes. 

“Lynn, this is wonderful! C’mon, let’s go tell Mom!”

I didn’t respond with my usual submissive “alright” or even a simple “okay.” For once in my life, I stayed silent. 

I didn’t even notice that Karin had already left me behind. I was far too busy burning the scout’s business card. I know he gave one to each of us, so it wouldn’t really do anything in the long run, but defiance is defiance. The main lesson I learned from this experience: lighters are surprisingly easy to find on the street. All I had to do was ask some old guy if I could borrow his. He was surprisingly chill about it, but we ended up in a far-too-long conversation about boats. Well, more like he roped me into a far-too-long conversation about boats. 

After burning the scout’s business card, I felt a rush of energy. Is this what defiance feels like? Is this what a rebellion feels like? I never understood what the point of a rebellion was if everything was moderately okay until this point in time. If I were to describe the feeling of rebellion at this point, I would say it’s addicting. Almost like an invisible version of cocaine. And unfortunately, this mental drug has a very long effective time.

That night was the time I had ever not been in the small apartment I shared with my parents and Karin. I left the performance setup in the pouring rain, hoping that it wouldn’t work the next morning. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the despair and malice had consumed me whole. I was somehow drowning in a dream that wasn’t mine to begin with. I never even wanted to be an idol in the first place, it was Karin’s idea, so why was I so angry? I somehow managed to sleep through the pounding rain, even in a dirty city alley. Sometimes crying and kicking makes it easier to fall asleep. It seems like it would be counterintuitive, but somehow it always worked like a charm. 

After a week of the same ol’ defiance, I wandered back home. I was reluctant at first, but I figured I had to. I can’t just keep living off of snacks and cheap coffee. My already-small amount of pocket change was running out, and I wasn’t particularly fond of having to starve in some alleyway. 

I sprinted through the pouring rain for 3 miles until I reached our apartment block. I dashed up the creaking stairs, careful to avoid any loose steps. I was at the doorstep, huffing and puffing, even with all of the dance practice. I shakily pulled my index finger up to the doorbell.  My dread and anxiousness were growing along with the movement of my finger. My shaky finger hovered over the doorbell for at least a minute, hoping that no one would notice me at the door. My finger shakily hovered for a few more seconds before it dropped back down to my side. I can’t do this. But before I could selfishly run away, a third party intervened. The door nearly hit me in the face, the already broken hinges almost snapping off. A fairly short girl who looked about my age answered the door. She had navy blue-dyed, short, choppy hair with long bangs covering her eyebrows. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She looked exactly like Karin, but her mannerisms were completely different than usual. She spoke in a quiet, slightly lethargic voice, 

“… Lynn, that you?”

“…”

It was understandable why she might have had second thoughts on who I was. I mean, I looked quite different than before. My clear, porcelain-like skin was covered with dirt and bruises and my long hair that used to match Karin’s was now messy and uneven.

“Yeah… it’s me-”

Before I could get a chance to finish my sentence, Karin shoved me into a tight embrace. I could feel her tears on my shoulder and my eyes widened. I thought she would’ve wanted nothing to do with me by now. It was a while before I brought myself to reciprocate her embrace. But eventually, I gently brought my hands up and returned her hug. I buried my head into her shoulder and soon, we were both sobbing. By now, all of the neighbors and even my parents were staring at us, but we didn’t care. Neither of us even realized how much we missed each other. 

After what felt like hours of sobbing, we finally parted. Karin smirked at me teasingly. She gently shoved me into the apartment. 

“WHOA!” 

I nearly tripped and fell over the little step next to our apartment door. “Nee-hee-hee! That’s what you get for leaving me for a week!” Karin said playfully. 

“Fine, fine! I deserved that.”

“Damn straight!”

“…”

We were both silent for at least a minute until we both bursted out laughing. 

“Who actually says ‘damn straight’ anymore?!” 

“I dunno! Maybe me!”

We were laughing together as if nothing ever happened. The scout never came, I never ran away, and Karin was the same as ever. She was a loud and annoying sister for sure, but she was my loud and annoying sister. I moved my head up and brushed my long hair out of my face. I looked at Karin.

“What did you do to your hair?”

Her cheeks flushed red and she looked flustered for a second. 

“Oh, uh-”

“Not that I don’t like it! Blue suits you well, and I think you look great with short hair!”

“Oh, thank you! Yeah, I felt like I needed something new, hee-hee.”

“It’s a little choppy, though.”

Karin went from fluster to worried in the blink of an eye. 

“Well, I-”

“… Did you cut your hair with craft scissors?”

“Ummmm… maybe?” Karin shrugged. 

I laughed.

“Of course you did. Good to know that you’re still Karin!”

Her worried expression changed to one of joy and happiness, and we smiled together for the first time in years. A real smile. 

Twenty-20 Come Again

It was 15 years ago when the coronavirus pandemic hit the world. It is now 2035 and the world has almost healed. Most people have returned to work like my mom. I am now almost 18. The vaccine was finally crafted on January 17th, 2021. While it wasn’t available to the general public until February 8th, the world began to return to what my mom says was “normal.” I was only 3 when the virus hit so I don’t remember much from before everything changed. I  don’t remember the virus too well either. The human brain doesn’t start making memories until you’re almost four so I only remembered a few moments from the end. When the vaccine was accessible to most average people all over the world, I remember sitting on the cloud with my family watching the window monitor. The people were dancing and cheering outside embracing their long-awaited freedom. They celebrated all night in the streets, rejoicing over the thought of being free. They thought it was over. They thought that was the end.

I sometimes think of the person who began this tragedy. Did they know they would change the world forever? I often think of people who do things without thinking. I was never like that. I like to think of myself as a person of few actions but many thoughts; always wondering how what I do affects the world around me. Sometimes it’s a blessing and sometimes a curse. 

I find myself stopping my life to think of others. I once was walking across the street which at the time was made of glass of course, and there was a person on their wireless monitor. I saw a car ahead of me skidding on the glass, which is why we now switched to a form of metal. I thought to myself, seamlessly without thinking, of the person ahead that could be killed by the car. I didn’t notice though that the person had already made it safely to the other side. I, on the other hand, was standing directly in the path of the car. I stopped thinking completely as I watched the car get closer and closer. All I could think of was the person walking away wherever they had to go. My brain froze. I stopped. Everything slowed. My sight blurred. Not moving anything. Just standing on the clear glass looking ahead but not at anything. The car progressed until I forced myself away to the side of the road. The car gained control and slowed to a stop about 20 feet ahead of me. The driver was my first thought and I forgot about my near-death experience. 

This was only one example of how my constant thoughts of others and my actions affected my life and almost ended it. Although this instance definitely doesn’t show the blessings of this trait, there are many instances where having constant thoughts is helpful. I won’t go into that right now though. 

From the Corona pandemic, I have memories of being with my mom and dad a lot. These didn’t really mean anything much to me since I loved everything about it. I got to spend all day long annoying my parents and it seemed like there was an excuse for it. They sat on the cloud or at the smart table working all day long or watching the window monitor play the news feed of the pandemic. I remember, even for my young small brain, how exhausting it was to hear about everything going on in the world and not understand why. I never understood how someone started something like this, something that would change the world entirely, and not even care. I can’t even imagine being the person who started the coronavirus. Someone who didn’t think. That was the opposite of everything that I am. This person changed everything. 

I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if that one person made a right turn instead of a left. Or their child got sick and had to be picked up from school. Would the world ever be the same? 

I like to think that the pandemic had a positive effect on the world as well. Whether it did or didn’t, it helps me keep faith in our species and move forward even when I want to stop. I try to think to myself that my dad just stopped. He didn’t give in. He wasn’t taken. He just stopped. He knew what was best because he was a very smart man. I trusted him and his decision any day and I always will. He battled and pushed for over a month and then after we said goodbye, he stopped. They let us say goodbye but they warned us that we could get it too. I think it was one of the best decisions we had ever made. Without it, we would have never seen him go. We had the antibodies which scientists had researched more. They found that the antibodies meant more than most people thought.

When dad stopped, mom had a period of slowed everything. She moved slower, she worked slower, she ate slower. This was worrying for me because losing both of them wasn’t an option. She promised me that everything would be okay and I believed her. This was another good decision by me, but it took me some time to realize it. As always, she was right and we overcame his death together. I, as an only child, took this really hard. This was the loss of the only male figure in my family. Both my grandpas died before I was born and my mom had no siblings. My dad had one sister and she had a baby girl. She never remarried after she divorced her second husband and she was happy the way life was. Her daughter, my cousin, who was 7, was like a sister to me. When we had to quarantine, we did it together. This made everything much easier. We had dance parties every night and sang at the tops of our lungs. Then when dad died these routines shifted. Everyone was just slightly more calm and mournful. Again, I was 3, so it isn’t as clear to me as it could have been but I definitely remember. 

My mom previously worked as an essential worker but she quit once corona began. She was too worried about dad since he had an existing condition. She didn’t want to be the reason that he got sick. Unfortunately, she was too late. Dad had already gotten sick before she quit. We think he got sick from his work since his office stayed open longer than others. After he got sick, he quarantined himself for about 1 week and then went to the hospital. He was there for 3 more weeks before he stopped. 

I still remember the last time I saw him. So weak and pale. Barely moving. Even though it was so long ago, I still remember the strong smell of the hospital room and the beeping of machines around me. The heavy feeling of my steps as I walked out of there, knowing I would never see him again. The warm touch of my mom’s arm around my shoulders as she wept quietly. I could feel it when he stopped. We were home sitting on the cloud which was called a couch back then but I just knew. I felt it inside, like a piece of me just stopped. 

After he passed and mom started a new job working in an office, things started to feel slightly more normal. Although nothing was exactly the same, it began to return to what life was like before. It was really hard for us to go back to normal without dad though. I kept thinking I saw him or thought I heard him. When I would come home from school I would walk through the door thinking of the things I wanted to tell him. I then reminded myself that I couldn’t think like that. 

One day mom and I were sitting on the couch watching the window monitor and the news came on. It showed footage of a police officer kneeling on a man’s neck. They later showed that the man had said “I can’t breathe” but the officer didn’t care. After that, he was pronounced dead and so many people were extremely angry. There were protests all over the country. Some were peaceful and some were not. Burning buildings, robbing stores, trashing police cars. All over the news was people fighting for their rights and the rights of others. I thought to myself every once in a while when I would see these violent acts, what is this doing for our community? This isn’t showing a strong and powerful side. This is going against all the peaceful protests that will change the world and this is getting more and more people arrested. It was infuriating to watch all these innocent people be pushed down by the people who should keep us safe. I tried to think that they were just doing their job but it was so hard when there was so much hate. Between the tear gas and violent officers pushing peaceful protesters around, I couldn’t believe this was the world we had put so much trust into. I couldn’t believe this was the reality of our country and what we did just for our jobs. It was hard to watch just sitting on the couch observing the cruelty around me. 

Whenever we walked outside to go to the store or just to take a walk, all the stores were boarded up with cardboard planks to prevent robberies. I saw one day a store near our house that had been smashed open. Most of the products inside were taken. The glass smashed to bits. Then I saw the people come to replace the planks. That’s what reset my view of our country. Not the smashed glass and stolen objects but the people who came to fix it. Maybe it was just because they were told to but because they came to do it. We were in the middle of a deathly pandemic and these people came to fix the panel on a store. It’s astonishing to me the different types of people in this world. The people who would break the windows and the people who would fix them. This brings me back to myself and the person I am – how I’m sometimes too aware of how my actions affect others. I think back to the person who started the coronavirus and then I think about the people who were protesting for their rights, and the people that were helping others keep their stores safe, and the essential workers who were saving lives. They were thinking like I do every day and were saving our world. I found that really amazing. 

After both violent and peaceful protests, police training was much more selective. They added new tests and questioning to prevent this same tragedy again which helped greatly. There were also new laws forcing police officers to complete this training and current police officers had to be tested again. They made all officers be tested every 5 years like a driver’s license to make sure they still followed all the rules. In the beginning of these new rules, there was an increase in crime since the police spent a lot of their time completing the tests and less time doing their job. Eventually, this evened out and things went back to normal with the police doing what they should do. These laws enforced police officers to not make racist decisions or comments and if they did they would be arrested. Nothing like the George Floyd disaster had happened since and everyone was much happier and felt much safer. 

By 2030 almost everything was back to normal. All restaurants were open and the economy had returned. On public transportation, some people still wore masks and gloves but most people didn’t. People most at risk just stayed inside and their work and food delivery services were adjusted. There were some new laws that helped older people or people at risk stay safe and healthy. Herd immunity took place so most people in small communities had the antibodies. This helped greatly by preventing more cases from spreading. 

Almost everyone had had the antibody test which had become more and more advanced since the outbreak. They were very reliable and scientists had found that you couldn’t get the virus again. The vaccine obviously also helped with this as it was crafted pretty early on. Almost everyone across the world had access to it and got it as soon as possible. There had been some questioning of how reliable it is, but I believed it worked well. Scientists were still working to advance the vaccine more and more so it was even more reliable. 

**

At school, more and more people were telling me that their family members were getting sick. My friend Ella was one of the first people to tell me that her dad got sick and was staying at home. Then my friend Nick, whose mom was sick and staying home. This worried me because what if some other virus was taking over the world again. This was the last thing I need because I can’t lose anyone else important to me. I didn’t tell anyone about this until almost half my class was not there due to some sickness. While my teachers thought this was just the flu since it is flu season, I thought it was something more. I don’t know why but I can just feel it. Something is not right. Not at all. 

I will speak to mom when I get home tonight and I will tell her because now I am getting nervous. The symptoms seem somehow familiar from what I have heard. I did some research after school and looked at all the news broadcasting websites and stations I could find. They said nothing about any new virus which made me feel slightly better. I decided to wait to tell mom because I could tell how stressed she was. She has been working so hard at her new job and I know she is tired. I don’t want to worry her any more than she already is.

She talked to me after dinner today and surprisingly she brought up the sickness that I had been talking about. She said that a lot of people at her work were out sick and she asked me if I had heard anything about it. I was shocked that she had heard about it too. This meant that it was more than just the flu. I went to bed thinking about what this could be. What would happen if this was another pandemic that would ruin our lives all over again? 

It started to come up on the news a few days later and that worried me all over again. I heard that once again it started in Wuhan just like the coronavirus and it is spreading all over Asia once again. Just then as I was watching the news, my eyes blurred. My brain felt like it was spinning in my head. I suddenly thought back to when corona was spreading. I remembered sitting on the couch watching the news. I felt the pain again of seeing so many people die and I remembered the helpless thoughts that I felt so long ago. 

This new virus that was spreading around the world had very similar symptoms to the coronavirus so scientists were working really hard to determine what it was. My school was closed and they forced us inside with curfews and masks wherever we went. They are not exactly sure how this new virus spreads and they don’t know how to control the cases. Unlike corona, this outbreak happened all at once all over the world. It’s like something caused it everywhere all at the same time. This was much worse than corona because there was no way to flatten the curve. Everyone just got sick all at once. I heard on the news of one woman who was in the hospital for 2 weeks before going back home. I also heard of a man in Hong Kong who was in the hospital for 4 weeks before dying but the doctors still don’t know from what. 

It’s now a few weeks later and more and more people are getting sick and the deaths are going up rapidly. Scientists now think this is some form or part of the original coronavirus because the symptoms are really similar. Shortness of breath, exhaustion, cough, etc. This scares me more than anything because knowing that my dad died from this gives it an extra frightening spin. Mom was back working from home and I have been doing robotic school since the first few cases. The reason my school closed so proactively is because so many people were getting sick in school and they had such a fear of it spreading. Since in the beginning, they thought it was just the flu, they were really worried about it already spreading to the grandparents and parents of these kids. Whatever this virus is also strongly affects older people and people with weakened immune systems like corona. I sign onto my robot every day now and I control the robot as it walks to school and sits down at my desk. Then I have headphones and I listen to all my classes which are taught by my teachers also through robots. When corona happened and we all had to be quarantined for almost a year; they hadn’t come up with this technology yet. We had to go on a computer and sign in to a website called zoom. Then we would listen to our classes which our teachers taught through the screen. This has been so much better because I feel like I have a normal routine. I still have to wake up at the same time and it takes the same amount of time for me to get to school as if I was walking. The scientists have also figured out how to make this technology so it doesn’t feel like we are on screen all day. It feels like we are sitting in a normal class. It is really amazing.

Since our new form of school, I have been having the same flashbacks as when we first heard about this new virus. They are becoming more and more frequent. Some are repeated and some new ones every day. They vary from just getting a little dizzy and then having a strange memory and some are violent spinning and my brain is completely transported to a different world. One that I have had many times is whenever I put a mask on I remember the first time I ever had to. I remember my mom forcing it on my face because we had to go into the store. It was right after dad died so we were all really frustrated and I wouldn’t have it. She kept holding on my face and wrapping it around my head. I knew she wasn’t trying to hurt me but I felt it inside. I felt the tightness of the elastic around my head and the pain of the compression on my ears. Every time I put a mask on now I feel that all over again. 

The newest data about this new virus or part of the old virus is that it has something to do with the vaccine that they thought worked so well. They think the vaccine wasn’t tested for the proper length of time before it was given to the public. They didn’t have the time to test if it worked for extended periods of time. They are finding that the people who have already had the virus are much safer than the people who have gotten the vaccine. The antibodies for this virus are seeming to be much stronger than the vaccine they have crafted. This is why herd immunity is extremely important if the world is going to heal. The authorities are encouraging people to go outside and return to normal life unless they are at risk or are sick. They say this is the only way for the world to return to normal.

I really hope my mom goes back to work and starts to go back into a normal routine. She has been so stressed and she needs that sense of knowing what will happen next. It is taking a toll on all of us. Not having a steady routine to wake up to and not knowing what will come next. Living each day to the fullest and trying not to think about tomorrow or the next day to come. We are trying really hard, Mom, Hazel, Ashley, and I. We have been spending more time together and we help each other with the loss of dad still to this day. It means a lot to mom and me to have them there and I think it means a lot to them too. 

We have been trying to spend all the time together that we can and we try to enjoy the moments we have together. We have dinner together every Friday night and we talk about our lives during the past week. I especially have been trying to not take for granted my school experience even though it isn’t ideal. It has been really hard recently with the new adjustments but I try to understand that everyone is trying their very best. Oh, it’s also my birthday today, December 31st. The date Corona started but just 3 years earlier. The day that one person made a choice that changed the world forever. More tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Amber

Cheers or Tears

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe we’re going here!” Danika squealed as she clutched her twin sister, Tamara’s arm. Tamara smiled and eased out of Danika’s strong grasp.

“This is the place you said you wanted to go if you ran for captain of the cheer squad,” Tamara said as she saw her sister eyeball the luxury restaurant. 

“I know I said that,” Danika said and smiled as she took out her phone to take a selfie. 

“So are you captain?” Tamara asked, waiting to hear if the whole gift was too bizarre. 

Danika just shrugged her off and said, “I will be. There are only two other girls running and they both wear their skirts too long. I just know everyone will vote for me.”

Tamara sighed as she looked at her twin. “So you might not even be captain?” Tamara said, thinking about how she had spent three months worth of allowance money on getting a table at the most famous Chinese restaurant in town. 

“Are you seriously doubting me, Tam? Of course I’m going to be cheer captain. I’m the best one on the team!” Danika gave her twin a snarky glare before rushing out of the taxi to get a better angle to post on her instagram. 

Tamara groaned and hurried out to join her sister. “How about we take a picture together and you can post it on your social media account,” Tamara asked, thinking about how her parents would think it was so cute to have a picture of them together. 

Danika wrinkled her nose with distaste. “Ew, no. My followers would freak if they saw a picture of me and my nerdy sister. It’s best for them to think I came alone. And besides, this lighting makes my face look really good, and your face will just dull it out.” Tamara blushed at her sister’s harsh words, but stepped aside as her sister went up to the sign and took some more pictures.

Tamara walked up to the man up front and said, “We have a reservation, under the last name Holden. Tamara and Danika?” The man nodded and beckoned for them to follow, Danika squealing every other second. They sat down at a fancy round table, with linen cloth and shiny silverware. “I can’t believe you did this all for me! You’re the best, Tam! Of course, second best to me!” Those were possibly the nicest words Danika had ever said to her, minus the forced, “I love you” as a child. Danika immediately started texting her friends, probably bragging and telling them about the restaurant. 

A waiter came by to take their drinks, and Tamara ordered a glass of Diet Pepsi while Danika scoffed and told the waiter to bring her a Shirley Temple and to make it snappy. The waiter scurried off and Tamara shot her sister a warning look, which Danika slyly ignored. When the waiter came back to ask them what they wanted to eat, Tamara looked at Danika. “I have a budget, so don’t go crazy and get anything too expensive.” Danika merely looked at her twin before turning to the waiter and ordered a steak with chow mein and crab. Tamara blinked at her sister, her mouth open. Had Danika not heard anything she had just said?

“I assume we’re sharing?” Tamara said, still gaping at the amount of food her sister had ordered.

Danika scoffed and said, “This is my big night. They announce the result on TV and I just know it will be me. So I’m ordering whatever I like. You can get soup or something, but nothing from me.” Tamara stared at her sister before sighing and ordering simple spring rolls. Then, she sipped her Diet Pepsi as she waited for the food.

The food was so good, though Tamara was still shocked at the amount of food that Danika ate. Afterwards, they sat back and waited for the check. When the waiter came with the check, Danika grabbed her arm, stopping the whimpering waiter.

“Hey miss. Turn on Channel 3! They are announcing the cheer captains for Ridgemont High and I know it will be me. Quick! It’s starting!” The waiter hurried off to oblige Danika’s demands. 

Tamara glared at her sister and said, “That was really rude. You should apologize.” 

Danika laughed and said, “Tam, she’s a waiter. Her whole purpose is to serve us. Besides, someday, that will likely be you, serving my whole cheer squad. If you’re lucky.” 

Tamara just shook her head and looked at the bill. Her eyes practically bulged out of her head. “That’s a lot of zeros,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t know if she could pay for it all. “Hey Dani. Can you help pay for the meal? Your steak and crab cost a lot of money.” 

Danika snorted and grabbed the bill from Tamara’s hand. “How about I make you a deal,” Tamara countered as Danika hastily threw the check back at Tamara’s face. Danika stared at her. “If you become cheer captain, I will give you 20 dollars to go get ice cream at the really expensive French place, Le Creme.” Tamara did not miss how Danika’s eyes glinted when she mentioned her not getting captain, but hurriedly smiled at the mention of Le Creme. “But if you don’t become cheer captain, then you have to pay for dinner and give me 20 dollars to get those jeans I wanted the other day. Do we have a deal?” 

Danika snorted, something very unlike her, and shook Tamara’s outstretched hand. “You should just give me the 20 dollars now, Tam, because I’m practically the captain. Mmm, I can already taste the mint chip ice cream.” Tamara rolled her eyes and turned her attention towards the TV which now was turned on to channel 3. The cameraman was zoomed in on a tall girl with glossy brown hair that was tied into a bun at the top of her head. A beaming reporter stood next to her. 

“HEY!” Danika yelled, causing many people to stare at her with disgust. The same shivering waitress came forward, looking so pale that Tamara almost asked if she was sick. “Turn up the volume! I want everyone to hear when Magnolia announces that I am the new cheer captain!” Danika promptly shoved the quivering waitress towards the TV, almost knocking over a man carrying a tray of soup. Tamara put a hand on Danika’s arm, a warning to stop all her bossiness, but Danika flicked her off and returned to typing furiously on her phone, although her gaze was intent on the screen.

The TV reporter was standing next to who Tamara assumed was Magnolia. She had the microphone pressed to her shivering lips and she forced a smile at the camera through purple lips. “And now, on channel 3, we have here Magnolia Harp, captain of the Ridgemont High cheer squad, though soon to be former. Magnolia, what do you have to say about the runners before you announce who will become cheer captain for Ridgemont High 2020?” The reporter turned to Magnolia, who sent a stunning smile towards the camera, angling her right side to the cameraman, not a hint of shivering shown although she was in her cheer mini skirt and crop top. 

“Well, Wanda, I just want to say that all the runners are very qualified people, but we could only choose one captain. Of course, they may be a downgrade from me, but at least they are the best of the worst.” Magnolia laughed as though she had said something funny and flicked her hair. Tamara noticed how fake she was and how much of a similarity she was to Danika. She turned her head towards Danika to see if she had heard what Magnolia said about being a downgrade, but Danika was picking at her nails and muttering to herself about what a great captain she would be. 

Tamara fixed her attention back to the TV where Magnolia had positioned herself in front of Wanda, the reporter. The restaurant had gone quiet. A lot of people were staring at Danika, as if waiting for her reaction. Tamara turned to her sister, who was looking between the TV and her phone. “What are you doing? They are about to announce who the captain will be. Why are you on your phone?” Tamara asked as she watched her twin’s pink manicured hand type furiously on her phone. 

“I’m sending the cheer squad pictures of the uniform design that will be for the cheer this year. Isn’t it so nice?” Danika shoved the phone in Tamara’s face, but Tamara was too blinded by the pink and glitter to even see the whole uniform.

“Um, Dani, what are you doing? You’re not even captain. Don’t tell me you paid for those already?” Tamara put her hand on her forehead. Danika scoffed and glared at her sister. 

“I’m seriously offended, Tam. For this whole dinner all you’ve been doing is questioning if I’m going to be captain. Let me spell it out for you. Actually, let me cheer it out for you.” To Tamara’s horror, Danika stepped on to the table, dirtying the white cloth with mud prints from her pink heels. Some people gasped and put hands to their chests. Others threw down their napkins and demanded for a bill so they could leave. Tamara jumped up, her fury almost to the point of boiling over. But before the manager could shove her way through the crowd, Danika stomped down on the table hard. Silence rang throughout the once laughing restaurant.

“D-A-N-I-K-A! What does that spell? DANIKA!

I’m your captain, yes I am.

I have spirit, I can dance!

If your skirt goes past your knees

Run so far before I SCREAM!” 

Tamara covered her ears to block out her sister’s ratchet screaming. Many people were hurrying to get out of the building. Danika fluffed her hair and sat down on her seat before the manager made it to their table. She looked furious.

“If you don’t get out of my rest-” Danika silenced her by putting her finger to her lips. The manager gasped, looking shocked.

Tamara looked at her sister who merely shrugged before saying, “Shut up! Magnolia is announcing it now! Oh, and yes, I already paid for twenty pinkalicious uniforms. Thanks for your credit card, Tam.” Tamara angrily glared at the back of Danika’s blonde head as she had turned to face the TV.

Magnolia had taken out an envelope, as if she were announcing the winner of a reality TV show instead of the cheer captain for a small town in Texas. Magnolia beamed at the camera before glancing down at the paper. Whoever’s name was on it didn’t seem to surprise her. “Our runners included Susan Maple, Danika Holden, and Tabitha White. This was a very close race, but one person got the majority of them votes, becoming our next cheer captain. Give it up for SUSAN MAPLE!” The people on the TV started clapping and Magnolia blew a kiss at the screen. 

Tamara slowly turned toward Danika, who had suddenly gone quiet. Everyone who was still in the restaurant turned to see Danika’s reaction. Tamara even heard someone ask if there was popcorn. Danika’s face was white with held back fury. Her mouth contorted into an ugly snarl, and she stood up so abruptly that she knocked over a waiter carrying a bunch of dishes. They all shattered around her and she screamed. Tamara had never seen her sister so mad. People actually started running out of the restaurant, but Tamara knew she couldn’t escape Danika’s wrath.

Danika swung her chair and hit the table, causing their plates and silverware to shatter and fly across the room. Tamara watched as her fork was flung into the fish tank and only barely missed stabbing the cute little goldfish, which now swam to seek refuge under a rock. Danika had tears of bitter anger running down her face, as she turned and stalked towards the door. Tamara couldn’t help but overhear the manager call the police. Within five minutes, Danika was surrounded by cops. Sirens blared and people rushed to the crime scene. Tamara gazed ahead, horrified, as she watched Danika get handcuffed and put into the back of a police car. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. 

“TAM! TELL THEM YOU KNOW ME! I’M HER SISTER! STOP! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! TAM, IF YOU DON’T TELL THEM, SO HELP ME, I WILL END YOU!”

A police officer with curly white hair stepped towards Tamara. “Ma’am, do you know this young lady?” Tamara stared at the officer before shifting her gaze to her sister. Danika had stopped struggling, and now sat limply in the back seat, glaring at Tamara, her blond hair disheveled and her mouth pulled back into a silent snarl.

“No,” Tamara whispered. Then more confidently, she said, “No. Officer, take her away. She needs help.” The officer nodded before saying something into his walkie talkie. Danika had started thrashing again, screaming Tamara’s name, but Tamara turned her back to her sister.

She called a cab and was whisked off into the night, leaving her sister for her parents to deal with. The next morning, Tamara woke up with a throbbing headache. The events of the night before suddenly rushed back to her and she groaned. She called her mother, and told her she was going to visit Danika at the police station, and possibly take her out. Her mother said that she had talked to the officers, but only Tamara was allowed to take her out. Tamara sighed and started her long journey to the station, scared of what Danika might do once she got out. When she arrived, Tamara signed some papers and showed her ID. Then she was led to a holding cell in which she saw Danika sitting in. Tamara couldn’t help but gasp. Danika looked horrible.

Her normally neat blonde hair was knotted and looked more dirty blonde. Mascara streamed down her cheeks in black lines. Her eyes were puffy and red, her skin was pale. Her clothes looked like they could use one or 500 cleanings. And the smell. Tamara gagged. Danika looked up, her eyes glassy. When they narrowed on Tamara’s face, the depressed look was gone, followed by a low growl. Tamara took a step back, so that Danika couldn’t somehow grab her through the bars. Then Danika let out a low laugh.

“Somehow, even being in this cell for a night, I look better than you,” Danika rasped as she threw her head back and laughed. Tamara’s eyes narrowed to slits as she watched her ungrateful twin trudge back to the bench and lay down. This was it, Tamara thought. Danika has finally broken. Tamara shook her head and asked the officer to hold on opening the cell. She walked up to the bars and calmly said, “You still need to pay for dinner. Also, the jeans I wanted are on sale, so you only have to give me 18 dollars.” Then she nodded to the officer who unlocked the cell.

Danika scowled at Tamara but didn’t make any move to attack her. In fact, she was so calm, smoothing her hair and smiling, that Tamara almost asked if there was a doctor in the station. She warily followed her twin out of the station and started walking home. It was quiet for a while, until she heard a soft noise. Frightened that Danika might be saying or doing something rash, Tamara coughed to get her attention. Danika merely looked at her and plastered on the fakest smile Tamara had ever seen. Danika was humming. This should have been calming, but it unnerved Tamara so much she almost screamed.

When they arrived home, Danika hurriedly went into the restroom and locked herself in. Tamara heard drawers frantically being pulled open and knew that Danika was putting on makeup. Tamara sighed and went back to her room. Her sister was crazy. She knew that her sister not becoming cheer captain was bad, but she didn’t expect all of this. First her sister got arrested and now she was eerily calm. Tamara couldn’t help but blame herself. If she had only waited to take Danika out, then maybe none of this would have happened. She would still have her three months worth of allowance money, a happy stomach, and a mostly normal sister.

She heard the bathroom lock click and then the door being swung open. Tamara hopped to her feet so she could talk to Danika. Danika’s back was to her and she couldn’t see what Danika was looking at on her phone. She hesitated and then touched Danika’s arm. She felt her sister stiffen.

“Dani, what’s wrong? I know what I did yesterday was awful but you are acting weirder than normal.” 

Danika let her blonde head tip back as she rumbled a laugh. “Oh Tam. When will you ever learn? I’m perfectly happy right now. Did you really think I lost becoming cheer captain? It’s only a matter of time before the position is mine.” Tamara watched in horror as her sister applied a thick layer of red lip gloss before blowing an air kiss her way. Then she pranced out the door.

Tamara knew that whatever was going to happen next was bad. What did Danika mean when she said that the cheer captain position would be hers? Did she imagine the whole fight the day before? Tamara quickly looked to see what Danika had been doing while her back was to her. On the coffee table, a 100 dollar bill sat on the table with 18 ones next to it. In Danika’s elegant pink script, the note next to the money said, “To pay for dinner and your jeans. BTW, those jeans don’t really go well with any color but it did look good on you when you tried it on. Xoxo, Danika aka soon to be cheer captain.”

Tamara held the note numbly in her hand. She was shocked. Normal Danika would never pay her back, let alone tell her that her jeans were a nice pick. Crazy Danika would pay her back, tell her that her jeans looked good, and then do something probably illegal. Tamara stared hard at the note, trying to wrap her head around how Danika had written that she would “soon to be cheer captain.” She had said those words earlier.

Didn’t Danika hear Magnolia say that Susan Maple was the cheer captain? Tamara sighed and trudged back up to her room, still insanely confused about the note and Danika’s sudden leave. She climbed into bed and went back to sleep. When she awoke a few hours later, she heard the front door slam shut and Danika’s high pitched squeals.

“Turn on the TV! Channel 3! Hurry! TAM! Come down here!”

Tamara groaned and ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own feet. “What?” She asked, although it sounded more like a growl. Danika was smiling so brightly and this time, Tamara could tell it wasn’t fake. 

“Turn on channel 3. Magnolia is making an announcement! Hurry! I don’t have all day! TAMARA! I will not demand you one more time!”

Good, Tamara thought, but she turned on the TV for her lazy twin anyway.

“Why do you even want to hear this announcement? You’re not even cheer captain,” Tamara said, not even remotely interested in seeing her sister throw another temper tantrum like a psycho two year old. Danika rolled her eyes and chuckled and fear gripped Tamara’s heart. This could not be good for anyone on the cheer squad except Danika. “What did you do?” Tamara whispered, too terrified to even say it any louder.

“Just watch,” Danika said and shifted her head back towards the television.

Magnolia stood on TV, next to Wanda and a red headed girl whom Tamara recognized as Susan Maple, the new cheer captain. Susan had twin streaks of mascara running down her face, and in the lighting, her fake tan made her look more orange. Magnolia had an angry scowl twisting her mouth and she kept shooting glares at Susan before smiling at the camera with her dazzling fake princess smile.

“We’re back on channel 3. I’m Wanda, you’re reporter, and today I have for you some very sad news. Magnolia?”

Magnolia practically shoved Wanda out of the way as she stomped forward. 

“Thank you Wanda,” Magnolia started, although Tamara could see the annoyance written clearly on Magnolia’s coal black eyes. “It has been very unfortunate that Susan Maple has decided to step down from her position as cheer captain. Susan, why have you come to make this sad *cough stupid cough* decision?” Susan stepped forward as Magnolia backed away, but not before subtly putting her foot out and tripping the poor girl. Susan stumbled but regained composure as she smoothed out her hair and pulled up her already short skirt higher, so much, that it looked like a belt. Tamara had a gut sinking feeling that Danika was the reason why she had made the quote of quote “sad *cough stupid cough* decision.” 

Susan looked up at the camera and Tamara didn’t know if it was all acting when her clear blue eyes filled with tears. “I have decided to step down from this position because of a secret that would be exposed if I did become cheer captain. Now this secret isn’t that bad or anything but…” Tamara could see the guilt written across the fake tanned girl’s face. This was a bad secret. She turned to see Danika’s smug smile as she leaned back into the reclining couch cushion.

“What did you do?” Tamara hissed, her horror stepping up a notch. Danika ignored her and kept her eyes glued intently to the screen. 

They had missed the rest of Susan’s resignation speech and Magnolia was now smiling back at the camera with her “If you cross my path again, I will end you” smile. Tamara watched Danika warily as she sat forward with anticipation. Magnolia was now smoothing her hair and her mouth was still twisted in her feline smile, though Tamara didn’t miss the shadow of a scowl on her face.

“Since Susan has decided to step down from her position as cheer captain, I have to give the captain position to the runner up. So, Congratulations to—” The TV screen fizzled out and went black and fuzzy. Danika screamed and looked like she was going to pull her hair out.

From upstairs their father yelled, “WiFi’s down throughout town girlies!” 

“SHUT UP!” Danika yelled and started furiously pacing. “Magnolia was just about to announce me captain. I know it. How come God decided now was the perfect time for a blackout?” 

“Maybe because God thinks this whole thing is stupid,” Tamara muttered, her voice barely audible over Danika’s impatient stomping. 

Danika whirled on her and pointed an accusing finger. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t taken me to that restaurant, none of this would have happened!” Tamara stepped forward, feeling bolder by the second as she watched her sister’s quivering fingered point accusingly at her.

“MY FAULT? You’re such a stuck up snob that no one wants you on the cheer squad? Do you realize that no one voted for you? Susan won and you blackmailed her into stepping down. I bet the person Magnolia was going to announce was that other girl running, Tabitha White. But I don’t know! All you cheer girls are the same! Fake tans, fake personalities, fake smiles, YOU’RE ALL FAKE! Danika, no one WANTS you to be cheer captain!” The moment those words left Tamara’s mouth she stepped back. Danika stepped back, her face blank with shock. Time seemed to stop. The house was deathly quiet.

Then Danika stepped forward and threw the remote control at the TV. It hit the glass screen with a thud and the screen cracked. Then Danika started crying, tears running down her face. “Daddy!” She wailed. “Look what Tamara did!” She pointed a finger at the cracked 500 dollar screen as her father’s feet pounded down the staircase.

“I did not do that!” Tamara yelled, shaking with anger.

Her father’s face was pale with anger as he looked between the girls. “You two have only been yelling at each other all day! Tamara Grace Holden. Come with me this instant!” Tamara gaped and pointed her finger at Danika. “But I didn’t even do it! Danika did it!” Her dad angrily looked between them and yelled, “FINE! I’ll just check the cameras!”

Danika’s face contorted and spat, “What cameras?” Tamara gave her a satisfied smirk.

Their father rubbed a hand down his face with exhaustion. “Danika, what do you have to say for yourself?” Danika gaped and sputtered and she looked between her dad and Tamara. Then she furiously shoved Tamara out of the way and stomped towards her room, the door slamming in her wake. Tamara looked up to see her dad dialing something into his phone.

“Who are you calling?” SHe asked, almost not really wanting to know.

“The Dallas Anger Management Association. Otherwise known as DAMA. I think your sister is going to need it.”

Her father put the phone on speaker as a woman’s voice rang out. “Dallas Anger Management Association, how can I help you?”

Tamara watched her dad’s face and saw many flickers of emotions, one of them being guilt. She knew he was rethinking if this was the right way to go. Tamara put a hand on his arm and gestured towards the glitching TV. Her dad nodded and spoke into the phone,

“Hi, my name is Ethan Holden and I would like to take my daughter to these classes. Her name is Danika Lyla Holden. Age 16. She has had a lot of recent outbursts and temper tantrums that will need some serious help immediately.” Tamara listened as her dad and the lady on the line talked for a couple of minutes before hanging up and turning to Tamara.

“Get your sister. We’re going to the DAMA now.” Tamara couldn;t hide the shock from her face. She had always known her sister had problems when she didn’t get what she wanted but she had never expected it to get this bad. Especially over something so stupid. Like, was Danika going to pride herself when she was 40 over being cheer captain in high school over a team that hadn’t ever won any cheer competitions and was for a school in the middle of nowhere Texas? Then again, Danika prides herself when she does anything that makes her look more superior than others. Her motto was, “I can only be on the top if I have people holding my designer heeled feet from the bottom.”

Tamara had to bribe her sister with money to get her into the car and the whole way Danika was a crying mess. They hadn’t yet told her where they were taking her. Tamara was fidgeting restlessly in the passenger seat as she kept stealing glances at Danika’s wrecked face through the mirror. Danika hadn’t said anything besides demanding to know where they were taking her. Of course, they didn’t answer with the fear that she would open the door and just get out of the car on the freeway. When they finally pulled into the parking lot of DAMA an hour later, Danika looked up and her expression froze.

“Anger Management?” She snarled looking between her sister and her father. “Daddy! You can’t let Tamara manipulate you! I didn’t;t do anything wrong! Please daddy! Let’s go home!” Tamara’s father’s face flashed with sadness and for a brief second, Tamara was scared that her father would pile them back into the car.

But he grabbed Danika by the arm and hauled her out of the car. Danika started thrashing and screaming and soon brought a lot of attention toward themselves. People with white lab coats started running towards them from inside the building as Danika tried to fight off the grip they had on her. She was screaming at the top of her lungs and Tamara had to cover her ears before her eardrums exploded. A man with a while lab coat and frizzy black hair came forward and injected something into Danika’s still flailing arms. For a moment, everything was still. Then Danika’s body went limp and a collective sigh came from the crowd that had formed around them. Tamara couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness as she watched her sister get lifted and carried inside of the building. But she knew it was for a greater good. And she hoped that after a couple months of management, she would have her old twin back.

THE END.

Anti Gravity

California, USA

It was 12:37 AM when I first felt it. I know because as soon as my body was pulled up out of my bed and my nose touched the low ceiling, I looked at the clock on my bedside table. This was my way of mentally collecting details to make this story more believable when I tell my parents. At first, I thought the force pulling me closer and closer to my ceiling was part of some elaborate fever dream, or a cruel prank. So I pinched my arm, and closed my eyes real tight. When I opened them again, I was still floating above my bed, with my covers hanging off of me like a dress I forgot to zip up in the back. I tried to carefully flip my body over, and I looked down at my room from a terrifying new perspective.  

My light pink bed, my tall bookshelf, and my soft, shaggy rug were all still there. Except, they were floating too. My bed and bookshelf were only an inch or two off the ground, but my rug was already on the ceiling right next to my feet. The shock and indifference was just starting to wear off and my breathing had started to quicken when I heard a gasp through the thin walls of my house. Soon, I heard a panicked voice through the same wall. 

“Matt, what’s going on?”

“How the hell would I know?!”

Wow. Typical of them. Even at the strangest times, they were constantly bickering. I bitterly noted that neither of them seemed at all concerned with my safety. I was their only daughter now after all, and this had been a really difficult year for me. They weren’t the only people affected by Sarah’s disappearance. I guess I finally know who was the favorite daughter. I shook myself back to reality and looked at the clock again, trying to figure out why I wasn’t losing my mind, or at least getting a little freaked out like my parents seemed to be. I’m usually a very jumpy, anxious person, but something about floating in the air felt sort of nice. I got to leave all my family and life problems down on land. It was… peaceful.

Paris, France

Me and my little brother Frankie were sitting at the table eating a warm, tasty breakfast of buttery croissants from the bakery under our apartment when the plates and silverware started to levitate over the kitchen table. Before I even noticed, I heard Frankie scream. A plate was hovering right over his head. In a moment of impulse, I jumped over to him and grabbed the plate, saving both my brother’s skull and my grandmother’s china. What I didn’t expect was me not crashing down onto our uncarpeted floor. I just stayed up in the air, and a moment later, Frankie joined me. His little 6-year-old body swam through the air to the tall lamp next to the fridge. After the car crash three years ago, I had been sent back home from college to take care of Frankie. When Mémé left my brother in my care, she gave me three warnings. 

“Take care of him and don’t let him get hurt. Make sure he is well fed, healthy, and goes to school. And, don’t you dare let him touch my furniture.”

So, I air swam my way to Frankie until my body was right next to his, but about twice as long. Then, I grabbed the fridge and put myself right in front of the lamp, blocking him from it. My parents always used to say that I was cool and collected, and they were right on the surface, but inside I was screaming. My baby brother was all I had left, and I didn’t know what was happening. For all I knew, this strange floating could be some sort of dark magic, like the kind that Mémé used to tell me stories about when I was no older than Frankie. Or it could be some kind of chemical reaction that made this happen. I was never a good science student in school, so I wouldn’t be the one to figure this mystery out. I lunged toward Frankie, and he grabbed onto my arm. We swam our way through the thick, buttery smelling air, and made it to the space between our counter and cabinets. A safe shelter. Frankie pulled me close, and I sang him an old French lullaby like my mom used to sing to us when we were little.

Une chanson douce, que me chantait ma maman, en suçant mon pouce, j’écoutais en m’endormant, cette chanson douce, je veux la chanter pour toi, car ta peau est douce…

I looked down at Frankie to ask if he wanted me to keep singing, but he was already fast asleep.

***

Kyoto, Japan

Late afternoon is my favorite time of the day. Business in the restaurant is slowing down after the lunch time rush, and I can take a break from rolling dough and cooking rice to sit by the front window and watch people walk by. People watching is all the more entertaining in such a beautiful city. The telephone wires line the sidewalks, a rustic frame for each street, and a safe place to rest for tired birds. People stroll by the restaurant, taking pictures and pointing. This restaurant has been in my family for over 150 years. The food is well known for being the best in Kyoto. Tourists from all over the world eat here everyday. People come to Japan to sit in these seats and stare out the windows, and yet, I do not want to be here. I want to be studying medicine in America, but I don’t want to leave my father again. He has put his faith and trust in me, and what kind of daughter would I be if I abandoned my family? My thoughts were interrupted from a clash on plates in the kitchen. I walked over to the kitchen, my steps strangely light. I looked down to see that my feet were suspended in the air, bringing me nowhere. My first thought was Jikai. Where could he be? Was he in danger? I grabbed onto chairs and tables, pushing against them to propel myself forward, but accidentally bringing them in the air with me. 

“Where is my husband?!” I screamed. “Someone help me! I need to find him!”

Panic pulsed through my blood. I couldn’t lose him. He was the one thing in Kyoto that made me even remotely happy. What was happening? Why was my body suspended over the ground? I had always wanted to fly, and it had been a recurring dream of mine since I was a child. This didn’t feel like a dream though, I was too scared. This didn’t feel good either. It felt like some kind of involuntary punishment. I cried up at the ceiling.

“What did I do? What did I do to deserve this…” I trailed off, as my voice faded into the echoey walls. 

I curled my body into a ball and let the edges of my skirt dry my eyes. If the world is going to punish me, maybe I should just stop punishing myself.

Prague, Czech Republic

This vacation was supposed to be fun. My parents hauled me and my sister to the airport, and told us that we would be surprised by the “enchanting beauty of this culture-filled city.” Her words, not mine. The flight was a whopping 7 hours, and we arrived at our quaint, smokey smelling hotel, jetlagged and exhausted. In the morning, or what my body thought was the morning, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and wandered to the little balcony to see if the sun was up. Surprisingly, it was, and I grabbed a book from my suitcase and sat outside. The air was warm, with a chilly breeze that felt almost… ominous. I flipped aimlessly through my book, not fully comprehending the words on the page. I’m used to going on big trips to faraway places, but that doesn’t mean I like it. My dad works for the government, which seems to require uprooting our lives every few years. Prague seems nice, but I don’t want to live here. I closed my book on my lap, and let my eyelids rest over my eyes. My book started to feel lighter and lighter on my lap, and I put my hand over it to make sure it was still there. The book kept rising, and brought my arm with it. My eyes fluttered open, and I jumped off of my chair. I opened the balcony door to yell for my parents, but remembered that I had argued for my own hotel room and my guilty parents had reluctantly given in. My book was still hovering in the air, rising slowly. I hopped up and down to catch it, but after one of two jumps, my feet no longer touched the ground. I grabbed onto the windows and bars of other people’s balconies, screaming for help, and possibly waking up the entirety of Prague. I screamed louder every time my fingers scraped painfully against the bricks of a building. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window. My hair was unkempt and messy, and my eyes looked bloodshot and crazed. This isn’t the way a wealthy aristocrat’s daughter should look, bullied a voice in the back of my head. I frantically combed my sweaty, knotted hair with my filthy hands, leaving traces of dirt and blood into my golden blonde locks. I made it worse. My body kept floating higher and higher until there were no buildings to hold onto, no windows to look into. As I got closer and closer to the clouds, the air became thinner, and I couldn’t breathe without coughing and hyperventilating. I saw a bird, and a rush of hope went through my body, but it faded just as quickly when I realized that the bird could do nothing for me. I followed the bird with my wet, irritated eyes when I saw them. A group of people, floating just like me, less than a hundred feet away. I made my way through the air towards them, noting that it was a group of teens around my age, I called to them, and a girl with tears in her eyes turned towards me, and smiled, her eyes desperate. She was saying words in Czech that I didn’t understand. 

“What? I only speak English. I’m sorry.”

Her face contorted into disappointment, but a boy next to her spoke to me in fluent English.

“She wants to know if you understand what is happening here. We are all so scared.” 

His accent was thick, but easily understandable for someone who had lived just about everywhere.

“I don’t know either. I’m so scared. I can’t find my family.” 

The boy translated my words to his group, and the girl who had spoken first reached her hand out to me. I hesitated, but grabbed it. They pulled me into their huddle, and we all floated to our deaths together.

Together

For hours, there was a quilt of people floating in the air all around the world, blocking the sun. Policemen in cement shoes set up nets for when everyone eventually, hopefully, came back down to Earth. People were commanded to stay in the enclosed safety of their homes, and turn on the news for updates. After 3 hours of hovering, everyone suddenly came falling back to the ground, the pull of gravity restored. Scientists researched and researched, and came to the unlikely but possible conclusion that it was some kind of chemical fluke that wouldn’t happen again. Religious leaders disagreed with the scientific conclusion, as they sometimes do, and hypothesized that it was some kind of message or sign, reminding people that life is fragile and finite, and even huge problems in someone’s life can seem small in a life or death situation. It is true, that when everyone came back to the Earth, that they had never been happier and more thankful for their family and even their problems, because as hard as being alive is, it is more rewarding than being nothing at all.

5,000 Miles 10,000 Words

Two writers, two sides of the same story. 

Dakota Jones and Eloise Monet were alike in more ways than they would ever know. Despite living across the world from each other, they both had very similar goals and personality traits which prevented them from giving up on what they truly wanted in life

Dakota’s side-

Houston, Texas is where Dakota lived. She was balancing helping her mom pay the lease for their apartment, taking care of her younger siblings, and working as an underpaid diner waitress, all while attending her last year at a university. It seemed as if everyone in her class at college knew what they wanted to do in the future, and she just felt stuck. Stuck in a routine, stuck in her tiny house, stuck in every aspect of her life. She felt as though she worked hard for everything, and somehow it still was never enough. And there was Sal. Her best friend in the entire world, the only person she knew who was there for her in her worst moments. But she knew he would never come close to understanding how exhausting her life was. Late one Tuesday night, Dakota checked her email as she always did. But there she found a lengthy, condescending email from her professor listing some writing programs and job opportunities he strongly encouraged her to try. Most of them looked boring, and like a similar variation of the same, dull class she was taking. But there was one job opportunity for young students like her to become published authors, right in her hometown. But it required a written submission.

Eloise’s side-

Prim, proper, and perfect were how Eloise Monet’s mother wanted her to behave. Straight A’s, the head of every club, and captain of the polo team were what her life mainly consisted of. Since primary school in her native London, her life had been planned for her by her overbearing and over achieving mother. But by now she was used to it, the fits her mom had over a B she once received and the feeling of never really amounting to what her mother wanted her to be. But she kept those feelings hidden. Tomorrow, she started her first day at her mother’s prestigious publishing company in London.

Dakota’s side- 

Dakota wanted the writing position in her hometown. She could pay rent for her own place with that salary, and finally she had something she was motivated to do. Day by day, week by week, she worked on her submission for the job—a story she could showcase at her job interview. Sal read it and said it was her best work of all. Even her mom read it the night before the interview. She felt proud of what she wrote. The next morning, she walked into that glass skyscraper and imagined herself working there: dressing every day like the other people in the office—in fancy clothes, blown out hair, and expensive jewelry. She imagined clicking high-priced heels on the white tiled floors. She was ready. So when she went into the office and presented her story, she didn’t give them a fake smile. She told them exactly why she would be more perfect than anyone for this job. And two weeks later, when she got the letter offering her the job and complimenting her short story, she was practically shaking. 

Eloise’s side- 

Eloise had a deadline. Her first one this month. She had only been writing a few poems and short stories at her mom’s publishing company and her mother was not impressed to say the least. Her mom compared her work to other girls who wrote for her company, and was the opposite of supportive. Eloise needed a killer story to impress her mom, and keep her job since, like her parents, she loved writing. Day by day, week by week, she worked on her story until she had finally crafted one hopefully living up to her mother’s expectations. 

Dakota’s side-

The feeling of doing something right for once, was the best thing for Dakota Jones. It was extremely rare that she felt proud of herself. And about one week later, she found herself walking straight into that skyscraper once again. She arrived on time, attempting to make a good impression. She sat down with one of the CEOs of the company and they discussed her piece. Her inspiration for the story, how she thought of the characters, and if she wrote often. They said that they were looking for a few stories to be in their monthly issue of work by young authors. She felt on top of the world. And the best part is if she kept up the good work of writing stories, she would get the high-paying salary she always dreamed of. Weeks went by and her story was edited, ready for the issue. But she knew the dedication that went into that story, and she knew people would like it . 

Eloise’s side- 

Cheryl Monet liked the story. Her own mom liked the story. This was a first for Eloise. Her whole life she would try to satisfy and prove herself to her mother, but finally after hard work and about three weeks of editing, she did it. Her mom was even proud, she showed it off to colleagues, and Eloise just felt content at last. And at family dinner one night, her mom said she wanted to publish it. The next weeks were hard. From picking cover art to sitting down with editors, and showing people her story. Exposure of her writing was the best thing for a young author, like herself. 

One month later.

After one month of living their greatest lives, something was quickly discovered. 

Dakota’s side- 

When you apply for a job, they didn’t tell Dakota that she was going to be slammed in the news, when you apply for a job, they didn’t tell Dakota that she would be questioned for something illegal done. Waking up on the first day of her story being published, she hoped, she dreamed, she wanted for it to be a perfect day, a day where she finally fit in somewhere. But what occurred was quite the opposite. She received many, many urgent emails to come down to work as soon as possible, so she did just that. She didn’t even have time to change, arriving in gray sweatpants and a stained shirt. She got some stares once in the building, but she did not even know what reason they were for. She opened the door to her boss’s generously sized office. 

“Did you do it?” her boss frustratedly asked. “Did you plagiarize your story, copy it from someone else?”

“No I swear, I would never, I-” Dakota tried to respond reassuringly.

“A similar piece, with your same idea was published just a few days ago, giving it a month to be edited, Dakota it is very, very possible for you to have copied this story. You threatened the reputation of this company greatly, and for that we have to let you go,” her boss said firmly. 

Dakota was not prepared for this. It was not fair. It was not fair at all. She worked all day and night to create that story, how was she losing her job for this. She wanted this position so bad, and now she was fired, on her record too. No. This of all things in her life she was going to fight for. It was her piece. 

“No, you cannot do that. Please I promise you I did not do this. Please reconsider,” Dakota begged.

“You are making this harder on yourself right now, please gather your things,” her boss said for the final time. 

This is the point where this got “bad.” Due to Dakota’s strong belief, knowing it was not her who did this, she was going to fight for what she wanted, literally. Kicking and screaming, Dakota was escorted out by security. Not only would she never EVER get another job in the writing field again for this. She could definitely expect to land another position in that building. She had made a very, very large scene. 

When she got home, she was mad. She yelled at her younger siblings for being a pain to take care of, she screamed at her mom for never doing anything, and she called up Sal, to tell him that he lied, that she had what it took to work at this job. She wanted to cry out of confusion. She wanted to beg, and beg for her job back, But she just couldn’t. And that was the worst part. 

 Eloise side-

Grounded. Punished. Fired. Yelled at. This was only an understatement of what went on in her household that very night. You could just see in her mother’s eyes how disappointed she was. And knowing how proud she was just a few days ago had made it worse.

“You will start a boarding school. And a writing intensive camp, academic program, and a-”

“No, I will be absolutely nothing of the sort. I don’t want this life. I don’t want this life controlled by you where you don’t even listen to me right now. I wanted that job, and you fired me. You saw how happy I was there, and you just, you wouldn’t even hear me out.”

And even at their worst point, where they felt the most defeated, the people who really cared stuck by their side. The people who supported and cared, the mothers, the siblings, the friends, everyone one took a minute to hear the full sides of the story. And although it may seem like it couldn’t, everyone helped to make everything work out just fine. 

The end.

The Better Side

Lucy

Some people would not know who I was if someone mentioned my name. Or, some people would recognize me (I hope) but I wouldn’t mean anything to them. I feel like I am nothing. And this is the way I have felt all my life. Since day one in kindergarten, I have felt like nobody cared about me and nobody wanted to be friends with me. Today is the first day of high school and I am COMPLETELY TERRIFIED. Not only because I am scared about high school, because I am sure most people are, but I am scared that this year is going to be the same as every other year. And I am going to be looked at the same as I was looked at for the past eight years. A ghost. 

Jordan, who is my brother, drives me to school every morning because his college is right around the corner from school. This is lucky for me because if my brother had to go to college far away, I don’t know what I would do with myself. He is basically my best friend, and because nobody talked to me at my school, I could at least talk to him because he actually understands me. We were parked outside of school and I had my blue backpack on my lap, not wanting to go inside. I knew it would be the same as it always was. I would walk into the hallways and not one person would hug me or say, “Hi Lucy! How was your summer?” Because that’s just how it was. 

Alexander

Today is the first day of high school and I have been looking forward to this moment my whole life. I feel like high school is thought of as a trainwreck of four years, but I feel like these four years are going to be awesome. My girlfriend, Jessica and I have walked to school together for the past two years. Her house is two houses down from mine and we have been dating since 6th grade. She screams, “Alex!!!” from all the way down the block. I have not seen her all summer because I go to sleepaway camp in Maine and she goes to sleepaway camp in Texas. We began the short walk to school together and Jessica would not stop talking. 

“How was your summer? Mine was great! I made all of these new friends at camp. Did you? I missed you! Not excited for school though. I hope we have the same homeroom! What did you have for breakfast? I had waffles.”

She did not even give me a chance to answer anything! I tried my best by saying, “My summer was good. I made friends at camp. Missed you too. I also hope we have the same homeroom. I had fruit and water.”

That is basically how our relationship goes. She asks and I answer. There is no need for me to ask anything, because she will always make sure it has been said. Once we got inside the doors, I was tackled by all of the boys on the basketball team. 

I would say that I am pretty liked by my whole grade, but I have definitely earned that considering I have tried and tried and tried to just fit in. My family is not the type of family that I would call “normal.” Not one member of my family cares about their reputation or my reputation at all. They are completely EMBARRASSING!!!! Which is why I walk with Jessica to school every morning. 

I couldn’t believe it was finally here, the moment that I have been waiting for all my life. Somehow, I was not at all nervous to walk into homeroom and I don’t understand how some people are.

Lucy

I’m so nervous to walk into homeroom! I am watching some kids like Alex Brown just walk into that classroom with a handful of friends around him and then there is me. Alex Brown has brown hair and brown eyes and I don’t think he has once had to worry about not having friends. I have had a crush on Alex Brown since the first grade and I bet that he has never heard the name Lucy Goldberg once in his life. If only I had at least one class with him!! Then I could maybe try talking to him. I don’t even know what I am thinking, considering I am me and he’s Alex Brown. We don’t need to talk about how he has a girlfriend. 

My homeroom is room 207 which is of course the longest walk from the entrance. This walk is basically going to be the walk of shame for me considering I know that I am walking to a room that is not going to notice me or care about me. It’s basically just a pointless walk to nowhere. I wish I were homeschooled. That would be waaaaaayyyyyyy easier. I began the long walk to room 207 as I watched all of the friend groups reunite, wishing I were a part of one. One friend is all I need and I don’t even have that. At least I have my brother. I don’t know why I can’t make friends. When someone like Jordan really gets to know me, they will know I don’t become shy at all when I am around them. I think it’s just scary having to make friends. 

As I continue to walk, thoughts rush through my head. What if when I walk into the classroom there will be people that might actually notice me? What if some of these people want to be my friends? I finally get outside of room 207,  I grab my books and take the step in. This was it. The moment I have been dreading my whole life. 

Alexander

 My homeroom was in room 210, pretty far from the entrance so I was happy once I finally got there. Mr. Goldberg, my teacher, seemed pretty nice, at least as nice as a teacher could get. I somehow recognize the name Goldberg, but I don’t know from where. I sat down at my desk in the front of the room (how fun), but luckily Jake and Connor were next to me. We played the same introduction game that we play every single year. I thought it would stop once we at least got to middle school, but it didn’t. And then high school is here, and we are still playing it! There isn’t even a new kid in my class. I have known these kids since I was 6 years old and you would think I would know their names. 

After homeroom, I went to find my locker. I put my bag inside and took my books for my next class, math. I suck at math and I always have. My parents have tried everything, tutors, study groups, special help from my teachers, literally they once tried teaching me. I just can’t get it. As I grabbed my graph paper notebooks and my pencil case, a girl ran into me. She seemed pretty familiar but I didn’t know her name. “Watch where you’re going!” I said. 

She replied, “Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh I’m so sorry.” 

Lucy

Math! My favorite class. In math I feel as if the rest of the world doesn’t matter and it is just me, a whiteboard, a pencil, and numbers. I don’t need to worry about being more social or making friends. I was on the way and I was very late. I HATE BEING LATE! So I ran. I was running and bumped into Alex Brown.

“Frick!” I thought to myself. He snapped at me.

“Watch where you’re going!” he said. Even though these were the first words he has ever said to me, I was so happy. He noticed me! He probably already forgot this moment but I will remember it forever. 

I got to math and sat down at my desk which was thankfully in the back. I looked around and to my surprise I saw Alex. I wonder if he likes math. Sadly Alex’s head was facing me so I couldn’t see him fully, and he couldn’t see me. I bet he will never know I am in this class. Math was only the second period of the day and I already had so many thoughts. Would Alex talk to me more this year now that I have a class with him? I really hope my parents aren’t going to flood me with questions about today when I get home. Should I join a sports team? No I should not, I can’t play sports for the life of me. Maybe I will write a book. What will happen if I just start talking to people more? Do I not have friends because I am shy or because nobody wants to be friends with me? 

All of these thoughts were going through my head when I realized that I had to start paying attention, there was already a whole board filled with do-now problems that I did not know how to solve. Shoot. 

Alexander

Math did not go well. At all. Now I need to meet with my teacher after school and I do not want to. I don’t know why, but it is awkward when I am alone with teachers. 

Lucy

After math class, I had to go up to our teacher Mrs. Corrine, and ask for a meeting time after school because I “didn’t understand the concept.” She said that I could come but she already had a student coming so we would have to meet the three of us. I was fine with that because it makes it less awkward being alone with a teacher. 

Next I had a free period, where most kids go hang out with their friends or get work done. If I really really really wanted too, I would go over to where some of the girls in my grade were sitting and maybe talk to them, maybe. But, I would rather journal in my notebook. I like making lists and today my list was about what I wanted to accomplish by the end of freshman year.

Lucy’s Bucket List for Freshman Year 🙂

By Lucy Goldberg 😀

  • Get at least one friend
  • Join a team or club of any kind
  • Talk to Alex Brown a lot more
  • During free periods do more than journal
  • Be more confident
  • Matter 

Alexander

The rest of the day was the usual except for the fact that I knew I had to meet with Mrs. Corrine after school because I can’t do math. Once it was the end of the day, I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I moved as slow as possible, one step every 3 seconds down the hallway to grab my things out of my locker. Mrs. Corrine’s classroom was sadly only two classrooms down from my locker so I wasn’t even that late (sadly). I put my bag around my shoulders and walked inside the classroom, and I saw the girl who ran into me in the hallway. I have never been in a room pretty much alone with either of them before, so this would not be fun. 

Lucy

WHAT IS HE DOING HERE. I can’t focus when he is around me. I know myself and I know that I am going to only be worried about how I look and if I am doing the problems right, instead of actually paying attention because that’s what I am here for. “Lucy focus. You don’t want to come back a second time and explain to Mrs. Corrine why I had to come back for a second time to re-re-learn it.” I told myself. I have to focus. I have to. 

The hour in this classroom is going by so slowly and Alex doesn’t seem very good at math so that is making it even slower. I glanced up at the clock on the ceiling in front of me. 4:15. 4:18. 4:22. 4:29 and 55 seconds. Finally after the clock hit 4:30, I ran out of the classroom and I regret that decision already. I could have at least been respectful to Mrs. Corrine and even talked to Alex. I need to really get better at talking to other people.

My brother was waiting outside in the car perfectly on schedule like always. I’m not one of those kids who have to wait for their parents to come get me 2 hours late, because I have Jordan. 

“How was school today?” Jordan asked. 

“Okay,” I said. “I had to meet with my teacher after school which is why I am late, sorry.”

“Why? What happened?” he asked. 

“Remember Alex Brown?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, he is in my math class and I keep getting distracted and I ended up missing the 

whole math lesson and had to meet with my teacher after school and then, get this. Alex was in my lesson with Mrs. Corrine after school because he doesn’t understand anything,” I told him. 

“I’m so sorry Luc. Just try to focus and know that math is your best subject so don’t let 

anyone else get in the way of that,” Jordan told me. 

The rest of the car ride we listened to music very loudly and drove home without talking to each other, not because we were upset, but maybe because we both had bad days and were sick of talking. 

Alexander

Luckly, I have basketball tryouts now so I don’t have to go home. Somehow I’m not at all nervous for these tryouts and I think it is because I already got my math meeting over with, which is what I had been dreading all day. I walked into the gym and right away saw Jake and Connor, who are two of my best friends. They are in my homeroom and we have been playing basketball together since forever. Our coach, Coach Wessel, blew his whistle and explained how the tryouts were going to go. I went and changed into my basketball clothes and the tryouts began.

Besides me getting a nosebleed halfway through the tryout because I got hit in the nose with a basketball, I think I played very well.

“The teams will be posted tomorrow via email,” Coach Wessel said. “It is very hard for freshmen to make varsity, so freshmen keep that in mind, but I hope to see most of you on our JV team!” 

Just like that, the tryouts were over and it was time for me to wait for my parents, and it normally takes them two hours, because those are the types of parents that they are. 

Lucy

The next day at school, it was the same deal, except I had some hope. My main goal for the day was to talk to someone besides a teacher, and talk to them, not because I will run into them like yesterday. I love Tuesdays because there is still room to make the week the way you want it to because it is only the beginning. If you make a mistake on Monday and need to fix it to make your week still amazing, Tuesday is the day to do it. After homeroom, it was again time for math and I was excited. Mrs. Corinne let us choose partners for the in-class problems. I always hate choosing partners because people run to their friends right away and I never have anyone to go to. 

Everyone started scrambling around and trying to follow my goal, I went to the one girl who I recognized that did not have a partner. Her name was Lizzy and we had gone to school together since kindergarten. 

“Hey,” I said. “Want to be partners?” 

“Sure! What’s your name again?” she asked. 

“Lucy.” 

I wasn’t that thrilled that she didn’t know my name, but I was beyond excited that I asked if she wanted to be partners with me and she said yes! I did it. Right when we started to work, Ms. Queller, the head of school, came to our desk and patted me on the shoulder and told me to come to the hallway. Right when I think I am making a friend, this happens, and this NEVER happens. 

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well, honey, your brother has had an accident.” 

Alexander

It was time to find out what basketball team I made, if I made any of them. I wasn’t expecting varsity, but it would be awesome if I was on it. I saw the list, it was maybe 30 feet away so the names were just a blur. I could see as I was taking steps forward that the list was in a T-chart, one half was JV, one half was varsity. This was all of the high school boys on both teams so I was most definitely on JV. But, what if I was on varsity? I got super close to the list, I closed my eyes and hoped that I was on a team with at least Jake, Connor, or both of them. I opened my eyes and I went straight to the varsity list. I saw Jake and Connor at the top of the list! Now I really hope I am on varsity. I scrolled down with my finger, name after name after name and finally, there I was! I made varsity! Best. Day. Ever. 

Lucy

“What do you mean, an accident?” I asked Ms. Queller in a concerned tone. 

“He is right now in the hospital with your mom and dad. I can drive you over there now. He was in a pretty severe car crash but that is all I know.” 

So we got in her car and it was a silent car ride. I was completely hysterical. I needed my brother to be okay. I didn’t have anyone else. Without him I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to and have nobody to listen to me. Even worse, I would be picked up from school late! I prayed he would be okay and I tried to stay calm and breathe, but I couldn’t. Once we got to the hospital after 15 minutes in the car with the head of school, I was able to find my parents. Normally, it would be so so so so so awkward being in a car with Ms. Queller, but today, it wasn’t because we both knew it was very important. My mom was crying. My dad was yelling at the nurses to try to get some information out of them because they hadn’t heard anything. Ms. Queller was still there and I was completely clueless. It was chaos. 

After about an hour, a doctor named Dr. Julie came and spoke with my parents and me. She told us, “Jordan has many severe injuries but for right now we think he is going to be alright. He will have to get spinal surgery because he broke a bone in his back and has broken his right leg. As well as this, he is going to be put in a neck cast but for now we don’t think he needs neck surgery. You should all be so thankful that he is still alive. In a few moments, if you would like you may come and see him.” Dr. Julie walked away and we all sat in silence. Silence. It is often a trend with me and with my family, especially Jordan. Silence is what we refer to when we don’t know what to say or when something is hard to process and talk about. It helps me regroup my feelings and be at peace with myself. 

Lucy

I went to visit Jordan in the hospital room, and I asked if I could go in alone. I took a few deep breaths and slowly walked in to see Jordan lying down on a hospital bed with lots of machinery around him. Jordan’s blond hair was all stuck to his face and he had scrapes and was bleeding everywhere. His blue eyes looked up at me almost as a cry for help. I was scared. I knew he was the same brother he was before this happened, but hospitals really gave me the creeps and I did not like seeing Jordan like this. 

“Jordan?” I asked very quietly to get him to notice me.

“Hey Lucy” he replied in a whisper.

“Um, uhhh, are you going to be okay?”

“I will be completely fine. Don’t be scared about me. I need to sleep though,” he replied. 

I walked out of the room quietly and in shock and ran straight to my parents. I started crying and couldn’t stop. I just sat there, while my parents went into Jordan, and I cried. I feel like waiting rooms hold a lot of different feelings and energies. Sometimes, people find out great news from doctors and scream with joy. Sometimes people are stressed, because they don’t know what is happening to their loved ones. Sometimes they are in severe pain and are waiting in to see the doctor. And sometimes, people are very sad and cry because their loved ones are hurt, like me right now. 

3 months later (Lucy)

For the past three months, I haven’t worried about anything but Jordan. But finally, after three months of recovery, medicine, surgeries, doctors, and hospital rooms, Jordan was completely okay! The day that Jordan got out of the hospital, I walked into the doors of school the same way I did for the past three months when Jordan was in the hospital, but there was something to be happy about. I walked in with better posture and in my head I just felt happier in general. I was sick of not being noticed and this incident with Jordan opened my eyes up more to see that I can change not being noticed. I walked up to the school bulletin board and saw many club and sports teams. One stuck out to me more than any of the others. On a bright blue sheet of paper, it said, “School Soccer Team. No Experience Needed.” Without even thinking about it, I put my name down and when it came time for practice, I went over to the fields. 

For once, I was super excited especially when I saw Lizzy was there as well and she gave me a smile and wave. Practice continued for the rest of the school year and by the end, I had made friends with almost every girl on the team!

Next Year (Alexander)

I already feel like sophomore year is going to be my year. I again saw a sheet of paper on the bulletin board that said our homerooms and I started having deja vu from last year when I walked over to see what basketball team I was on. I found that I was in homeroom 310 so I walked up the stairs to the third floor and found my seat, only to see the girl who I kept running into last year sitting at the desk next to me. 

Lucy

“Hi!” I said to Alex AS HE SAT NEXT TO ME! 

“Hey,” he replied, being shy.

I thought to myself that this year was going to be way better than last year. I think I found the better side of high school. The side where I actually had friends and I was able to speak to people without being nervous. I finally felt like I wasn’t a ghost. Like I mattered.

The End

The Land of Cards

This is no ordinary deck of cards. What makes it special is that when the cards are put in the correct order, it opens a door to a world of unimaginable magic. A world where you can do whatever you want just by thinking of it. It’s a world where your wildest fantasies can come true. A world where creatures beyond the human scope are everywhere. It is the Land of Cards. And when put in the exact reverse order, it will send you back to The Above. Essentially, the deck of cards acts as a portal between worlds. Currently, the deck is inside a vault in the most prestigious bank in the Land of Cards. There is an offsite secret prison in the Land of Cards. This prison acts as a capture for the worst of villains. One of these evil entities is the Zero of Diamonds (who goes by Zero). He is unknown to just as many people as he is powerful. With the deck of cards, he plans to travel back to The Above and retrieve a very important object. The Zero of Diamonds has a plan where he and the other villains will break out of the prison and steal the Deck of Cards. There is only one man who can stop them: the Ace of Spades (who goes by Ace). He figured out their plan through an underground network that includes the prison. The Ace of Spades is known for being one of the most special cards in the deck. This is also true in the Land of Cards. The Ace of Spades has the contrasting power to the Zero of Diamonds. Zero has all the dark power, but the Ace of Spades has an equal amount of pure power. Ace was a detective and policeman in his old life, but after being shot in the heart, going through many surgeries, and needing a heart transplant from an unknown donor, he gained surreal powers by controlling pure energy. It is not known where Zero accumulated his powers. 

Ace tries to formulate a plan to stop Zero, but he’s too late. Ace looks at the TV.

(Reporter on the News) “This just in! A group of convicts just broke out of maximum-security prison this morning and are on the run. This group includes the Zero of Spades, the Joker Twins, and the Invisible Card.” 

Zero first got captured because he shut down all the power in the Land of Cards with his dark energy and assassinated the King of Hearts. When the power went off, his daughter got into a car crash and died. In a moment of weakness, he gave himself over to the police. The Joker twins, one black and white, one in color, are the best and most deadly bank robbers ever. The went on multiple bank heists killing hundreds of people and accumulating trillions of dollars. The police anticipated their next move and captured them. The Invisible Card, also known as Blank, was with his son and they both got hit by an electrical surge. The son passed away but Blank became invisible. He was previously the Four of Spades. He used his power to kill all the people responsible for his son’s death. He was captured because one of his crimes was witnessed by a nearby policewoman and he was quickly arrested.

“I’m too late,” says Ace. “I have to get to the bank before they do.”

Ace makes his way towards the bank and gets there just in the nick of time. He sees the group of villains coming. They are one mile north and are all in an armored van they stole from the prison.

“Call the police, we are going into full lockdown mode!” yells Ace to the bank manager. 

The bank manager nods, and the cops arrive a few minutes later. 

“Okay. Here is what we need to do. Jack of Clubs, (a natural leader and Captain of the Police Force) you and your team will escort the people to safety! And take me to the vault!” Ace tells the bank manager.

Ace and the bank manager head to the vault. The bank manager does three steps to open the vault. He first enters an 8-digit code that changes every day, then he scans his palm, and lastly scans his eye.

The Deck of Cards sits right in the center of the vault – but there is also something else. Hundreds (maybe thousands) of instruction manuals are scattered around the room. The bank manager is right behind him. He wonders why there are so many instruction manuals. Is something else going on here?

Ace walks inside the vault. He takes a peek at one of the instruction manuals.

Land of Cards Maximum-Security Penitentiary Layout Plans

“Hey, why do you need the plans for the priso…” WHACK! 

Ace wakes up, half-conscious. He cannot see anything, but he feels the distinct crisp of the air. He remembers the feeling from when he was a child, but he does not remember where it’s from. However, he is certain he is still in the Land of Cards. He also feels a bag over his head.

“Whe…Where am I?” asks Ace.

“What’s the order of the cards to get to The Above?” asks a deep voice.

“Who are you? What happened to the bank manager? Is he okay?” replies Ace.

“I’m not going to ask again, so one last time. What is the order?” says the deep voice.

“I don’t know!” responds Ace.

“How did you know it acted as a portal?” says the voice.

“My father told me. He said it was an urban legend and that his grandfather or my great-grandfather used it once and that he found a note with the code but that it disappeared over time.”

Ace feels the bag being removed from his head. He sees Zero, The Joker Twins, a slight silhouette that he assumes is the invisible man, and…

“No, it can’t be… the bank manager?! Why… why would you do this?” says Ace.

“Zero is my brother. You never asked me for my real name. I am the Zero of Clubs. Well, now you know. You can call me… Null.”

“Well, Null, I promise you that I will stop all of you and make sure you guys go right back to prison. You guys don’t even know the combination. Why do you guys even want to go to The Above?”

“Hahaha. I am glad you asked. In The Above, there is this item called The Device. It is locked up in a military base. It will let me alter particles in a time span and allow me to jump to that time. I plan to go back and make sure my daughter doesn’t die,” says Zero.

“Why do the rest of you want to do it?” replies Ace.

“Same reason I am. They all either lost someone or did something they want to undo. We just want to start a new life,” says Zero.

Ace sighs. “Ok, if I help you, you have to promise – I mean really promise – that you won’t commit any more crimes ever again. And if you do, I will come for you and I will not give you another chance,” says Ace.

“We promise,” says everybody else in unison.

“Okay. My great-grandfather had a box of his belongings and left it with me. It should be in a mystic box (an invisible box in a random location of your choosing that can only be opened with a certain phrase of your choosing) downtown. I will get that. You guys try and find some history behind the deck. We’ll meet up at the Sully Bar in 2 hours.”

Everyone nods and heads their separate ways. Ace heads downtown to where his mystic box is. He hid his under the bridge in a local park. 

“To the angel of light!”

A silhouette of a box starts to become more and more distinct until it becomes completely visible. Inside that is a cardboard box with some stuff that belonged to Ace’s great-grandfather. At the top of the box there are some books, a compass, a magazine, and some movie posters that Ace has never heard of. He can’t see what’s under those items. Meanwhile, Zero and his crew are at the library looking for history behind the deck. The library is fairly small. There are approximately 3 other people there not including the librarian.

“Why are we working with Ace on this, Zero? All of us dislike him,” says Blank.

“Don’t worry,” says Zero. “He believed the story I told. Everyone knows you can’t save lives with Time Travel. As soon as we get the time machine, we’re leaving him in The Above and using the machine to go back to early Land of Cards and make it ours. We could be rulers for our whole lives.”

They make a plan of how they are going to leave Ace when they get there and go back to the Land of Cards. About an hour later, everyone meets up at the bar. They are all in the corner booth.

‘What did you guys find?” asks Ace.

“A. O Russel created the deck,” says one of the Joker Twins.

“In 1870,” says the other.

“Did you find anything?” Zero asks. 

“Take a look,” Ace says while bringing out the box he found.

He removes the compass, the books, the magazines, and the movie posters from the top. Underneath is tin tupperware of sorts that’s not much bigger than Ace’s hand. Ace opens the tin box and inside it is a piece of paper. From the slight tears all along the sides to the crumbly way it felt in his hand, Ace can tell it is very old – likely older than his great-grandfather.

To get to the treasure that you seek, use all four directions, and something that makes it unique.

“All four directions…” Zero whispers quietly.

Blank, hearing Zero, says “That must be North, East, South, West.”

“The Compass!” says Ace. “Now what makes it unique?”

“It’s the S,” says Zero. “It’s upside down. All the other letters are facing outward except for the S, which is facing inward.”

“That’s it. Now something on the compass must contain the order,” says one of the Joker twins.

Ace flips the compass upside down. He notices some inscriptions on the back of it. They’re in another language that Ace thinks is ancient or possibly even alien.

“I have a friend who is an archaeologist. I’ll send it to him and see if he can identify it,” Ace tells the group.

[2 Hours Later]

“I got it, I got it, I got it! We got the results back,” Ace says to the rest of the group. “Write this down, the order is A♥, 2♠, 8♦, J♣, 7♠, 9♦, e.t.c.”

“Well Ace, I guess this is goodbye,” says Zero.

“Nah nah nah, I’m coming with you guys and then coming right back,” Ace responds.

“Ok, I guess,” says Zero with a menacing grin on his face.

Zero slowly starts putting the cards in the right order. Five minutes later, he’s almost finished. 

“Last card, 4♣. Put your hand on the deck everyone.”

As everyone has their hands on the deck, Zero puts the last card at the end. Then everything goes white. All they see is a bright light in front of them.

[Apache Junction, Arizona, 2023]

“We’re one mile east according to my research,” says one of the Joker Twins.

“Once we get there, Blank will go in and steal it. It is not highly protected and since you are invisible, it shouldn’t be that hard,” explains Zero.

After walking for some time, they finally get to the base. There are a few armed guards in front of it, but other than that, there’s no outside security. Blank goes in through the side door. Once inside the base, he heads to the corner where The Device is located. He sneakily takes it and exits the base quickly.

Once outside, Zero starts putting the cards in reverse order. Soon, he is only a few cards away. “I’m sorry I have to do this to you again,” he says. 

Ace responds, “Do what?” WHACK!

Zero puts the rest of the cards in order. Zero and his group go back to the Land of Cards while Ace is stuck in The Above. Zero and his group use The Device to travel to the early days of the Land of Cards. It wasn’t as sophisticated, but it was still highly functional. There was an election for who could run for ruler of the land and anybody could run. Using future technology, Zero killed off the other candidates with his powers so he would win by default. He stayed ruler up until his death from old age. In the back of his mind he always felt bad for Ace, but it was too late now. Then, he remembered The Device.

 The End

Uncomfortable Situations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Viki!”

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

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

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

“You leaving already?”

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

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

“Actually, yes.”

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

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

“Why did you even come?”

“I-”

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

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

He smirks.

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t enjoying it.”

My mouth forms a million questions all at once.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Okay Romy James. You have-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Couldn’t They Just Watch Shrek?

My name is Tate. I’m five years old. I have a big sister named Talia. She’s fourteen years old. Last night, Talia had a sleepover with her friends Ellie and Nat. I like Ellie and Nat. I think they probably like me more than Talia, because she’s boring and mean. I think they probably only had a sleepover with Talia so they could hang out with me.

I decided to be nice to Ellie and Nat. I was going to ask them to stop watching their scary movie with Talia and watch Shrek with me instead. So, I went into Talia’s room.

“Hi, Ellie! Hi, Nat!” I said.

“Go away, Tate,” Talia said. See? I told you Talia was boring and mean.

“What are you watching? Are you watching Shrek?” I asked.

“No. We’re watching this thing about zombies,” Nat said.

“What’s zombies?” I asked.

“It’s like when somebody dies, but then they come back to life. And they’re all bloody and gross and have arms falling off of them and want to eat your brains!” Talia said, trying to scare me.

I snuck a peek at the screen. There was scary music and a hand coming out of the ground.

What I did next was not my proudest moment. I screamed and ran away.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want a zombie to eat my brains. I wanted Mommy and Daddy. But Talia and her friends were still watching scary movies in the living room, and if I went to get Mommy and Daddy, they would see, and Talia would make fun of me.

I decided to scream as loud as I could instead. Mommy and Daddy would run in, and Talia would probably think I was dying. She would be sorry she had been so mean to me.

So I screamed.

Somebody shadowy and big ran into my room fast. It was Daddy. Probably. It was hard to tell.

The big shadowy thing dropped something. The thing was long and thin. It was an arm! Talia had said that zombies had arms falling off of them!

“Tate, honey, are you okay?” That was Daddy’s voice. Daddy had arms falling off of him! Daddy was a zombie!

Then he turned on the light. I was confused for a second, because he still had both arms. I looked at the floor to see what he had dropped. It was a little too long and a little too thin to be an arm. It was the broom that sat on the other side of my door.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m okay,” I said.

“Why did you scream like that?” Daddy asked. “You scared me!”

“No reason,” I said.

“Okay, Tate-bug. Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and then I went to sleep.

The Temple of the Lost

The sun beat down on Francis’ back as he slashed through the underbrush with his machete. He moved silent as a mouse, as enemies and predators could be anywhere.

Derrick rolled down the small hill they had scaled, crushing the contents of his pack and various undiscovered species of small mammals. He screamed, but finally came to a stop at the bottom, covered in dirt and plant bits. 

Francis pulled him out of the dirt and brushed him off. Derrick had become somewhat of a challenge in the adventuring archaeology community. Members would be challenged to bring this imbecile of a man on an important journey. Rumor has it that multiple career-making discoveries had been foiled by the sheer stupidity of this man. Francis, however, was the best of the best, and he thought he could handle him. Now he was unsure, having actually spent time with the man.

“You fool!” Francis hissed. “We are nearing the temple of the lost! There could be traps and dangerous animals anywhere! Do you even know why we’re here?”

“I really don’t and I am just fine with that.” 

Francis rubbed his temples and let out the sigh of a man who was on the verge of collapse.

“We are here to retrieve the docunlitous contigous berry. Rumor has it that one of the last few berries is in the temple– ”

A spark of intelligence lit up in Derrick’s eyes like a tiny match behind seven layers of lead.

“I remember now! The dornkus berry! It makes you not get all wrinkly and stuff!”

“Actually it halts your aging — ahh, close enough. Just stay quiet!”

For the first time on the six-month expedition, Derrick moved quietly and stealthily. Francis was amazed that this creature was capable of this, but he had other things to focus on. 

The temple rose above them. It was around twenty feet tall. Smaller than Francis had hoped, but as long as it held his prize, it could be four feet tall for all he cared.

“Who could have made such a temple?” Francis wondered aloud.

“Jo mama.”

“Shut up Derrick! This is serious.”

Francis handed Derrick his pack and rolled up his sleeves.

“I will disable any traps inside. Wait here.”

Francis returned several hours later with considerably more cuts, bruises, and spider bites than before.

“You look like crap!” Derrick remarked.

“Let’s just go inside.”

The pair nervously trudged across the hallway, finally reaching a golden case at the end of the room. Francis carefully opened the case to reveal a small purple berry. Rather unremarkable, if you didn’t know it’s history.

Francis stared at it in almost-holy reverence as Derrick plucked it out of the jar and accidentally squished it between his oafish fingers. He watched as it dripped onto the ground.

Francis stood in shock for two breaths.

Then his face contorted into a mask of anger, his body trembling in rage as he let out a primal shout. Months of putting up with this man’s unending stupidity, his mockery of the work Francis considered so sacred, and his stupid quips and ruining of equipment just ended in the destruction of what Francis had been searching for his entire life. This man… THIS MAN would pay.

He leapt across the room, his hands contorting into fists as he began a furious assault on this oaf. His fists fell like meteors and his scream was deafening, assaulting the man in his soul and his body. He screamed and screamed and screamed, until some hours later both of the men collapsed, the tension between the duo exhausted. They fell asleep, both dreading what would come in the morning.

Taxi!

It is hot. Very hot. I can feel my legs sticking together under the tight, unbearably itchy skirt I bought at a vintage shop for four dollars. I feel beads of sweat in my hairline about to make its grand appearance. The faint rumbling in the distance brings my hope up for a second, when I realize it is the R. The one positive thing about missing the train to the biggest job interview of your life so far in 97 degree weather is the gratifying gust of warm air from the wrong train. I fan myself with my hands, like that’s going to do anything. In that moment I make a decision. I’m taking a cab.

As I walk up to street level the loud sound of honking of New York makes me want to break down and cry. Can you just stop honking for one second? Sometimes I just wish that everything would just freeze. That way I could get to my interview and everything would be fine and dandy. But that’s not how life works.

I stand on the curb and flail my hand rapidly. Thankfully, a cab pulls over. I hop in so fast, you could mistake me for the flash if you squinted. I pull out my black heels and slide them on in replacement of my sneakers. I yell at the driver to take me to my location.

“Broadway and 50th please!” The man gives me a thumbs up.

Once I’m in the car and buckled up I feel a sense of relief. Lucky for me, there is air conditioning and mild traffic, so I’ll probably be there on time. I sit back and take a few breaths. In and out. Ok, game time. I pull out my laptop and open the website for the graphic art company, Art Touch NYC. I watch the company’s introductory video for the 100th time. At this point I basically have the 45 second video memorized. Next, I open YouTube to a video titled “how to ace that interview! Tips from a pro”

I’m about to watch it when I hear a voice coming from the front of the cab. 

“So why so stressed sweetheart?” the man says.

“Job interview,” I say and do that smile that you do to strangers on the street that is also used to signal that you don’t want to make a conversation with the creepy old taxi driver that just called you sweetheart. Gross.

Instead of taking my signal of the fake smile and me starting my job interview video again, he keeps talking.

“What kinda position?” 

“I’m interviewing for a graphic design job. My job will be an assistant client agent. At least that’s what the job title is called. I will basically assist and learn from the head of that branch,” I say in a quick and monotone voice. That was a sort of close ended answer, so I’m really hoping he stops talking and lets me touch up my makeup.

“Is this your first job? I’ve always had a sense for when people are stressed out. Or maybe it’s because your face is all twisted and you are so extremely frustrated with the task of untangling your ear buds,” he says, looking in the rear view mirror. He chuckles. 

There is something sort of therapeutic about his voice, but I was not in the mental state to be having small talk with my taxi driver. 

“I’m Eddie by the way”

“Isabel,” I respond. 

“Oh Isabel! What a beautiful name. You know, that’s my granddaughter’s name. She’s the sweetest girl. I think you would love her. She’s 16.”

“Cool. My younger sister is 16 also. Her name is Rebecca,” I say, almost forgetting about the interview for a moment. “I haven’t seen my family since Christmas.”

“Wow, what a coincidence! I haven’t seen my beautiful girl in a little over a year. Her mother…” he trails off and bows his head. The car pulls to a stop at a red light. “Actually, I have a picture!”

I close my laptop and look at the small picture he pulled out of his wallet. She has black hair and brown eyes. He smiles and carefully outs the picture in his wallet.

I smile. “She looks like a nice girl. What does she like to do?”

“She plays volleyball. I went to one of her junior varsity games a few years ago. She’s really good.” He chuckles and says, “I sound like I’m promoting her.”

I look out the window and stare at my surroundings. The tall building, different shops, hot dog carts, and confused tourists. The hot NYC air has become cool fast wind as the car moves down the street. I stick my head out the window like a dog. 

“I have some advice for you, Isabel. Don’t stress about the little things in life, because you won’t be young, in New York, and following your dreams for the first time forever. Now go get your job!” he says, pulling up to the building. I look at him as I’m unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Thank you.” I take my card out of my wallet. I’m about to swipe when his hand stops me. I smile at him and get out of the car. He drives off. I turn on my heel and open the door into the cold office building. It’s go time.

A Breakfast Call

1.

Friday is always the best, I have art class in school and a longer lunch. Although today it will be devoted to 7th grade geometry. I always study last minute for tests. Breakfast as usual will be cereal. My mom has already left for work and took Katie to kindergarten. I sit at our four seat table that is squished between a staircase and the oven. Our small NYC apartment can only hold us three.

My bag is already standing by the door and my shoes are on. I quickly gulp down the extra milk and am interrupted by a bring bring. The phone never rings. We aren’t very social people. Katie’s birthday party consists of us and her two other friends. Mine are just me and Mia, but we’ve been friends since we were three years old. I bring my hand up to my ear. 

“Hello?” I squeak. My voice is shaky but I don’t know why I’m nervous.

“Ms. Williams?” A deep voice says. “I am from the local police station. Are you the daughter of Sarah Williams?”

“Yes.” My hands start getting clammy. Now I know why my breath is shaky.

“She and Katie got into an accident. They are at the D.C.R Hospital, come immediately.”

I don’t know what I should do but I know for sure that I will be missing art class and our longer lunch. My only solution is to take the subway and I know that will take at least an hour. “Sir, Mr., um, officer, I can be there in an hour minimum?”

“We have to do x-rays now.”

“Oh um… how bad are they hurt?” I say but notice he hung up. My mind starts racing through everything that has happened. How? Why? Where? I run down the street, through the places I have grown up. My strides reach over two steps as I run down the stairs into the train station. As I get into the station I see a train, the R train. Just the one I need. As I run up to it, the door closes in my face and the wind rushes through my hair. The air almost feels damp and I can feel the dirt. 

“20 minutes till the next R train.”

The station is almost empty so I let myself slip down into a ball on the floor. Thankfully the twenty minutes is only 7 and I’m headed in the right direction. I tell myself not to think about what could happen but my mind finds every way to think about it. I wonder if they will get back to normal or how hurt they are. I get off a stop early and decide to run the rest of the way there, telling myself it will be quicker.

They said there was an accident and so there would be traffic. I try not to think who was in that accident. Rain splatters the street and dampens my hair as I run through the crowded streets but I don’t care. Cars zoom past me and I look away, knowing that my sister might never ride in her car seat again.

The one other time I’d been to the hospital was when we were all playing frisbee. I fell and had to get stitches. I cried the whole way there and back. I remembered the same white hallways and plastic chairs. I remembered the smell of medicine and cleaning spray and it whacks me in the face now as I rush through the double doors. Everybody looks so calm but I am scared and way more than nervous. My hands are shaking and clammy. I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Are you looking for anybody?” a nurse asks me.

“My mom and sister were brought here about two hours ago. I… I need to see them.”

She wraps her arms around me and leads me farther into the white. I am met by another woman dressed in the same white robe. She leads me down a white hallway and stops in front of a white door. It has a paper on it that says “Williams.” I look up at the nurse’s face and she nods towards the door.

Inside is a white bed with white pillows and white walls with a white chair. The doctor greets me and I feel relieved. Katie is in the bed and I don’t want to overwhelm her so I take her 6-year-old hand. Her eyes are closed and she has a tube attached to her wrist. I haven’t noticed that the doctor has been talking to me so I tune in.

“Basically, Katie is going to heal in the next two days.”

“What about my mom?” I cautiously ask.

“Well, she is in a worse state.” He looks down to his clipboard and starts writing again. 

“How bad?” I ask.

He glances up at me through his glasses. I hear him gulp and he turns and walks out of the door. If I wasn’t as shy, I would walk up to him and demand to know. But I just walk back over to Katie and take her hand.

The doctor knows Mom is in a bad state but I just wonder if maybe it could be worse than “a bad state.” As I’m thinking, I notice Katie’s eyes open.

“Katie!” I say. She looks at me through her glazed eyes. Her hair is thrown around her and her lips are dry and scratched. 

“Ella?”

“Oh my god, are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

“Mmm. No,” she mumbles. I can tell from her voice that she doesn’t have much in her so I don’t say more just let her drift into sleep. 

2.

I wake up to find the sun screaming at me through the dusty windows, and the walls seeming so much brighter than they were yesterday. A nurse is already writing something down in her notebook and Katie is sitting up in bed with a glass of water in her hand.

“She should be able to leave tonight,” the nurse tells me.

I nod happily but once the nod is over, everything starts to fill my head. Where should we go? Back home? To Dad? We only call him once a month. He doesn’t have a family yet and he does not have a stable life. He leaves where he lives every month or so and his apartment is always bare. Our only other option would be Aunt Suzy, but her crazy house and 7 dogs make it unlivable. 

By three, I’m stuffed with hospital food and apple juice. Katie is finishing up on x-rays and then we can leave. I haven’t seen Mom yet but the nurse tells me she will be here for a long time so I take her out of the picture. I tell Dad to pick us up at three which for him means four. The one thing Mom always tells us is how late he is.

By the time Katie gets out, it’s 3:30. By the time we start getting bored, it’s 4:00.

4:30 comes quickly and 5:00 passes slowly. When 6:00 comes, there’s no hope left. Katie falls asleep on my shoulder and by 7:00, I’m asleep too. I wake up at 4 in the morning to find a car swerving onto the driveway. It is very old and I can see the once black paint has now turned into a mess of scratches. I scramble up and shake Katie until she is up and yelling at me. 

“He’s here!” I tell her and thrust my finger in the direction of the car.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” she screams and runs towards the driveway. 

I pull her away for a second.

“We don’t know what he is going to be like so take it easy and try not to be too beggy or anything,” I say. She looks up at me and gives me her pouty face. But before she can say anything, he comes up to us.

“Hey girls!” he says. Katie distracts him with her cute remarks and endless hugs, which gives me enough time to look over him. His voice is deep and his beard reaches just below his chin. I can tell his jacket has been through a lot and his shoes are one step away from falling apart. His car growls and puffs. 

“Well, I guess we should get going, is this all you have?” He glances at our bags neatly placed by the bench.

“Yep.” Katie squeals and runs over to them. 

“Oh, I got it, sweety,” he says and takes it from her small hand. He tries to grab mine but I quickly clench my fist around it. His eyes meet mine and they are black, and scary.

3.

When we get to his apartment, it is already seven in the morning. Katie and I fall asleep but I wake up as our car shakes as we run over a pothole. I know as soon as I open my eyes that this is the rundown part of town. The houses are missing shingles and lawns are dry. Windows are duck taped together and clothes are put on racks outside to dry. I look up to find Dad with one hand on the wheel and the other one holding a beer. 

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Taking you kids home,” he says. 

“I know this is my fault, but you at least could have tried to help.”

“Honey, I’m doing my best.”

“Well, showing up at four in the morning with a battered car seems like you didn’t try at all,” I yell, but try to keep my voice down. 

Katie starts to stir and I quickly shut my mouth.

“Monrin’,” Dad tells her. She yawns and stretches out her arms. “We’re here guys.”

The car slowly pulls to a stop in front of a ten story building. The once white paint has been chipped off of more than half of the building and the part that is left has now turned to a matted grey and I can tell that it is not right, that some windows are missing. I find Katie’s hand and grasp it. She looks up at me through her big eyes and I know I should have kept her more safe. Dad throws his beer can in the nearest trash. He’s never gonna change is he? Why did I trust him? Why did I think that for once he could be a Dad? Our Dad.

I Didn’t Mean to Kill Her

I didn’t mean to kill her…. Tuesday, October 8th, 1963. I woke up that day with a sharp pain in my head. The night before, me and the “gang” hung out. I probably fell or something. Suddenly panic ran through me: I remembered. 

It was now five A.M. I sat up in bed and jumped out. I landed with a thud. I had forgotten I was on a top bunk. I got up then tiptoed to the bathroom. I took my “things” and hid them where they wouldn’t find them. Then I tiptoed back to the beds. As I started to climb up the ladder, I felt someone’s hand on me, then I winced. Emely grabbed my night shirt and pushed me to the ground. I blink away tears. 

She said, “They’re coming soon, be ready and alert. And remember they’re like wolves; if they see a weak link they’ll come for you.” Emely said.

“I know, thanks.” I said.

I sat on the floor for a second, then got up to wash my face again. My lip had started to bleed when I hit the concrete. When I came out, Emely had gotten dressed, and she was sitting against the wall. Emely… I liked to think of her as family. Although we had just met, I felt a bond to her. Then she motioned for me to come over. After all, I was new to all of this.

“You should’ve figured this out by now.” She took a pause.

“When you wake up, wash your face, then come and sit on the wall, no blankets covering you. Just you.” Emely said.

“Sorry. Since I’m new here I just thought that–” I was cut off
“Shh,” Emely said

Then I realized why Emely cut me off. Loud footsteps were coming closer and closer to our door. Then I heard something like a bat hit the door. I flinched then closed my eyes. Emely punched my shoulder. I opened them and saw four large and angry looking people standing right in front of me. I didn’t know what to do. Luckily I didn’t have to do anything, except for cooperate.

“Stand UP!” one of the men said.

So I did. They went into my bunk bed and looked around. Then in Emely’s. I didn’t mind, just as long as they didn’t find the picture. As I expected, they didn’t find it. They left after looking around, and threatening us. Now I know why parents always warn you about not committing crimes, and it’s because of prison. I’ve only been in prison for eighty days, and I’ll be here eighty more years. If I survive, and if I behave. I’m just lucky I didn’t get the death penalty. 

It was only two weeks ago when it happened. Cecelia and I killed Natalie. We had been planning for weeks. Natalie was a drug dealer, we had been buying. She had told us that if we stopped buying, she would tell. I was young then, naive. I hadn’t known that her mother was the chief of police. She was the perfect child in her mom’s eyes, whatever anybody said about her that wasn’t amazing was a lie. 

Cecilia and I snuck into Natalie’s house through her bedroom window. We had tape, a rope, and a knife. Cecilia tied her up, and I taped her mouth shut. I took the blade and touched it to her chest, then her eyes opened. I winced as I saw her mouth try to open but it couldn’t, and instead a slow tear dripped from her eye. I couldn’t deal with watching her suffer. I lifted up the blade and brought it back down to her chest. I felt the blade break through her skin, I saw the blood rush out of her body, I saw the last tear she would ever shed, I saw her eyes shut for the last time.

30 years later…

I realize what I did then was wrong. I will now be paying the price for my actions. 

I waved to the man at the desk behind the glass, he didn’t wave back. I looked down, then I sat in the chair. BZZZZZ 

Emely was let out of prison five years after I had come. We said our goodbyes, she had said that she would write to me everyday, but less and less often the letters came. Cecilia had been killed in a stabbing twenty years after we had gotten to the prison. And finally my one prized possession, my picture, was confiscated. It was a picture of my sister, Katherine. She understood me, and she loved me. Unfortunately the police found my picture in a surprise inspection. 

A Story About a Boy Named Oliver

Oliver was always bored. Oliver was always alone. Oliver was twelve. He went to a public middle school. Oliver never got outstandingly good grades, but never got outstandingly bad ones. Oliver was not outstandingly tall, short, fat, skinny, fast, slow, strong, or weak. To put it simply, Oliver was very average. 

As I mentioned before, Oliver was always alone. He was always alone, but never lonely. Oliver liked being alone. He liked thinking, reading, and watching movies. Oliver went to school one day. That school day was very average, very predictable. Oliver went home from school on that said day, finished homework, finished a book, and went to sleep. This said day was almost every single day for Oliver, minus the weekends. (For almost every weekend Oliver would wake up, watch movies, read, and think along with having meals in between, if you were wondering.) 

One day, Oliver went home to his average house, went upstairs to his average room, only to find a very unaverage thing. That very unaverage thing was a thirty-seven year old man named Jack.

“I am thirty-seven years old and my name is Jack. It is a pleasure to meet you, eleven year old Oliver,” said Jack.

“Hello thirty-seven year old Jack,” said Oliver, “Might I ask how you know my name and age?” he asked.

“I know your name and age simply to tell you that the world is going to end in exactly five minutes and thirty-six seconds, and I want to take you to an alternate dimension to save you.”

“What an odd person,” thought Oliver.

“So how are you going to bring me to this alternate dimension?” Oliver inquired.

Jack pulled out a strange contraption out of a fanny pack that Oliver had not noticed.

“Just press this green button,” Jack instructed, “But not the blue or red button. Never push the yellow button, and only press the orange button on alternating Thursdays and the thirty-first of January.”

Oliver was going to push the green button, but he tripped and pushed the blue button, instantly killing both Oliver and Jack.

“Now look what you’ve done!” exclaimed Jack.

Jack and Oliver were in what seemed to be an endless plane of wheat fields.

“Where are we?” said Oliver.

“Well the afterlife, of course!”

Oliver considered himself an atheist, so he was surprised that the after-life existed.

“So where is God?” asked Oliver

“What is that?” responded Jack.

“It is something people think exist,” said Oliver.

“Well then they’re wrong.” said Jack.

“Are you sure?” questioned Oliver.

Jack stopped and thought about Oliver’s question for a moment before responding with a simple, “No.”

“Jack?”

“Oliver?”

“Didn’t you say that the world was going to end today?”

Jack checked his watch.

“In exactly thirteen point forty-six seconds,” said Jack matter-of-factly.

Exactly thirteen point forty-six seconds after Jack said that, seven point eight billion people along with billions of animals and other organisms spawned into the afterlife. Exactly two point four seconds after the world ended, Jack started to walk off in the midst of the confusion. 

“Where are you going?” asked Oliver, catching up with Jack.

“Well, I’m off to see if this God character is real,” said Jack as if Oliver were to take that for granted.

“Would you mind if I tagged along?”

“Nobody is stopping or forcing you to do anything at all,” said Jack.

And that is where a frightfully unaverage adventure began.

Jack and Oliver walked for about three months, and had grown quite used to each other. The three months they had spent together were very uneventful and dull with little to no conversation—not anything Oliver wasn’t used to. One slightly less uneventful day Jack and Oliver stumbled upon a grand fortress consisting of several gargantuous medieval-style castles surrounded by awesome cobblestone walls that they should have been able to see kilometers away, yet still seemed to appear out of nothingness into somethingness. Oliver would have been flabbergasted but nothing seemed to startle him any longer. Jack and Oliver went to the walls and the entrance of the kingdom to find a doorbell. Oliver rang the doorbell and the gate swung open crashing into Jack and Oliver. When the two got up they were almost surprised to find a muscular child, not much older than Oliver opening the gate.

“Salutations,” said the child, “I am Steven.”

“Why are you so young but so…” began Oliver

“Muscular?” suggested Jack.

“I’ve gotten this body from hundreds of years of training. I do not age because I’m dead, but I can still get stronger,” said Steven, in a seemingly offended tone of voice.

“May we come in?” said Jack

“Absolutely not!” exclaimed Steven.

“Why not?” asked Oliver.

Steven remained silent, staring at Oliver.

“Fine!” Steven shouted, letting Oliver and Jack in.

“What an odd person,” thought Oliver followed by a feeling of deja vu.

Inside the wall, there was an entrance to the first castle. Oliver was about to ring the doorbell to the gate when it swung forward, crashing into Oliver and Jack. Behind the door was another Steven.

“But you were just…” Oliver began.

“I am Steven’s twice-removed great uncle,” said Steven’s twice-removed great uncle.

“But you’re so young!” exclaimed Jack, “And you look exactly the same as Steven.”

“I jumped off a bridge when I was eight, and then my sister went on to marry somebody, and Steven-having been born four months prior to my sister’s wedding became my twice-removed grandnephew,” said Steven’s twice-removed great uncle.

There was a brief moment of silence before Jack and Oliver abruptly dashed into the castle. The castle itself was filled with a grand, rich town with beautiful buildings, awesome towers, and gorgeous citizens.

“Welcome to the Kingdom of Solitude and Ending!” exclaimed Steven’s twice-removed great uncle.

“What a terrible name for such a beautiful town!” thought Oliver.

But as he walked into the town, he could see people’s eyes, filled with boredom and nothingness. He and Jack walked around asking for somebody who knew about any God character for hours on end until one depressed sounding lady suggested asking the King of Solitude, Benjamin The Conqueror.

“Well where do you find this Benjamin guy?” inquired Jack.

The woman simply pointed up.

Oliver could never have explained what happened in the entirety of his death, he could never quite grasp it, but he saw colors that were impossible to see, sounds that were impossible to hear, smelling smells that were impossible to smell, feeling sensations that were impossible to experience. But it was almost like it didn’t happen at all, because after that Oliver still couldn’t quite grasp how he felt, saw, heard, or smelled anything that had happened, but this is all irrelevant, because at this point in the story Jack and Oliver were sitting in front of Benjamin the Conqueror who was currently explaining that he would accompany the two on their way to God.

“There are two paths to get to God. The Road To Imminent Doom, Danger, and Death, or the Everlasting Road.” said Benjamin, “The latter option takes infinite time to travel across to reach God whereas the first option will lead to imminent death to reach God.”

“Both sound equally as terrible and impossible as one another,” remarked Jack.

“Nothing is neither possible nor impossible nowadays,” replied the king dreamily.

“I choose the first option,” said Oliver abruptly.

Jack and Benjamin looked at Oliver surprised.

“Fine by me,” said Jack after a brief pause.

“Ditto,” seconded Benjamin the Conqueror. 

And so the trio went out of the fortress, down to the Road of Imminent Doom, Danger, and Death, in search for a mysterious religious figure named God.

It took about four days until the three reached the road, and about another week until they reached living (if you can really use that word anymore) beings. It was an old merchant. The merchant was sold out. Out of the Road of Imminent Doom, Danger, and Death, out of the afterlife, out of anything really, as long as you brought the Out to God. 

“So God is real?” cried Oliver.

“No, not to my knowledge,” said the merchant, “But others would disagree, claiming he’s just down the road,” said the merchant, gesturing to the seemingly never-ending road, “Others have and will always disagree.” He sighed.

“Well could we purchase an Out?” said Jack.

“Sadly, I’ve sold out. I’m just on my way to replenish my stock,” replied the merchant.

“Well how long will it take for you to return?” asked Benjamin.

“It could take up to infinite years,” said the merchant.

Unfortunately, the three did not have infinite years to spare. So they continued down the Road of Imminent Doom, Danger, and Death. Along the way, Benjamin the Conqueror decided to tell the story of the Road, the Kingdom, and God.

“When I was alive, in a time before records, I had conquered land from Vrehnguard to as far away as Blaqtek and Garn’s Sea.”

Oliver didn’t seem to recognize any of these places, but continued to listen as he had nothing much better to do walking down a road that led to imminent death in search of God. 

“Nothing stood before me besides terminal illnesses which ended my life twenty-three years into my rule. After I passed, I joined fallen brothers and comrades, rebuilding my kingdom, Aapq. Time passed. The living kingdom fell, and the citizens came to join the kingdom, spreading sadness and despair. People began shutting themselves off from the outside world, they began, with lack of a better word, stopping. I forget how it happened, but the kingdom’s name became what you know it as now-the Kingdom of Solitude and Ending. People began seeking what the Kingdom once was. A semi-small group went on a search for God. Eventually, the party split into two groups. One of the groups was almost entirely driven to death, while the second one got lost in Infinity, giving birth to the Road of Imminent Doom, Danger, and Death and the Everlasting Road.”

“That reminds me…” began Benjamin,  “Oh well, would you look at that! A motel!”

There was indeed a motel. The motel was named Imagination, Oliver imagined. The three walked into the motel, and a man welcomed them in.

“Welcome to the motel, Imagination,” Oliver imagined the man exclaimed.

Oliver imagined that a series of events unfolded that led up to him getting a room for the night to himself. Oliver couldn’t fall asleep. He got off and wandered throughout the motel getting lost in Imagination. He began to picture lions with several heads, gods with two faces, infinite money, inumerous wonders. Oliver finally wandered so much that he found that he was in a new land. It was tiresome to walk through, he could barely stand it. It was almost as if all the dopamine was drained from his brain. There was blackness, numbers, facts, letters that Oliver couldn’t place together. He wanted to, he needed to break free. But he didn’t know what to break free from. He couldn’t kill himself. He didn’t want to kill himself, but he didn’t know what else to do. He collapsed onto the floor. He was crying. He didn’t know why. There was no point to crying. No point in doing anything. But he still wanted to find God. He didn’t know how it would turn out. Oliver didn’t care. He wanted to see how it would turn out, and if he didn’t like it, he was going to be doomed and die anyways. Dopamine returning to Oliver’s brain, he found himself back in his motel room. It was late morning already.

When he went back into the lobby, he saw Jack.

“Where’s Benjamin?” Oliver imagined he said.

“Oh, he killed himself,” Oliver imagined Jack replied.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

So the duo continued on their perilous journey.

Walking down the road, Jack and Oliver found a very interesting part of it. Various animals were running about the street, selling numerous drugs with absurd names, and Oliver found himself in a manfight. Chickens and dogs betting on which human would kill the other. Seeing this, Oliver tried to escape, but it was futile. Jack and Oliver were thrown into a cage by two large, muscular dogs. The two were about to fight when the chicken police ran into the facility, shooting down all the chickens and dogs. None escaped. Jack and Oliver were released.

“What brings you to the road of Imminent Doom Danger and Death this fine, fine day?” inquired the chief police chicken.

“God,” said Jack.

“Oh… You’re one of those ones.” said the chicken chief.

“Gabriel!” the chicken man shouted.

An insane looking, ragged old man that was a chicken stumbled up to them.

“God!” he squabbled, “God! This way! God!”

“No,” said Jack, repulsed by the disgusting chicken man, “I’m not sure if I believe in God, I just want to see if he exists.”

“Ohhhh, well you shoulda just said that to begin with!” exclaimed the chicken man chief police, “Come right along with me! My name’s Robert, by the way. Nice to meetcha,” he said charismatically, holding out his wing.

“My name’s Jack,” said Jack, shaking Robert’s wing.

“And I’m Oliver.”

Robert brought the two to a police car.

“My police car goes infinitely fast, so we can arrive at the end of the road in infinitely minimal time,” explained Robert.

Oliver, not knowing what else to say, simply said, “Okay.”

And then they were there.

At the end of the road there was a man. The man lead them through infinity and back, reaching the stars, reaching Heaven, coming back to Earth, finally back to the realm of the dead. And then there was God. An old man, completely still, completely silent.

“Are you God?” asked Jack in awe.

The man turned to Jack, who repeated his question.

“I don’t know.” said the old man.

“Does God exist?” asked Oliver.

“I’m not sure.”

“Who are you?” asked Robert.

“I—” but the old man couldn’t finish the sentence, for he collapsed onto the ground, dead.

“I still don’t understand how people die in the afterlife,” remarked Jack, four point sixty-seven seconds before Robert, Oliver, and himself died of abrupt heart attacks.

Best Friends Wait What!!!

Ludovico Cordara’s POV 

It is the year 2034 and it is a rainy Sunday night in my Chicago penthouse on the top of the Sears Tower. I wake up and do my usual 20 pushups and I run on my treadmill. Then my kind maid cooks me imported and sweet Belgian waffles. As always, I am super hungry so I eat 3 entire waffles. Eventually, I am done eating and I go to my room and I pick my fanciest suit because today is a super important day. Today is the day where I graduate from Harvard Law School where I am a graduate with two S.J.D.’s 

I am incredibly proud of myself. My parents are there and they surprise me with a courtside game of the San Francisco 49ers against the Kansas City Chiefs. It looks like a copy of Super Bowl LIV. 

Nick Bosa’s POV

It is a super bright day and the rays of the sun are blazing through my window. I wake up and run to take a boiling hot bath because I have an incredibly momentous game coming up. The Super Bowl. I am super agitated, but at the same time, I am calmer than ever. After my bath, I go to my kitchen where a fantastic breakfast is prepared. It is composed of a bowl of organic fruit from my garden, a bowl of raw oats, and 7 scrambled eggs. I divulge it all in a matter of 20 minutes. After that, I meet with my parents and we go to watch a movie at my parents’ private movie theater. The movie is about this astute lawyer named Ludovico Cordara. It tells us all about his background and how he graduated from Harvard and in all the photos, we see 49ers merch, which makes me feel good. After the movie, I go to Levi Stadium with the coach and my teammates and we started stretching and practicing. We need to practice because in a week, I will be playing the most important game of my life.

Ludovico Cordara POV

I go back to my house and I can’t wait to go into my Anti-Gravity room in my basement. As soon as we get there, we put on helmets and a specialized platinum suit. I’ve done it before, but most of my friends haven’t and I remember my first time doing it and it felt like being awake while sleeping. It’s such a fantastic and weird experience that I don’t even know how to describe it. I invite all my friends and we have an intense game of dodgeball. I am so electrified that I finally get to play with all my friends. Afterwards, we go and relax in my pool. Then I go with my very best friend Guglielmo and we have a lot of fun watching a movie. The movie we watch is called Bad Boys. It is hilarious. Will Smith, who is one of my close friends, comes over and we have a classic battle of ping pong. I am exhausted after our thrilling game which was, unfortunately, a debacle in my aspects. Eventually, I go into my heated water bed which feels like you’re riding waves without ever getting wet and being so close to the sun as you could grab it without ever being hot. It is the perfect combination of sleeping.

Nick Bosa POV

As soon as I get to Levi Stadium, Coach yells at me and tells me to run 5 suicides. 

I reply, “ Coach, I’ll run 10. I need to be ready for our game.”

Coach says “That is exactly why you are my captain and this team’s leader.” 

After 3 hours of practicing, I go to the weight room and I start doing my daily exercise which is composed of 20 pushups and 30 situps plus 30 bench presses. After practice, we all go into freezing cold and glacial cold tub. After we have cooled down, we relax and take a soothing hot tub and massage. Finally, it’s about 7;00 and the team and I go out to dinner at a famous steakhouse in San Francisco called Strip Steak. The steak there is more than fantastic, just tasting it gives you a rapturous feeling in your body. After the fantastic day, I’m still a bit sad because no matter how much I love football, I just feel like I have a different calling. Well anyway, I go on my customized German mattress. 

Ludovico Cordara POV

I finally wake up and I instantly go to the kitchen and grab a banana and run to take a shower. My alarm didn’t work and I am late for work, and listen to this, I’m defending the freakin’ president. This might be the biggest cause of my life. I can’t believe that there is no time to take a shower. I put my clothes on in a hurry and my maid is cooking me breakfast really quickly. The breakfast today is a buttermilk pancake with no butter and some diced strawberries on top. I drive my Lamborghini as fast as I can, and by the time I arrive, I’m too late and the president is really mad at me. I decided I’m tired of being a lawyer. I go to meet my friends from the 49ers and we talk about the game strategy over sushi. I ordered a spectacular green dragon roll and a plate of Japanese Chirashi which was amazing. Afterwards, I go back on my super fast car and all of a sudden, a dim light bulb crashes into me and I am knocked out.

Nick Bosa POV

I wake up at 6 and I run to my massage place where my doctor is giving me a soothing and relaxing back massage before my big game. My whole body feels like a temple, I am hyped. Afterwards, I go to practice and my coach tells me I might not be able to play in the big game. I am desperate when I hear the news and I decide to run out of practice and drive all the way to my house, but while I am driving, my car stops and a truck rams into me.

I am unconscious.

Ludovico Cordara POV (really Nick Bosa)

I wake up and for some reason, I am 6 ft 4 inches and I am extremely buff and strong. I go look in a mirror and I am freaking Nick Bosa. The doctor comes to check on me and I notice that it is an impostor because the doctor’s eyes are blinking, his heartbeat is very high, and his pulses are sweating, and I might add the fact that he has a gun in his hand. My body starts panicking and I run at him and I tackle him in a way that I could have never dreamed of.

I am finally dismissed from the hospital and I go to a gym to see how strong I am. It turns out I can bench press 524 pounds. Afterwards, I open my phone and I call my massager and tell him if he can give me a message because my back is swollen. I am starting to enjoy being super strong and fast. Unfortunately, I now live in San Francisco instead of Chicago.

Nick Bosa POV (really Ludovico Cordara)

As soon as I wake up, everyone is asking me if I’m okay. And I have never seen this many people care for me. And then the doctor comes in and says, “Sir Mr. Cordara, how are you?” I freak out because I just realized that I am super rich and super smart. I command the doctors in a slightly volatile voice and tell them to release me at once, the doctor does so. I go into the garage where I see my Lamborghini and I think, “oh hell ya.” I drive super fast and as soon as I get to my house, the press is right outside. I don’t know what to do until 15 super buff security guards come and save me and clear the way to my building. When I enter, the 7 maids 9 cooks 4 butlers, 3 coaches, and 6 personal trainers, all tell me “How may we help you, Mr. Cordara?”

Nick Bosa POV

Since I am now in San Francisco, I decided to go to a famous steak house called 5a Steak House Lounge. The steak is freshly made from the rugged mountains of Kobe beef in Japan. As soon as you taste the amazing meat, it would melt in your mouth like a snowman in summer. Then the intense sapor of the steak gets to your brain’s neurons and instantaneously attacks your taste buds and gives you a sweet aroma of juicy and croquet taste. Afterwards, I ask for a gold plated chirashi with salmon imported from the smooth beaches of the rugged coastline of Japan. The gold is found in the harsh and poor mines of the caves in Kenya. Afterwards, I call my driver and tell him to drive me home.

Ludovico Cordara POV

Seeing all these people makes me feel anxious. I normally see this many people at a game, but not at my house. All these people greet me super politely and they are awkwardly kind. It almost feels as if I were dreaming. Well anyway, I’ve decided I’m going to sleep. As soon as I enter my room, the butler says, “Mr.Cordara, would you like a Swedish massage on your back and relaxing Shiatsu on your shoulders and neck?” 

The massage is so invigorating and invitational that after the session is over, I ask for more. The massage is so relaxing that I almost fall asleep. He gently massages back and forward on my spirit gate on the inside of my wrist and cracks my back like an experienced chiropractor. He cracks every single rib and soothes it later with a great massage. Eventually comes supper and my chefs have prepared an assortment of food composed of fruits, vegetables, sushi, steak, burritos, and many more tasty goods. I devour it all instantaneously and I’m still hungry. It’s like my chef read my mind and makes me a brand new plate of lasagna, which eventually quenches my hunger for the next week.

Nick Bosa POV

It’s finally a bright summer day and I have decided that I’m going bowling with Coach to talk about our game plan. When he comes, we decide that we run Tampa 2 cover 1 robber press. Which refers to the defensive line piercing through the middle, the cornerbacks playing man, and the safeties on the zone. The linebackers alternate depending on if they are running a slot option or simply RB FB Tight End blocks. Coach and I eventually go to meet the rest of the team and he says, “Run 30 suicides.”

I stop and complain, “30, are you crazy?”

He looks at me in a befuddled fashion, and exclaims, “What the hell, Cap! I thought you liked running.” But since I am not actually athletic, I am deadass exhausted after only 3. I tell Coach I just have a sore stomach.

Ludovico Cordara POV

When I wake up, I have a severe stomach ache. It is so weird. I’m assuming it’s from the ton of lasagna from yesterday, but I’ve never had a bad reaction to lasagna so I’m a bit befuddled. Well, who cares. I have a court case today and I’m working for $500 an hour. Which is a lot. I am super afraid I will mess up. If I win this case, then that means that the law firm will be entitled to my name. Which means I will make over $700 million dollars a year. If I get all this money, then I can retire and just be the rich owner who doesn’t do anything but can still relax, which is my main mission. It’s time the case is about to begin. As soon as it starts, I instantly get contradicted and don’t know what to say. I’m panicking. My client looks at me with fear. I freak out and say something smart but off-topic. The opposite lawyer who has been my archenemy since we were kids is against me, he knows my every move, and well if I was Ludovico Cordara, then I could have known his every thought. I’m in a bad position so I slam my head against the table. And everything is black.

Nick Bosa POV

The referee blows the whistle and it’s the defense’s time to shine. I call a hike, and I sprint but get knocked out at the first play.

Ludovico Cordara (OG)

I wake up from my brain trauma and I see I am back to being myself. I am so happy that I yell let’s go. Then I look around me and I see that the court case hasn’t started yet. I am extremely relieved. As soon as my opponent comes in and so does the judge, we begin the debate. The debate is over after 5 minutes. I already defended my client successfully and the judge’s official decree was “not guilty.” I am so soothed.

Nick Bosa OG

I wake up and hear, “Hike, hike!” I follow my instincts and charge through. I force a fumble. Every single play, I force a sack except for the last play where I get razored to the ground and I am in extreme pain. We have already won the game. But unfortunately, the doctor said I tore my ACL which will take 6 months to heal. I eventually go with my buddy Ludovico Cordara and we go to the Los Angeles 49ers house and we chill in the jacuzzi. As we are relaxing, we see Guglielmo Cordara and Deforest Buckner, my old companion, arguing. We are so tired we are about to sleep in the hot tub. And the last thing we hear is, “ I WISH I WERE YOU.”

THE END

Floof

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

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

My dearest Theodore,

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

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

E. Johnson, 1800

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

Elizabeth,

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

T. Wilson, 1800

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

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

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

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

A letter was immediately sent to Theodore, of course.

My dearest Theodore,

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

E. Johnson, 1800

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” A voice said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I shouldn’t have done it. I—”

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

“Yes. She’s de—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodbye,” Rayne said.

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

Do I Really Have to Play Soccer?

“Do I really have to play soccer?” I asked Dad. 

Dad started, “No—”

I couldn’t hear the rest of his words because of Mom’s shouting.

“Yes, absolutely,” Mom cut in. “It’s necessary for your health. You haven’t done anything athletic in years! You’re even having trouble picking up your laptop! If you don’t play soccer, what else are you going to do?”

I thought, sleeping, or reading, or doing anything else rather than play a sport! I still vividly remember baseball, and then said, “I’ll figure it out later. Anything is better than soccer! Remember my first game?”

Thoughts of the game flooded my mind…

It was three weeks ago and my team was on the field, in the middle of our first soccer game. Except for me. And my attention.

I was thinking, honestly, I wish I could be sleeping instead of sitting here in this stuffy uniform with all of these shin guards and stuff—

Wham! Someone from the other team ran straight into me, sending my skinny body soaring through the air and landing on the grassy earth with a thud. Looking back in retrospect, I think I might have flown eight or nine feet through the air.

Well, now I know why I need the shin guards, I realized. I can’t believe I’m playing soccer. Maybe if I fail, my parents will think I’m too bad at soccer to keep playing.

I heard the piercing shrill of a whistle being blown.

“Are you okay, son?” the referee asked.

I looked at the ref and slowly realized that he actually wanted me to answer.

“Yup, I’m all right,” I quickly muttered.

I gathered my dignity and stood up, painstakingly slowly. The ref looked around, then blew the whistle right in my ear, giving me more injury than the guy who plowed through me, and the game resumed. The splitting headache and hearing loss didn’t help things either.

Within a minute, I had the same guy who had floored me earlier bearing down on me with the ball at his feet.

He was coming closer. Time seemed to stop. I was so close I could see his bloodshot eyes, counting the viens. What did George Washington or whoever say? Something about the whites of his eyes. Unfortunately, there were no whites in his eyes to look at.

I had to make a decision. I could feel the flabby muscles in my body tense up and…

No way in heck was I standing in the way of that guy! I dove out of the way and the guy went on to score easily on the goal.

I heard a voice say, “Everyone makes mistakes. I’m sure you’ll improve.”

I was snapped out of the past, back into the middle of the conversation.

Dad commented, “I don’t know. He seemed pretty bad—” Mom cut him off with a glare sharper than daggers.

Dad revised his life goals and stammered, “Oh, you can definitely improve.”

I glumly said, “I don’t think there can be much improvement in that area.”

Mom suggested, “Failure is necessary for improvement. You’ve just got to grit it out.” Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. How many times has my mom said this? A hundred? Two hundred? No, at least a thousand times. Grit, failure is good, success, yada yada yada…boring!

I asked, “Uh huh, sure I can. Just like football and basketball and baseball and lacrosse and—”

Mom sternly informed me, “You only had to quit because you got injured. You were on the cup of improvement. I know it!”

Dad said, “On the bright side, you get along well with the other players on the team.”

The memories of the practice after the game seeped into my consciousness…

I stepped out onto the field, where my team was awaiting the instructor for criticism. The team was sitting around in a circle, just sitting and chatting. I inwardly cringed, ready for the upcoming constant bombardment of complaints and angry comments. What I was met with surprised me.

I stepped out onto the field. The entire team simultaneously stood up. This in itself was weird, but wait! It gets weirder! Instead of being bombarded with negative comments, all of my teammates actually crowded around me, giving me encouragement like “You’ll get ‘em next time!” or “Nice try!”

I was so confused. Instead of acting like, I don’t know, rational people, they were being super nice for no reason! I was just standing there confused until the coach blew his whistle in everyone’s ear and I faded back into reality…

I say, “Not really. They were just being nice because I had failed. They won’t be so nice next time.”

Mom says, “I believe that with just a little more time, you can improve!”

Dad glances at Mom with a skeptical expression and I roll my eyes.

I say, “Sure, Mom. I can definitely improve, especially after the Incident.” I exaggerate the last few words and Mom sighs.

The Incident’s memories revived themselves in my mind…

It was the next soccer game and everyone had encouraged me to do better next time. The game was in full play and I really wasn’t paying much attention. To me, everyone was just running around, chasing a ball on the other side of the field—

“Hey! They’re about to score! What are you doing!” the coach screamed at the team.

I blinked and realized the other team was bearing down on me, reminiscent of the last game. They had somehow gotten halfway across the field!

As I scrambled into position, a teammate to my right yelled, “Here’s your change Dillan! We believe in you!”

I thought, just don’t screw it up. Anything but that.

I sprinted towards the ball, hoping I wouldn’t trip over it.

There was someone dribbling the ball towards the goal and apparently I was doing a good job because he stopped and started to move in a weird, squiggly way after seeing me. Having learned from soccer practice, I moved along with him in the exact same way. I was putting up a great fight and then I saw an opening.

I saw the ball.

I kicked the ball.

And guess where it went? Into my own goal. Whoops.

A stern voice pulled me back into reality.

Mom conceded, “Alright, I admit that was bad, but failure is a way to improve from mistakes. Failure leads to improvement, which leads to success!”

I looked over Mom’s shoulder to see Dad, sitting there, with a spaced look in his eyes. I said, “I really don’t think I can improve. I mean, I scored in my own goal! Right, Dad?” I stress to Dad.

Dad snapped his head up and said, “Yeah! Yeah! Whatever he said!”

Mom sighed and glared at Dad, but then, grudgingly, said the words that I had been straining to hear for weeks, “You don’t have to play soccer anymore.”

Inwardly, I cheered. Finally! I won an argument with my mom! She just says, “Because I told you so,” I thought. I wonder what else I can quit next? Maybe gym class? Extra math? Or… how about piano lessons!

The Day the Moon Fell

It was Friday, May 13th, 2017. The day the moon fell.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Something seemed different. Not better, not worse, just different, quieter. And I didn’t know why. I wouldn’t know why until later, much later.

I got up out of bed and got dressed. That’s when I realized it was darker than it usually was at 6:00 in the morning. There was a strip of light beaming across the corner of my room. It was bright and shaped like a banana and looked like I could jump into it and fall into a pit of nothing.

I put on my NASA t-shirt and some jeans. It was time to start my day or, little did I know, my night.

I went downstairs and sat down at the kitchen table. Normally, Mom makes breakfast for my younger sister and me, but that day she wasn’t downstairs. My sister, Sky, wasn’t up either. Neither was Dad.

I suddenly got really confused, why was no one awake? Did their alarms not go off? Or maybe mine went off early? I looked at the grandfather clock we had in the corner of our dining room. Nope, it was definitely 6:00. Something was wrong.

I went back upstairs and knocked on my parents’ bedroom door. No answer. I slowly turned the knob and crept in, being sure not to make any of the floorboards creak.

My parents were still asleep, but my Mom’s phone alarm wasn’t going off, almost as if she had turned it off. But my mother’s never done that, my mother never will do that. What was going on? I tiptoed over to the bed, once again being sure not to make any noise. That’s when I looked over to where my dad usually sleeps, but nothing was there. My dad was gone.

I started to panic. Maybe he had something to do with the fact that my mom’s alarm never went off. Or why it was so dark outside. No, he couldn’t have done that. Only fairies and wizards and demons do that. And everybody knows, fairies, wizards, and demons don’t exist. Little did I know, I was wrong, very wrong.

“Mom! Mom, wake up!” I yelled as I shook my mother left and right. She was definitely alive, her pulse was racing as if she was really scared. But she was asleep.

“Please, Dad’s in trouble!” She didn’t move a muscle. My mother was normally a really light sleeper. Maybe she was really tired, I thought. Maybe she got home late last night or something. No, no, something was definitely wrong.

I ran into Sky’s room and saw her asleep in her toddler-bed we put together a few weeks ago. She loved that thing. 

“Sky,” I whispered. Whenever someone would yell, Sky would cover her ears and scrunch her eyes and dance around in a circle until they stopped. And with everything that was going on, I was not in the mood for one of her tantrums. But if I had known I would never hear her yell again, I would have done it in a heartbeat.

“Sky, wake up!” I said again, this time a little louder. “Please, Sky, you’re the only one left!”

Nothing happened.

I started to panic even more. My mother and sister weren’t awake, my dad was nowhere to be found, and for some reason everything had changed.

I looked back at the clock. I read somewhere that if you think you are dreaming and you look at a clock twice, the clock time should have significantly changed. But no, it was still 6:00 am. It never crossed my mind that it was still 6:00 am.

I looked around a little, trying to find something, anything, that could help me out a little. Even a spider would have been nice. But no, all the spiders that hung out in my sister’s room were standing still next to their webs.

I finally decided to look outside, hoping someone or something was there that could explain everything. I was not prepared for what I was about to see.

Cats were stopped short. Drunk college kids were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and a plane was still in the sky. The moon was the only thing that looked normal, twinkling as it usually did, and slowly moving west. The sun hadn’t come up yet. No wonder it was so dark.

I turned away from the window and ran back downstairs, not knowing what to do next. Maybe I could run to the neighbors’ house like my parents always taught me to do “if there was ever to be an emergency.” I was pretty sure this counted as an emergency.

I turned the doorknob to go outside, half expecting it to be bright and sunny, the flowers to be blooming, and the birds to be chirping. Little did I know, I would never see a flower bloom or a bird chirp again. But, like I guessed, it was still dark and all the flowers were doing was standing stick-straight up.

I ran outside and pounded on my neighbors’ door, getting more and more worried. What if no one answered? What if it was just me? Maybe I was going crazy? Maybe I had died and this was the afterlife? I asked myself these questions every time I knocked on another neighbor’s door, just trying to get some answers. I wish I had known that one of those answers turned out to be true.

Eventually, I got to the end of Pickleberry Lane and had to take a breather. It all seemed so, what’s the word, unreal. Everything was frozen, and not frozen like snowy frozen. Frozen

I looked up at the moon. You know that feeling? The one where you just need company even though you don’t want anyone to talk to you, but just their presence makes you feel better? It was like that, except with the moon. It gave me comfort. It was the only thing that had stayed the same throughout all this chaos. I wish I had thought about that more, because if I did maybe I wouldn’t be where I am now.

I walked back home in silence. Literal silence. Nothing was making noise, not even the factory on the other side of town that keeps everyone up at night. Not even the crickets or the wind. But I swore I could hear the moon moving. No, that wasn’t possible. Oh, but it was. It definitely was. 

Suddenly, somewhere within the silence, I heard a scream. It was faint, but it was there.

“Hello?” the voice screeched. “Anybody? Please?” She had an accent, British, I think. I didn’t know what I should do. Should I yell back? What if, somehow, I was dreaming and I ended up yelling in my sleep? Sky would never let me hear the end of that. It could help, though. And so I yelled back.

“Hello?” I screamed as loud as I could. “You still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here,” the voice said, this time a little softer. “What’s your name?”

Jackson. Jackson was my name. But I thought twice about telling her. I mean, I knew nothing about this person. Maybe she was some sort of creep, trying to kill me? Or maybe she was my unconscious, trying to lead me in the right path.

“Jackson,” I yelled, lifting myself up onto my tip-toes. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Luna,” she yelled. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No,” I said. “Where are you? Maybe we could meet somewhere?” It would have been nice to finally see another person, even if I didn’t know her.

“Bloomsbury,” she said. “Where should we meet?”

Bloomsbury? I’d never heard of it. Maybe it was in the rich part of town or something. There was nothing that could prepare me for what she was about to say.

“Which part of Massachusetts is Bloomsbury in?” I yelled. “I’m in Cambridge.”

“Massachusetts? Bloomsbury’s in London.”

London? So this girl, Luna, is telling me I’m hearing voices from London? 

“How am I hearing you?” I asked.

“They think time has frozen,” Luna said, sounding sad. “They say since all the noise is gone, there isn’t any noise to drown us out.”

“They?” I asked. I was so confused. “Who’s they?”

I wish I had known those would be my last words, because if I did, I would have said literally anything else.

“They’re-”

I heard a thump. Luna must have heard it too, because she suddenly went silent.

I looked up and saw the moon coming closer and closer, like it was falling to the ground.

“Jackson?” Luna yelled. “Jackson, I just want you to know…”

And then it went black.

So, if you’re reading this, please, if anything seems out of the ordinary, tell someone. Anyone. Before it’s too late. Or you could end up where I am now, with them.

Kind regards, 

Jackson

I put down my pencil and went to sleep.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Something seemed different. Not better, not worse, just different. Quieter. And I didn’t know why. I wouldn’t know why until later, much later.

Flu Shot

My mother drags me, kicking and screaming, down the sidewalk. She is taking me to the doctor to get a flu shot.

“Ellie!” she scolds. “What is wrong with you?!” 

People on the street are giving us very strange looks. I don’t care. My mother pulls on my arm and I try to go in the other direction. I am crying loudly. 

I am deathly afraid of shots. Just thinking about a needle in my arm makes me shudder. 

“I… don’t want… a shot…” I wail, but I am so panicked my words get slurred together and my mother doesn’t understand what I am saying between my uncontrolled sobs.

Suddenly I realize we are right in front of the entrance to the doctor’s office. How did we get here so quickly? My mother opens the door, holding me by the wrist, and we walk in.

My sobs get quieter as I take in the familiar waiting room: colorful chairs and wallpaper, some toys and coloring sheets in the corner, and the receptionist’s desk across from us. I think to myself, can it really be that bad?

The peaceful setting calms and distracts me a little. I pick up a crayon and scribble on a coloring sheet while my mother signs in with the receptionist. I hear her say “flu shot” and I bite my nails nervously, resisting the sudden urge to make a run for the door.

A few minutes go by. A young nurse comes into the room. “Ellie Thomas?” she calls.

I jump when I hear my name. Clutching my mother’s warm hand, I follow the nurse into a narrow hallway out of the waiting area. We enter a smaller room that smells like bleach and sanitizer.

The nurse pulls out an alcohol pad and a syringe. Seeing the needle, I panic and start to sob again.

My mother bends down so she is eye-level with me. “Shhh. Ellie, it’s going to be fine. You can squeeze my hand. Don’t look at the needle.”

It takes me a few tries to find my voice. “I’m scared,” I manage to say. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassures me. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

I hiccup and my heart gets caught in my throat. I am rooted to the spot with fear.

I feel the sudden cold sensation of the alcohol pad rubbing against my skin. Wondering when the nurse is going to inject my arm, I turn to look, taking shallow, short breaths. 

Big mistake. In slow motion, I see the needle just as it pierces my skin. I let out a strangled noise as I feel a sharp stab of pain. I grip my mother’s hand tightly.

And then it is all over. The nurse sticks a bandage where the needle entered. Blinking, trying to process what just happened, I lift my arm. It feels a little sore, but that’s it.

Smiling, the nurse hands me a lollipop. My mother gives me a hug and says, “You were so brave.” Relieved, I walk out of the door. Everything is a blur. My mother signs us out and we leave the office. I feel the warm sun on my face. I did it. I survived a flu shot. It really wasn’t all that bad.

Happily sucking on my lollipop, I trail behind my mother and we walk home.

The House At the Edge of the World

Waffles. 

Of the many words she had learned over the years—and there had been manythis one was by far, her favorite. 

Waffles. 

There were only three books in her home. She didn’t know where they had come from. Like everything in The Place, they had no origin story. They just were. She knew them by heart. 

One: a dictionary.

Two: a volume of poetry.

Three: a cookbook. 

Each word came with a memory. A splash of color, a peal of laughter. Voices. They filled her head. This one coated her tongue with buttery sweetness.  

She loved these words. They were her future and past. They were her life. But they were also her windows to another life. Another place.  

A place called Minnesota. 

She didn’t know where it was. She only knew the name—and that it had to be better than The Place. She had learned it from her books, as she learned everything. They had taught her the language she could never speak. 

Minnesota. She loved how it sounded in her head. She could imagine herself saying it to someone else. Not the rocks that lined the path that wrapped around her house, though she had come to appreciate their company. Another person.  

If she was even a person herself. 

Her house was surrounded by dry, empty land, stretching for miles and miles in every direction. The sky above was a pale, sickly yellow, empty of clouds and breezes, with no sounds anywhere but the sound of her own movements. Sometimes, on days when she could no longer simply sit and stare at the same place on the wall for hours, she would run, away from her house and her books and her rocks. She would run until her feet ached and her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, never slowing down. But always, at the very moment she could run no longer and was suddenly longing for her small, quiet home, it would appear, sitting on the horizon like a dog waiting loyally for his owner. When this happened, she would scream, no noise escaping her mouth, scream silently until she could scream no longer. There was never any response.   

Soon, she stopped running altogether. 

Then came the day when, much like before, she could not take the quiet any longer. She burst outside, landing hard on her hands and knees on the dusty earth. Ignoring the stinging pain, she glared at the dull landscape surrounding her. She wanted to leave—wanted it more than she ever had, her whole life. Her whole existence. 

Ocean. That was what she needed. An ocean. She would leave—sailing away, on a boat. But there was no ocean to be found—just an endless, empty plain staring back at her. Ocean. The word danced in front of her, glimmering in the light. Just out of reach. She stabbed her fingers into the earth, carving it again and again.  Her hands ached, her fingertips stung, but she would not stop. She couldn’t. She wished for it to appear, to seep into her shoes, and wash away the dusty landscape, deep and cold and…

Wet. 

Her fingertips were wet. 

Slowly she looked up, as a sudden salty breeze blew the hair away from her face. Seagulls cried as she stared at the wide ocean, waves lapping over her feet. They washed the words that she had written on the ground away. The ground under her feet had turned into a sandy beach. The water had appeared so suddenly, it had seemed to come out of the desert itself. 

A slow smile spread across her face.  

She left that same day.  

Had anyone visited her home later—had it been possible for anyone to—they would have found everything in the exact place it had always been. Nothing seemed to have changed.  

Except for one thing.  

This thing was a rock. The nineteenth rock from her house, to be precise. For when the ocean appeared, the memories had come back. Not all of them—but enough.  

The rock had been moved out of the perfect arrangement of the pathway, and underneath it, there was a small hole. It was empty, but it had not always been. There were three things underneath it when the girl first uncovered it: a compass, a map, and a plane ticket.  

To Minnesota.   

The slow lapping of the water was what entered her mind first. Then the feeling spread to her fingers and the rough wooden planks beneath her returned. Her eyes cracked open, filtering in the bright sunlight… Then she remembered where she was and sat straight up with a start.  

It was her third day at sea.  

The landscape remained empty.  

Nothing around but sky, sea and boat.  

She gazed around the small raft, as it drifting on the slow, lapping waves. She had found it on the beach the day she left—just lying there, as if it were waiting for her. She had felt excited then, but now… she just felt bored.  

What was the point of the ocean, then? What was the point of the compass, the map, the ticket, if she was just going to float around on the silent sea? Was it all just a cruel joke? Was she going to wake up one morning in her house, with the ocean having completely disappeared?  

But just as she pondered these awful thoughts, something did change. For a while, she had decided that the scene would stay forever the same—the sea had other ideas.  

She had just enough time to open her mouth in horror at the towering wave before it crashed over her head and pulled her under.   

Darkness.  

That was all there was, everywhere.  

Darkness.  

She tried to suck air into her lungs but couldn’t. She couldn’t move. She panicked as she began losing consciousness… Then daylight flared up everywhere and she found herself sitting on a metal chair in a completely alien world.  

Sliding to the ground on her knees, she took a long, shuddering breath. Had the wave brought her onto an island? She hadn’t seen any land anywhere, but that was the only possible explanation for what had just happened. Trying to take in her surroundings, she slowly got to her feet and then immediately fell back onto the chair as the words from her books returned, crashing into her harder than the wave. Then suddenly, her vision cleared and she could see where she was for the first time.  

The chair she was sitting on was positioned near a glass table on the sidewalk outside a small restaurant. Cars sped by on the street, and people rushed past, talking and laughing. She had never seen anything like it before, but she recalled the words she had collected and slowly relaxed. She had made it.  

Just then, a tap on her shoulder made her jump. She spun around to the young waiter standing behind her. He shrank back at her hostile expression, and remembering to be polite, she searched her brain for what to do next. Stop glaring! Smile! Judging from his wide-eyed expression, she had not been incredibly successful.  

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he said quietly, looking like he was seriously regretting his choice of profession. Had she really been scowling that hard? Talking to other people was going to be tough.  

“You have been sitting here for over an hour,” the man said slowly, as if she were a wild animal that could bite his head off at any moment. “You have not touched your food.”

What?

“I—” she started, then immediately stopped. Her mouth dropped open, her face mirroring the waiter’s, who had taken a step back. But she could consider this turn of events later—she had no interest in explaining why she had never spoken a word before in her life. Act casual!  

“I just got here,” she told the man, forcing the unnatural words out of her mouth. “I came from the ocean.  Didn’t you see the—” The word wave died in her throat as she turned to gesture indignantly at the very solid, very dry, very decidedly-not-ocean landscape behind her. A choking gasp came out of her mouth, utterly terrifying the waiter, who gave an incredibly high-pitched squeaking noise and rushed back into the safety of the crowded cafe, nearly knocking over a pair of customers holding trays piled with food.  

The girl began to piece together the situation. She didn’t need to find an airport. She was already there. Minnesota. Sure enough, as she felt around inside the pocket of her coat—her completely dry coat, she was just now realizing. She could tell that her ticket was gone. As for the details—how no one had seen her appear out of nowhere at a random table in the cafe, why the waiter had been convinced that she had been sitting there for so long—she had no idea. But she didn’t really care. Not anymore.  

She sat down on the hard metal chair, running her fingers over the swirling design cut into the back. Staring cautiously at the contents of a plate that had apparently been sitting in front of her for at least an hour now, she attempted to mimic the careful way the surrounding customers held their utensils. When that didn’t work, she looked around twice and then tore off a piece of the waffle and stuffed it in her mouth. It was the first time she had ever eaten food, and although it was cold—and slightly dry—it still tasted better than it had in her books. In fact, everything here was better than it was in her books. Or at least, more. More bright, more loud—more alive.  

As she contemplated these things, in her chair as the entire world flew past as if late for an incredibly important meeting, she thought of the house that she had left. She had never—not for a moment—expected to miss it, and really, she still didn’t. But in some strange way, she felt a little prick of sadness at leaving it behind. She shouldn’t, she knew, and tried to remind herself, but some part of her knew that in leaving the house, she was leaving her peaceful, solitary life. There was, as unlikely as it seemed and as harshly as she would have denied it just a few days ago, a certain comfort in having only rocks for company. A comfort that, she now realized, she would never have again. Not in her whole life.  

Then again—this place had waffles. And what could compete with that?!

The sadness left. In its place, utter excitement set in. She wanted to do something now. Something like—going to every single place that sold waffles in the city!

She was going to have so much fun.  

“Where did you come from?”

She turned around, surprised by the voice. It was slightly high-pitched, like that of a young child. Sure enough, the owner of the voice was a small boy—he couldn’t have been more than eight years old—giving her a stern and slightly incredulous look from underneath a dirty baseball cap. He pulled the hat off, revealing a head of bright red hair and freckles that stood out against his pale face. He frowned at her silence. 

“Well? I know everyone who lives on this block –everyone-” He stretched his arms out for emphasis. “-but I don’t know you.”  

“I moved here.  From… “ She couldn’t think of an answer fast enough. He jumped on her pause. “See? You couldn’t even think of a good lie! You need to come up with one before anyone asks you! Whenever I want to break a rule—” he stopped, rethinking his sentence. “Never mind. That isn’t important. I just want to know where you came here from.”

The girl considered her next words. She could make up something fast, right now—but no, she couldn’t think of anything, and besides, the boy had already shown that he could see through any lie she would tell him. The only option would be to tell him the truth.  

Only… what was the truth? That she had lived in a house by herself for who knows how long before an ocean had appeared and she had sailed away and ended up here?

“I don’t know,” she said.  

The boy’s frown deepened.  “You don’t know?! What do you mean, you don’t know? Is that even possible?”

She struggled for words to explain it. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s been a weird day.”  What day in her life hadn’t been a bit out of the ordinary? Still, this one was by far the strangest.  

Surprisingly, the boy’s frown had turned into a slightly thoughtful look at these words. “I guess I understand that. Sometimes I have weird days too. One time, we were out of orange juice for breakfast. Breakfast just isn’t the same without orange juice.”  

“That’s… Okay. You know what? Sure. It was like that,” she replied. She didn’t want to have to explain that it was more like the orange juice had jumped out of the refrigerator, done a little dance, turned into a racoon in a cowboy hat, and disappeared.  Also, why was she thinking in orange juice metaphors all of a sudden?  “Those… orange-juice-less days, not much you can do about them.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true,” said the boy. “You could buy orange juice.”

“But… Wait, what are we even talking about? Do you even care about the answer to your question, or not?”

“Umm…”

“Never mind,” she said, sensing another long conversation about unrelated things approaching.  

“You don’t need to tell me,” the boy said anyway. Before she could ask why they were having this conversation in the first place, he went on. “Some days, there just aren’t a lot of things going your way.”

“Actually, I think the problem this time is that too many things are going my way.”

“You mean… you’re happy that you’re out of orange—it was a joke! Sorry!” 

She glared at him.

 “But… I don’t really understand. Why is that a problem?”

“I guess I just don’t really know what to do now.” After doing virtually nothing her entire life, that was probably going to be a challenge. “Or where to go.” Really, until now, she hadn’t even considered this small problem. Where was she going to live?  

“Oh,”  said the boy. “I assumed you were going to your house.”

“My… what? Sorry?”

“Your house. Seriously, you’ve lived here for at least a week. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten where your house is.” He made a grand gesture toward a small purple house with a red door, which looked like it had been shoved between the two much bigger buildings beside it. 

“Uh—right. My house.” From her position on the street, she could see the doorknob. It’s probably locked, she realized. Her heart sank. “Hey, actually, what’s your name?”

“Daniel.” He said it almost like a question.  

“Daniel, you don’t happen to know where the spare key for the door is, do you? I… forgot.”

“Under the plant on the left,” he said abruptly, then turned slightly pink. “I… I kind of… sorry,” he mumbled under his breath.  

“That’s okay,” she said. She would have to change the hiding spot pretty soon, she noted. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. And…about your problem. I think that, maybe… you just need to find something you love doing. Like a hobby, I guess. It might help.”

“You might actually be right about that,” she replied. “Well, goodbye. I—” She turned around to thank him again, but he was gone. Completely. Almost as if he had been a figment of her imagination.  

The house was dark and sparsely decorated when she pushed the door open. There was a bathroom, a kitchen, and a bedroom through doorways visible from the living room, which was at the end of the short hallway she had entered through. It was furnished with a few antique-looking dressers and cabinets, a shiny wooden table, and an old purple sofa. The walls were covered with peeling wallpaper, a thin carpet lay underneath her feet, and a loud dripping from the kitchen sink echoed through the air. But there was somehow, underneath the creaking wooden floor, a distinctly happy feel to the atmosphere.  

She loved it immediately.  

It would take some time to get settled in, she knew. Many things needed to be bought or replaced. The light switch in the hallway would not turn on. The only thing on the kitchen counter was a wooden spoon. There was nothing, not even a bar of soap, in the bathroom. But she looked at the large wooden grandfather clock, and knew that it would all have to wait until morning. It was time to go to sleep.  

The sun, streaming through the gaps in the curtains, was what woke her. For a moment, she thought that she was back at sea, but it was blankets, not wooden boards, beneath her fingers. She lay there for a minute, and then got out of bed and turned on the lights. She had a lot to do.  

But first, she needed breakfast.  

The store on the corner of the street had nearly everything, so she took the money she found in the dresser and bought a wide variety of supplies. She dumped it on the kitchen table.  Potato chips, hot sauce, three bars of chocolate… orange juice. Okay, back to the store. This time, she got slightly more useful things. Pulling out a recipe book she had found, she gathered her ingredients. After fifteen minutes, she had made a stack of slightly burnt and lopsided pancakes.  

She tried them.  

They were…odd.  

“Oh well,” she told the kitchen sink. “Good first try, right?”

It dripped in what she thought seemed like an agreeable way.  

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” she informed it. Then she left to buy soap.  

Many years later, the city had changed. The cafe was gone, as were many other shops and houses. But some things were the same. The grocery store, the post office, and a little purple house.  

Inside the house lived an old woman. For a long time, she had worked at the most popular restaurant in town, so nearly everyone knew her, even now when she no longer went there every day. The smallest children called her Grandmother, the figure most of the town now saw her as, and in response she would laugh and tell them that she wasn’t that old. But she had never told anyone how old she actually was, or her real name. So whenever anyone saw her, in one of the shops or walking down the street, they settled for giving her a friendly wave.  

Every Saturday morning, she would get up and go to the place where she had worked for so long, and order the same thing—waffles and a cup of tea. She would watch the pigeons and the occasional dove roaming the sidewalk, pecking at the crumbs tossed to them by toddlers and their parents. She would watch people walking past on the sidewalk, lights coming on and doors opening and closing in the surrounding houses, clouds moving across the sky and the sun slowly rising. If you saw her, sitting at her table and watching, you would notice several things. One, that she had a kind smile and knew the names of most of the people that passed. Two, most of the people that passed knew her. You could also tell what her favorite color was—her coat, boots, and purse all matched her house.  

But the most obvious thing about her—the one that people usually noticed first—was that she seemed happy.   


Abandoned

As I woke up one Monday morning, I walked down stairs to smell the fresh bacon and pancakes stacked with butter and smothered with syrup on my plate. Mom was always excited to see my face as I noticed what new breakfast she made me that day, and I always smiled. That day I was especially excited because pancakes are my favorite food. 

“What do you think, Claire?” Mom asked as soon as I got down there. 

“Wow this looks amazing, I can’t wait to eat!” 

“Why are you not dressed yet?” Mom yelled.

“Because I wanted to take a peek at this morning’s breakfast,” I said.

“Well go get dressed now before you eat,” Mom scolded. 

So I went upstairs, got dressed, and packed my bag for school. As I was walking to my room, I could see the closed door of my mom’s bedroom and wondered where my dad had gone. Six years ago, he left us for God knows what reason. He could be dead for all I knew. I was only seven years old at the time and he just vanished out of nowhere. But I let it go and moved on with my day. I walked down stairs yet again and smelled the delicious food waiting for me. After I had eaten, I went to school with a very full and happy stomach.

Everyday last week mom had gotten a phone call from my teacher saying how missbehaved I was in class. Mom punished me very often so I’m used to it by now. I wanted to make today, and from now on a non-foolishness day so my mom doesn’t get upset with me, but of course that didn’t happen. I got yelled at for talking in class many times. When I got home, my mom was waiting for me at the kitchen table.

“Claire, you need to stop this, I can’t take it any longer,” Mom said.

“Can’t take what?” I asked.

“Your teacher called me today saying that you were talking a lot in class,” she said, disappointed.

“I’m sorry, I tried to stop interrupting but I kept talking to my friend, it won’t happen again,” I said.

“Go to your room,” my mom said quietly.

I lay in bed thinking about what life would be like if my dad were here. Would I still be having trouble in school?  Would Mom be happier? Back when my dad was still at home, I remembered him and mom making me breakfast every morning and waiting to see my face. He used to tell me stories before I went to bed. One of them I remembered was about a little girl who became a princess. Oh how much I missed my dad, I wish he would be there with me. Mom always cried about dad and how he left, she told me stories about him, but she never smiled when talking about him. I finally stopped dreaming and went to bed.

The next morning I woke up and looked forward to walking down stairs to smell the beautiful breakfast waiting for me. I hurried up and got dressed and ready for school. It was really quiet in the house but I didn’t pay it any attention. I was finally ready so I walked downstairs and didn’t see mom or any breakfast on the table.

I put my bag down and called, “Mom, Mom, Mooom.” 

No response. 

I checked every room on the bottom floor but mom wasn’t there. I went upstairs to her room and saw the closet door open. All of her clothes, gone. All of her shoes, gone. All of her bags and jackets, gone. I went in the bathroom and noticed the same thing. Her makeup bag with all of her makeup, gone. Her toothbrush and toothpaste, gone. Her hairbrush, gone. I was getting confused so I pulled the blanket off her bed and saw a note. As I opened the note I saw a $100 bill in it. The note read—

Dear Claire,

I’m sorry to do it this way, but I can’t take care of you anymore.

The stress of your bad grades, excessive calls from your 

teachers, and your dad gone is getting too much for me. I don’t know 

what to do or what you’re going to do, but I left $100 for food. Maybe 

you could ask one of your friends if you could stay with them for a while. I love you and I’m sorry.

From your mother, 

Grace.

I cried and screamed as loud as I could. What am I going to do? $100 to live off of? Where did she go? I couldn’t believe it, I don’t know why she would leave or who to live with. I went to school that day without eating any breakfast. When I got to school, everyone asked me what was wrong but I couldn’t tell them. However there was one person who I could tell. Rose was my best friend, I was thinking about asking to stay with her in her huge house and small family. So when I saw her in school, I told her exactly what happened.

“Why would she just leave like that,” Rose asked.

“I have the same question, and more,” I said.

“So do you think I could stay with you for a little before things get worked out,” I ask.

“I will tell my mom and ask her, I am sure we will have space for you,” she replied.

“Thank you so much Rose,” I said while giving her a hug.

It’s been two weeks now and I very much miss my mom. I want the amazing huge breakfasts and for some reason I missed the scoldings that she gave me after school. I feel a little bit better since I am with Rose and her family, but I dont know what’s going to happen. Rose’s mom has been trying to work things out. However, I wish my mom would come back. Nobody at school knows about my mom leaving except for some teachers, and they tried to comfort me but I don’t want it.

It’s Saturday morning and Rose and I are going to a waterpark. Since I had all of my clothes in a big pile on her floor, it was hard to find my bathing suit but I finally got it. It was kind of a long drive but I was relieved when I got there. I could smell the water and all I wanted to do was just run free on the rides. Rose and I were having so much fun and we even met this really cute five-year-old girl.

“Hi, what’s your name?” we asked her.

“Claire,” she said.

“What’s yours?” Claire asked us.

“I’m Claire and that’s Rose,” I said, surprised that we had the same name.

“Are you okay?” Claire asked thinking I’m sick because I’m weirded out.

“I will take you to my daddy and he will make you feel better,” she said. 

She takes my hand and walks me to a man sitting on one of the chairs. Claire tells her dad who we are meanwhile I’m wiping my eyes. When I look up, I look at the man and I am speechless.

“Claire, is that you?” he asked me.

I was in shock so I slowly say, “Dad?”

“Yeah I can’t believe it’s really you,” he said.

Since he left me and mom I am mad. “Where have you been?!!” I yelled.

“Is this your daughter? And why is her name Claire?!” I asked.

“I know you have a lot of questions and I will answer them, sit down,” he said.                                                                                  

Rose took Claire to go play in the water while I talked to my dad. He told me his story for about     20 minutes. So when I was six, my Dad met another woman named Charlotte while he and Mom were still married. He started to love my mom less and less everyday and wanted to marry Charlotte. By the time I was seven, he didn’t love my mom any more. The only reason he waited so long was because he still loved me very much. He didn’t know what to do so he ran away with Charlotte. He got married to her and they had a baby, he missed me so much that he named the baby Claire. He said him and Charlotte are divorced now and that he missed my mom. He wants to move back with me, Claire, my mom, and him. He said we could call Claire “Clara.” I tell him how my mom abandoned me and he tells me how we could reunite. Even though I am mad at him and still confused, I missed him so much that I agree to it. So I tell Rose and her mom what’s happening and thank them. We go home and when we get to our house, I call my mom but she doesn’t answer until the 5th try. I don’t even ask or say anything except, “You have to come home NOW!!” and hang up. We are hoping she comes so we can surprise her. About 2 hours later, we hear a knock on the door and my dad slowly opens it. As surprisingly as she left, she came back. She dropped all of her things and they hugged for like 10 minutes straight. She comes over to me and hugs me until I couldn’t breath. We explain to her what we want to do and she shockingly just agrees. Surprisingly I am not mad at them anymore because our family is united after all (in addition to little Clara).

The Cure

Prologue

The year is 2055. However, the world is not exactly paradise. First things first, the world is infested with a plague. “The” plague. It started about 10 years ago in St. Louis, Missouri. Some scientists were experimenting with some nuclear material. Let’s just say it didn’t end well. The nuclear tank exploded and it spilled all over. It seeped into the ground, into the rivers, and spread radiation into the air. From there, things got a lot worse. Within a week, we learned that there were serious side effects. They included horrible coughs, weakness, joint failure, heart failure, mental effects including going crazy. For example, many have lost all ability to think for themselves, and the disease has taken over their thought process. Some of the infected decided that it’s easier to die than deal with these effects. Those were only some of the many different side effects terrorizing the world.

Chapter 1

My name is Logan Campbell. I am 16 years old. I live in St. Paul, Minnesota. I grew up worrying about the plague. I remember when I was 6 years old, hearing about it on the news. My younger sister, Olivia, was curled up next to me by the fireplace, crying. A lot of people cried that day.

The plague spread rapidly, infecting more people than any other disease ever had. Many people have died. We all wear masks at all times, unless in an uninfected area. After the plague, things changed. The rules became less and less important, and survival became the most important objective. To live another day. Though I am 16, I already have a job. I work for a steel factory, so I get free food and protection. It isn’t exactly fun, but it’s a good way to live.

I enter the factory, ready for another day of work, just like any normal day. I walk over to get my gear, and start the new day. I stop, and stand still for a moment. Something is wrong. There is no noise coming from the streets. I hear a click. I recognize that sound from tests that the factory sometimes runs. It’s a bomb. 

“Everybody get down!” I yell. 

The building erupts into a fiery explosion.

I hear faint noises. I lift my head. My vision is very fuzzy. “Are you okay, are you alright?” I hear. It is my mother. 

“W-what happened?” I ask. My head hurts a lot. I can’t remember much.

“The factory was bombed by some rebels that have gone crazy. The enforcement police took care of them,” my mom replies. “Are you sure that you’re okay?” 

“Yes,” I say. “How long have I been out?” I feel like it has been a week, but I know that is foolish.

“About a day and a half,” she says. “Do you need anything?” 

“No, I’d just like to rest for a bit.” 

I need to think.

Chapter 2

I sit up, and rub my eyes. What I see doesn’t make sense. I am in some kind of prison cell, all alone. It is entirely made of metal, with a small window that seems to be made of some kind of see-through material. I finally begin to panic. 

How did I get here? Have I done something wrong, I think to myself. 

Before I can come up with an explanation, the metal door slides open. A man in a black suit and tie walks in. He looks very official. 

“Who are you?” I demand. “Where am I?”

“All of these questions will be explained,” says the man. “Just follow me.”

“Why should I follow you, and why can’t you answer my questions right here?” I yell.

“Let me start by telling you my name. I am Aaron Gates. And don’t worry, we have already informed your families about why you are here. I run this organization, that most call ARROW.”

“This is ARROW?” I ask. I have heard of them from the factory. They supposedly are trying to find a place for all of the uninfected to live. Now that I actually know where I am, I think I can at least follow this man.

“Yes, this is ARROW,” Aaron says. “Now please follow me, and I will explain why you are here.”

Chapter 3

I enter a large, dark room. There are 5 chairs set up, and 4 of them are occupied. Aaron leads me to the fifth seat, and then walks to the front of the room. Next to me is a boy with dark brown hair, and glasses. There are 2 girls next to him, and another boy on the far chair. They all look around the same age as me. I look back at Aaron, and he starts talking. 

“There is a reason that we brought the five of you here, and it is very important not just to us, but to the world. You 5 have a special immunity in your brains, that no other living organism has. This causes you to be immune to the Plague.” 

All of us just sit there, stunned. 

Aaron continues. “We have studied you ever since you got your first blood test at the age of 5. When we tested the blood with the Plague disease, only your blood did not react to it. That is why we brought you here. Now you may be wondering why all of you are around the same age. Well, that is because when the Plague broke out, the government put a chip in everyone’s brain, to track your health. The 5 of you got your chip on the same day, in the same place, and only 5 people got their chip there that day.” 

I don’t remember getting my chip. All of the memories before it got erased. Because of this, the government gives you the chip at the age of 4, one year before the blood test. We all still knew how to talk, and how things work, but we had no memories.

The boy next to me speaks. “Why does our chip make us immune to the Plague, then?”

“The chips that you got were broken, and we didn’t know it at the time. The broken chip caused something in your brain to malfunction, and immunity to the Plague was one of the side effects.” 

For the second time in a couple of minutes, we all look stunned.

“I understand all of this, but what exactly are we here for?” I ask.

Aaron smiles. “I was about to get to that part,” he says.

Chapter 4

“Your job is very simple, and it will not require a lot of hard work on your part. We will first take a sample of your blood to study, and hopefully we can find a way to make some kind of a cure. After that, your job here is over.”

“Wow,” I say. “That was a lot less complicated than I thought it would be.”

“Yes indeed. For you, it will not take much effort. Now I think we should get the blood samples sooner rather than later, shall we?” Aaron asks.

Aaron leads us through a long, stainless steel corridor. We eventually reach a small room made entirely out of glass. Aaron opens the door by entering a 4 digit code. He then opens the door and ushers the 5 of us in. He leads us to a bench, where we all take our seats. 

“Now not to worry, the blood samples will not hurt very much. Just stay calm, and it will be over very quickly,” Aaron says. 

He picks up a needle, with the ARROW logo imprinted on it. He then walks in my direction. “Hold out your arm please,” Aaron asks. 

I hold out my arm, and prepare for the needle. I watch it enter my arm, and take my blood along with it. It stings, but doesn’t hurt that badly. Aaron opens a drawer, and pulls out a bandage. He wraps it around my arm over the cut.

After Aaron finishes getting everyone’s blood samples, we are led to our quarters. “You will be given dinner shortly, and when you are done, you can just leave it outside of your rooms. We will come around and collect it. Please try and get some sleep after dinner, and if you need anything, there will be a speaker on your wall. Click on the gray button, and you will be able to directly speak to me,” Aaron says to us. “There will be restrooms in your quarters, and don’t hesitate to ask us for anything. Does anyone have any questions?” 

No one answers. It has been a long day, and I am very tired. I enter my quarters to try and get some sleep.

Chapter 5

I awake to the sound of birds chirping. It is very calm and peaceful here. Nothing seems to be exploding at the moment. I enter the restroom, and see that we have been provided with a toothbrush and toothpaste. I brush my teeth, and then lay back down on the bed. After a few minutes, the intercom makes an announcement. “Breakfast will be served in 10 minutes in the common room. There will be signs there to direct you to it. We have some important news.”  

I walk over to the door. It is a heavy, steel door, and it looks kind of like it belongs on a refrigerator. I swing it open and head to breakfast.

I reach the common room with some difficulty, because it turns out that there are 2 common rooms. Once I get to the correct room, I set down to find a plate of eggs and toast waiting for me. This would be the best breakfast that I have had in awhile. Once everyone gets to the common room, Aaron comes out of his office. 

“This is a very special day for ARROW,” he says, “thanks to the 5 of you, we have successfully developed a cure for the Plague.”

“Are you serious?” one of the girls asks. “That’s amazing!” I think of my family back at home. ARROW actually found a cure! My family, and everyone else, would be safe from all of this pain and suffering.

“It really—” Aaron gets cut off by a rumbling noise. All of the windows in the entire complex shatter. A bunch of people in black uniforms climb in the building. I run away from the wreckage and hide behind a wall. The intruders break into the ARROW laboratory. Half of the workers and immunes are lying on the ground, either dead or unconscious. The other half are hiding like me. I run farther away from the intruders and find a large TV screen. I run as fast as I can and slide behind it. I watch and see the intruders come out of the laboratory. They are holding a syringe with a purple-ish color. 

The cure! They are stealing the cure! I should probably do something to stop them, but there was nothing that I could do about it. The man holding the syringe grabbed onto a rope, and was pulled up and out of the building. The remaining intruders scrambled to all of the walls along the complex, and seemed to be placing something on them. Bombs, I realized. They were placing bombs! I had to leave now. 

I ran as fast as I could, faster than I ever had before, and looked for some place to leave the complex. I found a hole made by one of the bombs and ran at it as fast as I could. I raced along the broken floors, my only focus on making it outside. I raced past bullets and exploding walls and finally made it out of the building. I ran and ran until I couldn’t see the complex. I had to get out of there, or I would be killed. I raced along the forest and sprung out into the cold, winter wind.

32 Degrees

3

As the sun dipped lower and lower beneath the January horizon beyond the bay, the nightlife of the neighborhood only increased in energy. Bar signs buzzed to life, illuminating the dark colored coats of the pedestrians polluting the sidewalks. Hot dog carts continued to hand out hot pretzels in the cold air and cars sat still in traffic, horns honking and yells escaping from passenger windows. I watched this scene go on from the safety of my warm bedroom. I wasn’t planning on leaving my house anytime soon. At least, not while it was still cold out. I couldn’t even leave by choice, anyway. Although it was a new year, a fresh start, I couldn’t forget what happened in December. What confined me to my house until the end of Christmas break, what confined me to myself.

/

“Let’s go, Ellie! We don’t have all day!” my brother yelled from the hallway, impatient. 

“Cool it! I’m putting my hat on,” I yelled back. That was a lie. I didn’t even have my coat on, and I wasn’t making an effort to. I stared at it, hanging in my closet. There was no way I was going with Jack. I hated his friends, and I hated sledding. I loved the cold, don’t get me wrong. Snow, wind, all of it. It’s the sledding that bugs me. Too much chance between injury and safety. But Mom said I had to go with Jack, and there’s no arguing with her during her free time. My mind wandered to all the mistaken times I had argued with her during her breaks from the hospital – some funny, some not. 

Ellie! Move it, please!” Jack screeched again, breaking me out of my trance.  I really didn’t feel like having to deal with an angry Mom, so I tugged my coat on and sped out into the hallway, crashing into the wall thanks to my slippery socks. Jack glared at me. 

“Smooth move. Speed it along, Ell, c’mon!” he exclaimed, drumming his fingers on the counter top. As I tied the laces of my boots, I gave him a dirty look. He knew how much his one particular pal, Lionel, annoyed me. The kid doesn’t have an off button, neither for his rapidly moving mouth or rapidly moving body. It never ends with him. But I thought of the steamy hot chocolate that would be waiting for me when we’d return a couple hours later, so I pulled on my gloves and walked out onto the street, a gust of wind hitting my face immediately. 

This is the aspect of the city that I absolutely adore. The scent of honey roasted peanuts, the yelling of crossing guards. As I speed walked to keep up with my overly ecstatic brother, I took the time to look at the city I loved, something I don’t do enough. There’s nothing that would make me want to give it up, ever. Not even the delays of the R train. 

/

“Lionel, are you kidding me?” I shouted from the bottom of the icy hill. I watched him attempt to shoot snowballs into the trash can, but hitting innocent park-goers instead who whipped around in annoyance. He turned his head, widening his eyes in a Bambi-like way. I couldn’t take this anymore. As soon as we got back home, which didn’t look like it would be anytime soon, I was going to ask Mom to contact poor Lionel’s mother about his ridiculousness. Although, I should phrase it to be more formal if I want any change to happen. 

“Ellie, he’s not doing anything!” Jack shouted back, a grin across his face. 

“Don’t play with me! You can and will get in trouble for this!” I warned, losing my wit. 

Jack’s merry gang erupted into laughter. I rolled my eyes and sat down on a bench. Thankfully, Lionel ceased his firing of snowballs and plopped onto a sled, challenging Jack and the group to a race. I thought nothing of it and continued to look at the scene around me. I was again filled with glee and gratitude to experience this majestic city, this majestic neighborhood. The rose colored awning of my favorite cafe, the green street signs. I became entranced, like with the coat, but loads more happy. I glanced over at the aspiring group of Evel Knievels every so often, still seeing it as innocuous. All good. 

/

It wasn’t until I heard a voice screech for help, for 911, that I saw the steady stream of red stain the icy snow. I leapt up and sprinted over, concerned. When I really freaked out was when I saw the familiar neon green of Lionel’s hat also soaked crimson, and his body twisted in his sled. I almost fainted, but when I saw Jack’s innocent expression covered in tears, I knew I had to do something. I found the nearest adult and called 911, explaining all I knew. If only I looked closer at the injury would I have known the deep cut in his head, if I only I had been more worried about why Lionel’s hat was more bloody than anything, if only I noticed Jack holding his head up. If only.

The red of the ambulance sirens combined with the red of Lionel’s body, the red of Jack’s coat, the red of the snow. The red of the storefronts across the street only added to the overstimulation of color that made my eyes glaze, barely noticing the urgent calls of the EMTs as they loaded Lionel onto the gurney. They asked for my parent’s number, but I didn’t pay attention. Jack, my little brother, who was two years my junior, who was celebrating his eleventh birthday in a week, had to answer. Guilt washed over me, making everything worse. I sat numbly in the back seat of our car as Mom raced to the hospital, crammed with Jack and his three other friends. I sank into a chair in the waiting room as Lionel’s dad rushed through the door. Everything was red. 

/

Here I was again, sitting on my bed, staring into the abyss. The only difference was the week that had passed. Yesterday was Jack’s birthday, but it was nothing that he should have received. He unwrapped his presents slow as ever, and broke down crying when he reached for Lionel’s gift wrapped in comic book pages. I sat next to him and rubbed his back, yet no emotions reached me. I was numb. Still. Today was the funeral. I’m surprised I’m allowed to leave the house, especially for such a solemn event that I had assumed an unfortunate role in. I didn’t want raging Mom to reappear, so I swung my closet door open and unhooked the black dress. I slipped it on and walked out into the hallway, no motivation in my step. I couldn’t get the red out of my mind. Everything around me was painted a shade of red. I was intoxicated by guilt, by sadness, by anger. 

The car drive to the church hung with pain in the air. My dad’s knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white as he gripped the steering wheel. My mom had her foot tapping quietly on the carpeted floor of the car, staring out into the gray morning of this day. Jack clutched his stuffed bear from his babyhood. It emerged from the depths of his dresser on only the most difficult days. Once again, guilt drowned me. The amount of times I’ve been told it wasn’t my fault are uncountable, mostly because I don’t agree. Sure, I hadn’t caused him to veer into a pole, sure I hadn’t told them it was time to leave. But I wasn’t watching them. I was too occupied in my own thoughts, in a daze. Selfish. Lonely. Red. 

The funeral service was empty. The pews were filled with elderly relatives of Lionel’s, with adult friends sitting down somberly, quietly crying. The most painful image was the youthful faces, the small bodies in oversized black suits, the glossy cheeks, the downcast eyes. The absence of fidgeting and laughter. The capita was well over 250, but all 250 souls were empty. My family sat with the other families that were friends with Lionel’s near the front. I joined them, but as soon as his brother, a highschool junior, made his way up to the podium, I cleared my throat and excused myself to the bathroom.

I stared into the dusty mirror, my hands leaning on the sink. I was looking at my reflection, but really my mind was tethered to the possibility of the dangerous “what if.” I swore to myself that I wouldn’t let myself slip down that rabbit hole when we first returned home after the hosp- no. I knew deep inside even thinking about the events that really happened would pull me down a dangerous path, so I let my eyes drift to the wooden cross that hung between the pair of mirrors. I touched it softly and stared at it for some time. Even though I didn’t believe in a greater power, I angrily thought, why Lionel? I didn’t appreciate his presence, that’s for sure. But I knew that he was always polite to my parents, that he comforted my brother after the death of his hamster, Carl, and that he always said hi to me, even though I returned it only once in a blue moon. He was a sweet kid, one with a promising future. The universe really messed up on this one. I rapped my knuckles on the wall once, just to see if I still existed in this dimension and that I hadn’t been sucked into a vacuum of cognitive eternity. I splashed cold water on my face, a double check that I was still there, and slowly returned to my seat in the fourth pew. 

/

As I mentioned earlier, I was sentenced to my room. At first by my parents, because although they don’t blame me for the accident, I was “irresponsible and should’ve had a closer eye watching,” which resulted in a short grounding. That punishment ended a few days ago. Now, my own subconscious kept me inside my four walls. 

Don’t lecture me about closure and moving on, yadayadayada. Yeah, yeah, I know. I still can’t escape the essence of guilt that’s decided to live in me. I want to gain closure, and my parents have told me that Lionel’s family is open to a discussion, but I can’t bring myself to leave my room. And I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried to convince myself that it’s ok. The voice in my head won’t retire its role. Escape is inevitable, but if I get to harbor in my room, the trade off isn’t horrible. 

/

Someone should tell me more often to not believe myself so strongly. Dad dragged me out of the house this morning to go grocery shopping. He called it father daughter bonding time. I smiled weakly at him, knowing he knows I called his bluff. I mean, I haven’t been attempting to hide my cave-like behaviors from my family. I get it that he knows what I’m doing. I get that he wants to help. 

We left our sweet, cozy home and walked into the gusty January street. Dad started talking about my uncle and how he just got engaged. I nodded along, but kept my eyes down to the sidewalk. I reaaaaally didn’t feel like being outside, especially with the park looming closely. We kept walking, and I noticed my dad stopped chattering. I looked at him, and he looked back and smiled a little smile. 

“Ell, you do know it’s not your fault,” he said, looking right into my eyes. 

I returned his gaze, and for the sake of my kind old dad, I responded.

“Thank you. I know.” Do I? 

He grinned, happy that he got words out of me. Dad then started humming our song. “Higher and Higher,” Eddie Money. It became our thing after he bought a record player and started bringing out his and Mom’s vinyls. He’d play Eddie Money every morning, and this song quickly became ours. I swear, my dad is an evil genius or something. How did he know that one tune would make me giggle?

“Alrighty, Ell. I see that you’re back to your old ways. Chop chop!” He laughed. 

“Spare me, Dad! It’s been a little bit since I’ve left the house,” I shot back jokingly.

We made our way to the co-op that my parents are members of, and the warm air blasted into my face. This was a place that I had ambivalent feelings about. Its location of an old horse stable attracted me, with its brick walls and large floor plan. However, every other family in the neighborhood is a member as well. The general population knows my dad somehow, and I was not in the mood for doing the whole “Wow, you’ve gotten so tall! How’s school? What sports are you playing?” Routine that greets me way too often. It was inevitable, though. Who was I kidding?

We wandered around the close-quartered aisles for a while in a pointless fashion. Another quirk about shopping with Dad: a reliable grocery list is far out of reality. At this point, we’d already encountered a couple of friends, and my cheeks still burned a fiery red. I really was not prepared to talk to people again. But of course I plastered an ingenuine smile and answered every question. It kind of irked me how happy these people were. I mean, of course everyone deserves a happy life, but they hadn’t experienced what I’ve had to. They carried on their days oblivious to the terrifying events I’ve been in. Frankly, it kind of sucks. I made it through, though, and somehow we made it to the checkout without any more interactions with grinning adults. To make up for being grumpy while we walked here, I asked my dad about his brother and his fiancée. He began talking about how he thought they rushed into it too fast, and really, I tried to pay attention. But the store was increasingly stuffy and I was paranoid of more intercepting conversation that became obstacles in my straightforward plan to get back home. So I ended up not listening. However, in my daze, a bright yellow flyer caught my eye, positioned on the community billboard above the cashier’s head. Words like “fairy lights” and “sponge cake” and “silver chairs” floated into my head, but I focused on the poster. It read “Death of a loved one? Hard time coping? Come to our weekly meetings at the 58th Street Public Library for a safe space to talk! Free to the public, all ages welcome!” I scoffed, and my dad turned to look at me as he pulled bills out of his wallet. 

“So you agree that the lace placemats are ludicrous?” he asked.

“What?” I exclaimed, suddenly jolted out of my trance.

“Lace placemats are unoriginal and tacky, don’t you think?” he repeated. 

“Oh! Oh, yes, yes, duh,” I said. 

Sometimes I don’t understand my dad. But that wasn’t on my mind as he handed me tote bags filled with groceries. The neon flyer was swirling around in my head. I find it hard to believe that anyone else in New York has witnessed a kid have blood pouring out of his head. Whatever. The sessions were probably filled with creeps. Not my scene whatsoever. 

/

Eventually, winter break ended. School was gearing up again. Jack and I went to a K-8 private school on 60th and Third Avenue, and in 6 hours I would be arriving at the front doors at 8:00 am. Guess who still didn’t feel like socializing? You’ve got it right, no doubt. I stared at my ceiling for hours, thinking of scenarios that could happen tomorrow in class. I could be pegged as the murder accomplice, or the pyschopath, or the- I don’t know. But I’m positive that I’ll be outcasted almost immediately. 

I spent the rest of my night thinking and tossing and turning. The terrible Ts. I spent most of my night on my bed, either lying down or sitting up. Whatever it was, I was quiet. 

I walked through the glass revolving doors of the Lincoln School at eight o’clock on the dot the next day. I felt a little better after I thought a ton last night. I didn’t make much progress, but something is better than nothing. I walked into my first period English class, head held up in the most everyday way. My gaze was met by the sympathetic eyes of my friends Georgia and Marley. I returned the gesture with a cocked head and I sat down next to Georgia. 

“Hi?” I said, unzipping my bag.

“Hey, Ellie,” they sung in a pitiful croon.

“How was your break, guys?” I asked neutrally, flipping open my book. Not only are they dramatic, but also tragically transparent. 

They stared at me through doe eyes. After some awkward silence, Marley nudged Georgia’s arm. 

“Stage one, I bet,” he whispered to her, maintaining sad and very weird eye contact with me. 

Georgia nodded, and pulled a pencil out and started drawing a tic-tac-toe grid in her notebook. That invited a wonderful quiet for a few minutes. 

“Wait, what?” Georgia said out of nowhere, dropping her pencil. 

“Oh my god, could you be any more obvious?!” Marley screeched, snapping his body to face her.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t so vague about stages or whatever!” she retorted, her pale cheeks flushing. 

I interjected before any fights could start. 

“Mar, chill. Georgia, he’s doing a terrible job of saying I’m in stage one of five of grief: denial,” I explained, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, ok. Well, he’s right then,” she responded, satisfied. 

“Thank you. And, Ell, you know that we’re, you know, here for you. That stuff,” Marley said in the most serious way I’ve ever heard. Georgia nodded.

“Thanks. I’m fine, though. Nothing along the lines of denial. Really,” I promised. Don’t get me wrong, I love these two to the ends of the world. But I don’t really think they’re going to be much help, and I don’t really want pity. I don’t really deserve it. 

They simultaneously scoffed. 

“I don’t believe that at all. For real, there’s nothing that you can talk to us about?” Marley pressed on, clasping his hands together. Luckily, Mr. Riley strutted in.

“Morning, class! Hope you’ve quickly transitioned back into the classroom, because we’re starting a new unit!” Mr. Riley announced as he picked up a piece of chalk and set down his messenger bag.

“For Pete’s sake,” Georgia grumbled. “Let us breathe!” 

It was reassuring to see her slide back into her cynical self. 

Mr. Riley ignored her remark. He scribbled the word “pajamas” on the black slate, and turned around to survey the class. “Well?” he prompted.

“TJ Maxx!” yelled out Charlie, a kid sitting in the back of the room. Mr. Riley clasped his hands. 

“Comedy gold there, Char. Any other contenders?” he asked with a grin.

I tentatively raised my hand. Mr Riley nodded, and Marley shook his head. “Denial!” he whisper screamed accusingly, leaning halfway onto my desk. 

“Comfort?” I suggested. Mr. Riley smiled.

“Good, good! Let’s get the ball rolling,” he exclaimed, writing the word “comfort” below “pajamas.” After a couple minutes, the board was filled with words like “childhood” and “warmth.”

“You guys are hitting the nail on the head! Good work. Now, I’ll tell you what I mean by pajamas,” he cheered.

“The Boy in the Striped Pajamas” was scrawled on the board, and Mr. Riley twirled around. 

Marley raised his hand confidently. “Isn’t this the book about a Nazi kid who becomes besties with a Jew in a concentration camp?”

Mr. Riley nodded. “Pretty much sums it up. With Marley’s summary, what initial thoughts do you have about the book? The central themes, characters?” 

I glanced around the room. I saw some palms go up, and I heard mentions of death. Snippets of pain, sentiment, innocence. I really wish I could get over myself, but – I felt tears pool in my eyes. I hung my head down, and I felt a kid named Matt who sits at the desk next to me poking my shoulder. “You good?” 

I turn to look at him. At that point, all I could think about was why do people ask that stupid question. My lip quivered and I snatched the hall pass. The distance between room 203 and the bathroom has never seemed longer. I shuddered as I slumped against a stall wall in the bathroom. I hugged my knees and sobbed. Minutes, or centuries, pass by as numb thoughts bounce around my brain. I finally heard a heavenly knock at the door. “Ellie?” Mr. Riley’s familiar voice echoed in the tiled room. 

“That’s me,” I respond. 

“Nice one. I know this is kind of a dumb question, but, uh, are you okay?” he asked softly.

I laughed as I stood up. “Sure.” I stared at the black and white speckled wall. 

“Hey, why don’t you come out of that stall?” he suggested. “I can’t really come in there, right?”

I walked out of the pale blue room and kept my head low as I greeted him quietly. 

“Why’d you run out? What happened?” He asked, looking down at me. 

“Can we sit?” I interjected. 

“Yeah, why not,” he agrees. We take a seat, side by side against the lockers. 

“Mr Riley, do-did you know Lionel, in fifth grade?” I start bluntly.

“Oh. Yeah. Is this what is, uh, affecting you?” He said back.

“To put it lightly, sure,” I sneer. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I get it. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you know about it? Or, rather, Lionel?”

“He was a friend of my little brother’s, and um, I was babysitting them, I guess? I mean, not technically, but. Yeah, I was,” I explained in one breath. I heaved a heavy sigh and turned to Mr Riley. He nodded, but didn’t open his mouth and didn’t turn to look at me.

“It was gruesome. Seriously. And I know I didn’t, well, kill him, but I feel like I played a bit too much of a role in his death. And it hurts. So damn bad. I wish I could go back in time,” I continue. Now, Mr Riley turned his head. 

“I don’t talk about this much,” he began, fiddling with the gold band on his ring finger. I instantly get the message. “But a couple years-3 years back,” he went on. “My beautifully perfect wife, Jessie, died in a car crash. She was heading home from her job at a newspaper outlet, doing her dream job. And uh, I was home, making dinner, and then the police showed up on my stoop. Worst day of my life by far.”

A tingling shoots up my spine. I meet his eye. 

“Whoa. That is awful, Mr Riley. I’m really sorry,” I say back, without realizing my hypocrisy in saying that apologetic phrase. In a filing cabinet in the corner of my mind, I have all the memories of people offering a plain “sorry.”

“I just want you to know that I understand how you feel. It’s hard. It is, but you’re not the only one out there who deals with it. I say that because I need you to know I’m here for you,” he concluded.

“Thank you. That means a lot. I’m not anywhere close to being ok about all of this, but I’d like to know how you dealt with…it,” I asked. 

“Loaded question, ha! It took a whole lot. Time, really. But I channeled my depressed energy into things I loved. My friends and family, books, teaching. Things that I had still, and things that made life worth it. It took a hell of a time, don’t be fooled,” Mr Riley replied. “Should we head back to class? I have a strong feeling this book could be a lot of help. Yeah?” He stood up, and reached out a hand. I took it. 

/

It’s May now. My class finished The Boy in the Striped Pajamas weeks and weeks ago, but I think this is my sixth cycle through it. I ended up using Mr Siney’s advice. To focus on the good in my life. That meant seeing an Eddie Money concert with my dad, and baking with my brother and my mom every Sunday afternoon. I created a PTSD/safe space club with Marley and Georgia, and Mr. Riley eagerly offered to be the club’s advisor. I started helping out at the garden at the park across the street and started walking my neighbor’s dog around the large perimeter of the park. 

And to explain my passion for my new favorite book: the book is about the innocence and boundless passion kids have, and who they are superficially doesn’t matter to their friends. I feel like Lionel seamlessly expressed that claim, that he loved my brother and loved life. The book has nestled into a meaningful place in my life, and time and again will I open its front cover, where I wrote a dedication to Lionel and my loved ones. The duration of this spring has educated me on the values of life, the values of love, and the values of strength. Oh, and I painted my bedroom door cherry red and planted Calypso tulips in my backyard.

The Beast

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


The Monster

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The Fair Princess

Once, there was a fair princess. People whispered about her, and sang songs in her honor and named their firstborn daughters and sons after her. She was the ruler– of what?

“I was never told, Mama, of what, of what?”

“Sssh, Lucy, you only need to know that she was the ruler. She was lovely and special and important and she was ours.” 

Once, there was a fair princess. They say that when her feet touched the sand, vines grew. They say that she loved her kingdom with the love of a parent for their children. They say she would have died for us. She was never lonely. She had us. We had her.

“But she must have gotten lonely, right Papa?” Lucy inquired, muddy face beaming earnestly up at her father. “I’d get lonely, all alone like she was…” At this, her older brother interjected, face growing red.

“You must never say that, child!” Her older brother admonished, glaring at her, “No, she did not get lonely. She lived in a palace made of diamonds and glass and she was never, never wanting for anything else.” Lucy whimpered.

“Didn’t she have emeralds?” A mud-splattered girl had wandered over. She was a few moons older than Lucy and had recently gone to see the Princess. Jealousy burned in Lucy’s heart– she wanted to see the Princess too.

“No, she did not have emeralds– she would never wear anything so vulgar!” Lucy’s mother snapped, glaring at the girl. “She wore robes of the finest blue. Almost the color of the ocean. I can still see it today…” And she trailed off, lost in her memories of the fair Princess.

Once there was a fair princess, and she issued a decree: when each child turned twelve, they would go and have an audience with the fair Princess. After all, she wanted to know more about her people. And when a child had reached twelve moons, they were deemed suitable to go and see the fair Princess.

“Don’t worry,” her Papa told her, stroking her dusty hair with his calloused hand. “Soon, you will see the fair Princess; in one hour, she will change your life, Lucy. You will love her like we do.”  Lucy looked around. All of the townsfolk were smiling, remembering their time with her.

Even though they wore nothing other than rags, even though children died every year of the Black Plague that brought families to their knees, the fair Princess could make everything alright with a simple smile. They never needed to worry, her parents told Lucy. They had the fair Princess. 

“What if she leaves?” Lucy had asked once, when she was still a tyke and did not know any better. “What if the fair Princess leaves?” This had resulted in a stinging slap from some of the other tykes, and soon they had jumped on her, punching and kicking. If her mother had not happened to have come by and seen the scrum, or heard the cries of “Shame! Shame! Shame!” from the village elders, her youngest would have easily been killed. Later, she had learned that it was considered sacrilege to insult the Princess in any way. Lucy didn’t, and still didn’t, understand why, but the memory of being turned on by the other tykes was more than enough to keep her from doing it again. She shifted on the hard ground as an ugly scene of five moons ago came to her mind. 

Five moons ago:

“Once there was a Princess! A fair one! And she was lonely!” A wild-eyed young woman stood in the middle of the square, shouting lies– or so Lucy had thought. Her father clamped his hands over her ears– her mother got up and started toward the young woman, looking worried. People crept from their cottages and stared, some calling for the Guard. “She was lonely because you bastards”– and here she used a very rude word, one that Lucy hadn’t heard before and didn’t care to hear again– “drained the flipping life from her! You let her die! You took and took and took and even when she had nothing to give!” The color drained from the faces of the townspeople. But then, before Lucy could consider what this stranger was screaming about, they heard the pounding of horse hooves. The Guard had arrived, splendid in gold and red. The woman had stopped yelling. Instead, she turned to face them and very quietly said: “I’m right. And you know it. And soon everyone will know it, and it will be your fault.”  

Lucy’s parents grabbed her and hustled her away, just as a high-pitched scream echoed through the air. She turned toward the square, and the young woman was lying on her side, dark hair spread out across the ground and blood leaking from her body. Lucy screamed. 

“Papa, what did they do to her? What did they do?” She was shaking, eyes tightly shut. She could still see that pool of blood in her mind’s eye, growing larger.

Her father’s hands were trembling as they walked past the Guard. “Nothing, Lucy, nothing, she’s just sleeping, she’s fine.”

As they walked past the horsemen, a Guard reached out and grabbed Lucy’s arm. Not hard, but enough to make her flinch. She showed off her yellow teeth as she grinned at the terrified girl. “Don’t worry, little one; the Princess will wake her up.”

Lucy felt puzzled. Why had she thought of that now? It was only a memory. And the Princess had woken the woman up, The Guard had taken the sleeping stranger to the castle, and the Princess had healed her– no, had woken her up. The woman hadn’t been hurt. She hadn’t needed to be healed. Still, something pulled at the back of her mind. If that stranger was asleep, then why didn’t she wake up quicker? Didn’t she scream? With a shrug, she pushed those disturbing thoughts away. 

“Lucy! Lucy, where are you?” her brother called, glancing around. “Come child, in one hour you will meet the fair Princess–we need to get you ready!” Lucy got up, covered in red dust, and slowly began to make her way towards her cottage, glancing back at the town square. It smelled of blood.

“Now, Lucy, what do we say when we meet the fair Princess?” Her mother quizzed her as her father pulled a brush through her hair. It was customary for villagers to look their best when meeting the fair Princess, and that included brushing, bathing, and smiling. Lucy currently wore the finest red frock that her family owned. However, it had rather inconvenient holes at the knees; she hoped the Princess wouldn’t notice.

Absentmindedly, she responded. “O fair Princess, I kneel before you in all of your glory. Tell me your tale. I will listen.”

“Very good!” her father praised, now rummaging with something in a small velvet bag. “This is for you, Lucy.” He pulled a golden chain from the bag, holding it up to catch the light. “My father gave it to me when I went to go greet the fair Princess, and his mother gave it to him, and so on and so forth.”

Lucy’s jaw fell open. “But why didn’t you give it to Elder Brother? He’s older than me…” Her voice trailed off as he placed the chain around her neck.

“Ah, well, trinkets like these are for ones who deserve it…” she waited for him to continue, but he did not, instead calling her mother and brother forth to look. “Come, you two! Doesn’t she look ready?” 

“You look lovely,” Elder Brother said, but there was a hint of jealousy in his eyes, and he looked away quickly. “I especially like that chain.” She felt suddenly nervous, but did not know why.

“Are you ready?” her mother questioned, moving some of her daughter’s hair out of her face. “I’m happy for you. Meeting the fair Princess will… you will love her. And Eldest Son is right; that chain looks very fetching on you, child.”

“The carriage is here!” Elder Brother was standing by the window, staring out at the red and gold carriage. Two women jumped down and began walking toward the house. “This is it,” he breathed, turning to look at Lucy. “Ready?”

Lucy could not respond, so she simply nodded, eyes wide. “Thank… thank you,” she stuttered, looking around the room. “I…”

Three harsh knocks on the door cut her off. “We are here for the child,” someone called through the door. Suddenly, Lucy’s brother swept her up in a sudden, fierce hug.

“Put me down!” she protested, struggling.

“Don’t look at her face,” he hissed in her ear, so quietly that she barely heard him. And all of a sudden, Lucy’s family was all grins and nods and bows as the Guard walked in, questioning them about her. 

“Is this really the girl? She looks small for her age,” one Guardswoman said, glancing over at Lucy.

“She has always been small, Your Grace,” Lucy’s father put in. “Her brother was small too, if you remember.”

The Guardswoman glared. “Oh yes. Do I ever remember. Hopefully this one will be a little more… compliant.”

“She will, Your Grace,” her mother said, lightly pushing Lucy towards the Guardswomen. Then, turning to Lucy, with a sudden urgency in her voice. “Do exactly as they tell you, and everything will be all right.”

“Hold out your hands, love,” a Guardswoman said, kneeling next to the girl. “This part will be a little… unpleasant, but I promise it won’t hurt for long.” Lucy trembled, but did so. She watched as they wrapped iron chains around both wrists, giving her no room to lift her hands and chafing terribly.

“Chains?” Elder Brother put in, a look of horror on his face. “She is only twelve moons…” His voice trailed off as all of the Guardswomen turned to look at him. 

“Be silent,” the first one spat, towering over him. “Or it’ll be more than just your brat of a sister chained, and, trust me, you won’t be going to visit the fair Princess.” He shrank back against the moldering wall, and she turned to the others. “Get her in the carriage. Now. We’ve wasted too much time on these rats posing for people.”

Two Guardswomen grabbed Lucy by the arms and forcefully lifted her. She didn’t struggle. They sat her down, not removing the chains, and tied another one across her lap. She peeked out the window and saw that half of the town had come out, and that they all wore the same expressions– not ones of pride or joy, but absolute, destroyed horror. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, and she did not know why. Looking down at the chains that bound her hands, she noted that there were red stains on them, and that her wrists were bleeding as well. A Guardswoman glanced back at her.

“Don’t worry, dear. You’re lucky you’re wearing a red frock– no blood will show.” Lucy bent her head. 

“Thank you, your Grace. You and the fair Princess always know what is best for me.”

The Guardswoman chuckled softly, leaning back against the plush, red leather seat. “Good girl.”

Once, there was a fair Princess. And each year, she summoned children to her castle to meet her. And each year, those children returned, talking about the fair Princess– how good and kind and lovely she was. But one day, a boy did not. He disrespected the throne. He was punished. Hopefully, his sister will be better. We have waited a long time for a girl like her.

Lucy did not know how long it had been since she had been shoved into the carriage. The sky was darkening, and she was so thirsty. She sat uncomfortably on the seats, whole body bouncing each time the carriage bumped. Over a pothole, she assumed. The carriage stopped, and she was suddenly thrown forward, painfully, the chain around her waist pulling her back.

“Get up.” She did, knees and wrists bleeding. A Guardswoman leaned over to unbuckle the chain from around her waist, and half nudged, half pushed her out of the carriage. She stood, looking around herself. About twenty Guardswomen ringed her, all with the same expressions of disdain. And… arrows. They had arrows. A memory pierced Lucy’s mind– of the young woman lying on her back, eyes empty and blank. They killed her. They killed her! They lied, they lied! She gagged.

“Are we sure this is the girl? She’s awfully…” 

“This is the girl. I’ll have no arguments about it. We’ve waited a long time for a street rat like her.”  Lucy curled her lip at the now all-too-familiar insult, but said nothing. The Guardswoman who had threatened her brother walked up, inspecting Lucy. “Move, you little urchin. The fair Princess don’t have all day and neither do I.”

Lucy stumbled forward, biting her lip. I will not cry. I will not let them get the satisfaction of seeing me cry. She lifted her chin, looking at all of them. “Where am I to go exactly? Will the fair Princess come to get me, may her name be praised evermore?”

“No, you hedge-born idiot,” the Guardswoman jeered, raising one arm to point at the drawbridge that loomed behind them. “You are to go there. You are to talk to the fair Princess. You are not to run away. Do as we tell you.”

The drawbridge was dark and ominous– dark water moved slowly under it, as small silver fish flopped belly-up, eyes blank. The Guardswomen shuffled behind her, occasionally kicking her shins to try to make her walk at a faster rate. As they entered the castle, shadows loomed and rats scurried across the floor, picking at the overturned plates of food. The floor was sticky– with what? She didn’t know. 

“Walk down that hallway and knock on the door.” The Guardswoman pointed down a long dark hallway, the gold braid on her uniform gleaming amid the disrepair. What do you get out of this? Lucy wondered, staring up at her strangely blank face. What do you want from me? I don’t have anything to give! Leaning towards her, the Guardswoman unhooked the chains on her wrists.

“Move. Are you deaf?” She did, starting to walk toward the tunnel. As she turned back, the Guardswomen were gone, swallowed up by the darkness. She fought the urge to run. I will not die here today. I swear on every god I know that I will not die here today. As she turned on her heel, the chain around her neck became warm and began to glow faintly. She didn’t notice.

Once, there was a fair Princess. And she was loved by everyone– by her people, who taught their children how to look up to her and adore her, and who taught their children’s children. But the fair Princess was lonely. She did not want to be loved anymore. Children loved her, and she could talk to them, and feel less lonely for a time. But then… one night she left. Her people could do without her, she thought. She would go somewhere where she could be… herself. And not the fair Princess.

Oh, how wrong she was. The same night, the same night that she ran, they caught her. She protested. She would not, she could not stay, she had nothing left to give. So– they killed her, saying that if in life she could not stay, then in death she would. 

They bound her spirit to them. And she searched for the girl or boy who would free her at long last, who would let her go from her decaying body. They had always brought her girls and boys, but the girls and boys all loved her, and could not or would not help her. There had been a boy. Once. But he had been taken by the Guardswomen before he could free her. And as her body mouldered, her kingdom fell into disrepair. The girl is my last hope. I need her. 

Lucy leaned forward and knocked on the door. It was a large, slime-covered door, but no one answered. With a huff, she leaned forward and opened it. Her first thought was that the drapes needed to be opened; the room was much, much too dark. She took a step into the room, noting that jewels littered the floor. A massive gold throne was in the middle with something or someone on it.

“O fair Princess?” she called, taking a step closer to the throne. “I have come. Tell me your tale.” The room was oppressively silent. What should I do? As lightly as a rabbit, she bounded to the throne and leaned over the fair Princess. She bit back a horrified scream, reeling away. Because the Princess was a skeleton. She was dressed in a tattered, blue gown that had what looked like bloodstains on it. Golden chains bound her hands and knees, and a circlet hung off her head. Her body had been entirely stripped of flesh. Lucy had never wanted to run more than she did in that moment. 

“Help me,” a voice rasped as Lucy turned for the door. “Please. Help me.” Although the fair Princess’s mouth did not move, Lucy knew that it was her voice, which was strangely comforting. Almost like her father’s, when he prepared to tell her a story. So Lucy did not run. Instead she walked toward the throne and placed her hand on the fair Princess’s forehead, almost as if to check for a fever.

“…You asked my brother to help you, didn’t you?” she whispered, strangely not feeling frightened. 

“Yes. And he would have. But the Guard took him away, and I have been trapped here for two agonizing years until you came.” Lucy nodded. That was just like Eldest Brother; always trying to help.

“I… I don’t know what I can do,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off the fair Princess. “I don’t know if I can help you.”

The fair Princess seemed to raise a skeletal hand to point at Lucy’s neck, where the golden chain had suddenly gotten much, much warmer. “Yes. You do, lass. Like father, like daughter, I see.” Lucy blinked.

“You want this? It’s just a useless trinket…” The chain was now burning her neck and she tugged at it fruitlessly, pain mingling with surprise.

“Would it be burning like that if it was useless? Nothing is useless, lass.” The fair Princess straightened suddenly, eyes on the door.

“Girl!” The voices of the Guardwomen could suddenly be heard, along with the clomping of their heavy boots. “Girl!”

Make haste, Lucy!” the fair Princess spat, watching Lucy struggle with the chain. Lucy tugged at it harder, and it slipped off her neck, glowing gently in her hand.

The door burst open. Several very angry-looking Guardswomen stood in the door, gaping first at Lucy, who clutched the chain tighter, and then at the fair Princess, who had pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Put the chain down,” one spat, taking a step toward her. “Put it down. Now.” In one quick movement, Lucy swung the chain around the fair Princess’s neck. The biggest of them started toward her. And from that moment on, Lucy remembered

                                            Nothing. 

Lucy got up. Her dress was soaked in blood and she hoped it wasn’t hers. She turned to look at the throne from where she’d been bodily thrown across the room. There was no-one on it, only the golden chains trailing off of it.

“O fair Princess?” she whispered, limping across the room as agony stabbed through her leg. “Reveal yourself?” No answer. A hand touched her shoulder, and she flinched, whipping around. The fair Princess was standing next to her, no longer a skeleton. She was every bit as lovely as she had been before.

“Lucy.” Lucy blinked at her, noticing for the first time that the Princess appeared to be melting away, into the sunbeam that she stood in. She smiled at Lucy kindly, draping something around her neck. “Thank you.” 

“Where– the Guardswomen?” Lucy’s hand went to her chain again. 

“Gone. Go home, lass. I never got to.”

Lucy dipped her head. “Where will you go?” 

The fair Princess’s shoulders shook for a moment before she grinned at Lucy, responding. “Wherever I please.”

Once, there was a fair Princess. And she was lonely. But her kingdom could not bear to let her go, so they bound her to an iron throne. And she waited for over one hundred moons. One moon, the right girl came; and this girl was steadfast and true, and this girl freed her. And the fair Princess was no longer lonely. Eventually, the right girl led us into prosperity, and she told us the story of the fair Princess, and that she was lonely. And so we will tell the story of Lucy, our flawed girl and queen to our children. And they will tell it to their children’s children. This is the way it has always been and the way it will always be.


Art School

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My sunset appears to darken, feeling pity for what I’ve been through. That’s when it decides to give me an idea. “What if,” it begins, “I can help you be happy in school?”

What? Happy? In school? This doesn’t make sense! How can I be happy when I’ve got so much happening in my life?

“I know. This sounds really weird. But you’re happy with me, right? What if you bring that happiness into your school day? It’s important for the sake of your well-being, Frances. Maybe it can help you with that terrible fear of yours.”

Well, I’ve always wanted to be happy, and my pain has prevented me from doing so. And with happiness comes peace, too, doesn’t it?

Wait a minute, no. What am I thinking? There’s no way I can be happy in school! I’ve got tests and essays and other things going on in my life! There’s so many things to do and so little time to do it! 

“No. No,” I say. “It’ll never work. I’m scared almost every day to the point where I can’t think straight! I can never be happy!”

“Don’t fall for the negativity, Frances! That’s what anxiety does to you! But if you’re positive, it can benefit you exponentially!”

I can feel my sunset reaching for my hand, trying for my trust. “I don’t know, Sweet Sunset,” I mumble. “It might never work.”

“Just believe me, Frances,” my sunset responds. “Let’s just try it. It could work.”

I sit and think for a while. Well, I have been doing well so far this year, and it’s only September. And I do want to be happy. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

I tell my sunset of my approval for the plan. It lights up in a neon rainbow and reassures me once again that everything will go well. 

***

I begin my Monday morning rising from my bed, letting the warm sunshine sprinkle onto my face. “Good morning, beautiful sun,” I whisper. “Thank you for making such a gorgeous day.”

I get dressed, fix my hair and brush my teeth with beams of light shining in my brain, further telling me that this day will be absolutely great. And who knows? Maybe this will be a great day! I’ll ace that physics test and continue to bring my can-do attitude throughout the rest of this year!

I continue on through the yellow brick road of felicity as I eat my breakfast and hug my mother goodbye (she looks really surprised with my new disposition) as I grab my backpack and head out the door, greeting the day with a radiant smile that shines onto the whole world.

I skip to my bus stop in glee, where other kids just look at me and then move on with their lives. I don’t really care, though, as I wasn’t always the popular kid. In fact, I’m glad I’m not the popular kid, because I don’t want all my classmates to see me fall apart—

(Frances. You’re supposed to be positive here. Just calm down. Look! The bus is here!)

Once the doors to the bright yellow vehicle open, I’m the first one to head on and quietly say good morning to the driver before sitting in my seat. While we head on our way to school, I try my very best to ignore the screaming and the chitter-chatter that normally pierces my brain. Then I look at the sky, which looks exactly like my beloved drawing, bringing me to a state of serenity. “Thank you,” I tell it.

***

I walk into class like I’m a physics major, ready to put my pencil onto the test and write down everything from my brain. Nothing much happens during these five minutes as I sit down and breathe, except Kelsey from nearby asks me for a pencil, which I give to her.

And then the big moment happens. Mrs. Shaw begins to hand out the test to every kid in the classroom. I sit up straight in my desk, reassuring myself that I studied basically day and night for this, so what could go wrong?

Before I realize it, it is my turn to get the test. I write my name in my typical curlicue handwriting and head straight for the questions. 

The first portion of the test is a fill in the blank. My mind suddenly freezes at the very first question. “When the mass of an object doubles, the kinetic energy also…”

What in the world is the answer? Does it double? Triple?

I tell myself to calm down and let my brain come up with the answer. I eventually realize that kinetic energy doubles and bubble in the answer.

Then the next question asks me what happens to kinetic energy as an object goes up a hill. Doesn’t it increase since the object needs more energy to go up? No, no, no!

(Frances, just skip it and come back.)

But then the third question is even worse. “Although kinetic energy has been known to exist before 1849, who first came up with the actual term?”

No. No. No. 

Kelvin? Newton? Darwin? (Wait, Darwin wasn’t a physicist!)

And suddenly, the hurried breathing comes back. This—this—this doesn’t make sense! I studied so much! Why is this happening to me? I’m supposed to be acing this! 

My mind starts running in circles, and it takes only seconds before it struggles to breathe, too. And then Mrs. Shaw sees that something is obviously wrong with me and walks over to my seat.

No. No one can see me like this. Absolutely no one.

“Frances?” Mrs. Shaw asks soothingly. “Are you okay? Why don’t you take a quick breather and come back?”

I don’t respond with a single word. I slowly rise from my seat and walk out the classroom door. I sit against the wall and breathe heavily, hot tears ready to fall out of my eyes. 

“Why now?” I mumble. “I’m supposed to be okay. This happiness thing is all a big lie.”

I feel just at the peak of crying, yet I remind myself not to because that will only get in the way of my success (Will I be successful?). Once I calm myself down, I head back into class to continue the test. 

But things don’t continue as swimmingly as I wanted them to be. Each question is only a jumbled mystery in my brain that I can’t unravel, and although I try my hardest to answer them, I can see my success on this test ready to collapse.

Right as the bell rings, I hand in my poorly done assessment. I walk out of class wishing I didn’t have to go to English, even though it’s one of my favorites. The hallways and the kids around me are all nothing but a sea of blacks and grays, and all I want right now is to run outside and just ignore everything around me. 

***

It is 3:15 when I storm through the front door, completely ignoring my chef mother who’s making snacks in the kitchen. “Hey, sweetie!” she calls enthusiastically. “How’d it go?”

I don’t want to talk to her. Not now, not ever. I just can’t bear to remember the failure I was today, sitting at my desk barely unable to come up with a good answer.

I race up the stairs to my room, where I flop onto my bed and sob so harshly that the sunshine outside my window can’t bring me out of my despair. 

Can I drop out of school? I don’t want to go back there ever again! Heck, can I stay in my own house forever? Or maybe I can run away into the woods and live amongst the creatures so that I don’t have to encounter this evil world. Maybe—maybe—

I can’t. Stop. Breathing. That’s when the screams, the headaches, and the nausea come. I spin around in circles which leaves my head in a frenzy. No. No. I’ll never graduate. NEVER.

And then without thinking, I head to my desk.

Failure.

I stare at my wondrous friend, Sweet Sunset, who tells me to not fret and that he’ll come help me.

You’ll never be happy. Not in school, not EVER.

Maybe my brain is right. Nothing will make me happy. After all, everything is changing. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m sixteen years old and am two years away from graduating high school and heading off into the real, terrifying world. If I ever graduate.

I give up. I can’t do this no longer.

Do it, Frances. Do it.

I pick up my sunset from my desk. “You idiot!” I sob. “You never did anything for me! Look at me! I’m a mess! I’M A MIGHTY AWFUL MESS, LET ME TELL YOU!”

I hear footsteps racing through the hall, and I bet that it’s my mom. But before she or anyone can stop me…

I begin to tear my creation apart. I rip it into shreds, little bits of ugly snowflakes hastily falling to the ground.

My mom races through the door and yells at me to stop. “No! No!” I yell back. “I’m a mess! I’m a mess!”

And then before I know it, all the snow is laying on my bedroom floor, every pink and blue hue a sad nothing. 

I stand there, shocked and horrified at what I’ve done. Me, a messy, broken failure. I can barely do anything but stare at my bedroom clock. It’s 3:18. How could something so terrible happen in such a short time?

My mom wraps me in a hug and tells me that everything’s okay. But it’s not. 

The regret seeps into me, black tar trying desperately to poison my body. And it works. I feel so much shame, so many terrible feelings. 

What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?

***

Almost every single person I know waits anxiously until Friday, when they can choose whether or not to study that day (most likely the latter) and just be a teenager again. Not me, or at least throughout this week. I can’t help but look out at the sky and remember what a horrible fool I am for the mess I made that terrible Monday. Every class and every lunch period involves me sitting in my seat, my eyes staring at a bottomless nothing as the world flies by without me. And whenever I do have time, I hide in the bathroom stall and sink my head down, my heavy brain letting the tears flow until my eyes become a sorrowful, gloomy desert.

Today is the day everyone was waiting for, but I don’t care. I’m sitting alone as I normally do at my typical lunch table when I hear footsteps around me. “Hey, Frances.” 

It’s Kelsey. Oh God. I can’t have her see me like this.

“You okay? Can I sit with you?”

I can’t bear having Kelsey’s kindness bear down on me when I’m such an awful mess. I reply sharply, “Leave me alone.”

Kelsey doesn’t budge. She sits right down anyway, putting her loving hand on top of my shoulder. “You sure? You seem really depressed.”

That’s it. I had enough. 

I throw Kelsey’s hand off my shoulder like it’s a cloth toy and look at her straight in the eye with a face just like the devil. “CAN’T YOU SEE, KELSEY?!” I scream. “I’M A MESS! A HORRIBLE MESS! CAN’T YOU JUST RESPECT THAT?!”

Kelsey appears stunned by my sudden meltdown. “You’re right,” she whimpers. “I’m sorry.” As she stands up to leave, a salty sea of tears begin to form in her eyes.

But just when I’m finally alone again, even more footsteps begin to come up behind me. “Frances? You want to talk?”

That voice sounds so familiar, yet it’s a voice I really don’t want to hear. I turn around and see our school counselor, Mrs. Pugh. But why do I need to talk? All I want is to be alone! Why doesn’t anyone get that?

“I don’t want to,” I reply stiffly.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure Kelsey felt bad by what you said. Maybe we can talk about how you feel.”

“Why do I need to talk about how I feel? She didn’t get that I had to be alone! I had to tell her! I’m a sick monster, after all!”

“Well, whenever you’re ready, my door’s always open. Just try to think about your actions for a bit.”

And once again, I’m finally alone. Thank God for that, because I don’t need help from anybody! Not Mrs. Pugh, not Kelsey, NOBODY! They can’t help me to be okay! I will never be okay! 

After all, if I can’t find happiness, then why do I need help to seek it?

***

It’s already 3:00, and all I want is to sink into my bed and never get up. 

That’s exactly what I do when I sulk up the stairs and into my bedroom. The sunshine is brighter than ever, yet I don’t bother to give a quick hello to it. Then, when I pass by my desk, I notice something recognizable: a pile of my torn-up artwork—my broken regrets—sitting right next to a note from my mom:

Just in case you wanted to keep it. It’s still beautiful to me.

Love you, Frankie girl.

Mom <3

Who cares? It’s nothing but a shredded mess now, so what can I do about it? All my happiness is smaller than a microbe. 

I head over to my bed and hide under the covers, my black and gray world getting even darker. My brain becomes a thirty-five pound weight, and a raincloud of sorrow ties me up like it’s kidnapping me. It hurts so much to even stare at a wall. When the pain becomes too much, I close my eyes.

But just as I am in the midst of my extreme melancholy, I hear a whisper so tiny not even a person with perfect hearing could listen to it. “Frances. Frances…”

I open my eyes at the sudden recognizing of my dead friend. “Sweet Sunset?” I mumble, just at the point of crying. “You’re still alive?”

“Well, not exactly,” my torn-up sunset responds. “But I can still talk to you, which is still really important. But why are you there? What’s wrong?”

And that’s when I lose it, crying without any end in sight. When I do eventually calm down, I tell it all my regrets and all the horrible events that happened to me since then. 

“Poor girl,” says my sunset in a voice with a melancholy almost as big as mine. “I wish you weren’t so miserable. But even though you can’t change the past, you can always make things better in the present. With that in mind, Frances, you can find happiness.”

“What? But how?” I croak, confused by what I just heard. “I’ve tried, and I failed. I’ll just live and die unhappy, I guess.”

“No, you won’t. Come. Get out of bed and walk over to me.”

I do exactly what I am told to do, even though I am 1,000% sure that I probably shouldn’t be listening to my spirit friend. Has he gone mad? I don’t think he even knows what he’s saying! Happiness doesn’t exist for me anymore!

But here I am, at my desk. Here we go…

“So, what do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Take me and go make something beautiful.”

My confusion becomes so big that it squeezes my brain really hard and latches on to it. I’m still pretty sad, and with a heavy brain, how can you make something beautiful? 

But at the same time, some of the depression has dissipated to the point where there’s some space for trying again, so why not?

I pick up two pieces from my beloved sunset, and as my mind spirals with possible ideas, my depression disintegrates even further to the point where it’s basically nothing.

And then, like a miracle happens, I have an idea. 

I search through my closet for empty hangers I don’t need and take a white one. Then I rush over to my art station in the right corner and picked out some yarn, tape, and my pink scissors. There. Now I have everything I need.

I head over to my desk and begin creating. I snip shapes and tape things onto yarn and hang those yarn pieces onto my hanger. I even smile and giggle while I do so (Isn’t that funny?). And then I finally have a yarn-paper waterfall full of yellow-orange suns, pink hearts, and blue moons. I even added some colored ribbon to it, adding a bright rainbow to my glorious creation. 

I hang my piece onto my closet door and step back to look at my work. And to be honest to you, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. It reminds me of a child’s mind, filled with color and life and silly childish nonsense. And then memories of my happy childhood start running up to me and begging for my attention. I used to keep them away, as I wasn’t the happy kid I used to be. But I think now I can let them in my brain, and so I do.

Wow. Why do I feel so…so…happy

My mom opens the door to my room, and I tell her to be careful. “Why so?” she asks.

I point to my beautiful work on the wall. She gasps as if she’s looking at an Alexander Calder piece, only more innocent than innovative. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Frankie girl,” she exclaims, hugging me in an embrace that feels like warm joy. “How were you able to do this?”

“Just…creativity,” I respond. And then I suddenly find myself crying tears of joy. It’s so weird, yet I don’t care. “Momma, I want to be happy.” I whisper. “In fact, I will be happy. I’ll try.”

My mom hugs me even tighter, probably as a thank you for what I just said. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear for years,” she replies.

***

I go to Mrs. Pugh first thing after school Monday. She gives me a warm, loving smile when I go into her office, which welcomes me rather than stabbing me. I sit and talk about all the issues I’ve had ever since the end of eighth grade and how it was wrong for me to scream at Kelsey on Friday. At the end of it all I cry softly to her, “I think I need help.”

Then I sob harder, my regret for hiding my emotions stinging me to the point where I can’t move my body. Mrs. Pugh touches my shoulders and says, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Frances. It must have been so hard for you to talk about your pain, but I’m glad you did. That way I can help you get better.”

Is this what hope looks like? If so, I’m pretty sure I just found it, and I’ve never felt happier.

Mrs. Pugh tells me that she can meet with me Fridays after school from now on, and I happily accept the request. I walk out of her office brighter than I ever felt, hopeful that my terrible emotions can dissipate to a smoky nothingness.

And just as I am about to walk out of school, I see someone familiar by the trophy display: Kelsey. Normally my terrified brain would force me to run out of the building and never look back, but maybe this time I should say something to her. I walk up to her, and when Kelsey turns around and sees me, her face appears stunned at my presence.

“I know, I know,” I begin, “I probably shouldn’t be here right now. But I have to say this. I’m so, so sorry, Kelsey. I really am. Things were going on with me, and that probably made me all stupid. But I would never hurt you, and I feel really bad for that.”

Kelsey gives me the same loving smile she always gives to people like me. “It’s okay,” she replies warmly. “I understand that you may have been having a rough time. But no matter how I feel, I still forgive you. We all have our rough days. Hey, wanna share phone numbers? Maybe we can hang out sometime this weekend!”

Wow. Never in three years has someone been so nice to me like that. It feels so wonderful to be loved. I say yes immediately, and we both decide to meet for smoothies on Sunday.

***

So many beautiful things have happened these past eleven days. I feel my soul being lifted to substantial heights, and believe me, it’s quite a beautiful thing to feel. I’m no longer a bird desperate to hide in its cage, but a bird who’s really to fly in the sky. I don’t know how the rest of junior year will be, but I know for sure that when a challenge comes, I’ll take it on with might rather than hiding in the darkness.

Speaking of sky, I should probably say something to a very special someone for my sunny disposition. As I walk out of school, I can tell that my sunset can hear me loud and clear. 

“Thank you, Sweet Sunset,” I say out loud without a care in the world. “Thank you for teaching me.”

The End 🙂


LA Devotee

A city doesn’t need the sun. Humanity has made so many artificial lights that some might call the one provided by Mother Nature obsolete. Now, the sun gave the living many benefits. But forces were at play all across the world. And beyond. The living were on their way out. A city doesn’t need a sun, and when these forces finally reached their claws up from the mists from which they were concealed, they planned to grab and extinguish the sun. 

                                                                ***

On a dark and stormy night in Hollywood, there was an actor named Billy Hart. He sat in his room and cried, for his dreams were falling apart. He just couldn’t keep a role. No matter how hard he tried, he was fired from every one of them. Did he just suck? Was he really that bad? To make matters worse, he knew that his sponsors wanted results. He got a lot of money from them, and they wanted something in return. Something he couldn’t give. As the clock ticked, ticked, ticked, his dread grew and grew. He supposed there was no reason for them to call, but he knew they would. 

Tick, tick, tick, tick. He wondered what time it was. How long had he just been a miserable mess on the floor? He didn’t know if he wanted a break from all of this by fainting, or for the sun to finally reveal itself. It was a dark and stormy night, and he hated that. He wanted more lights than that from the street and the electric sky. 

Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Billy jerked his head upwards, looking at the most expensive thing he owned in his apartment: a grandfather clock. He bought it just to feel fancy, one of the few times he could afford it. He had a particularly good part then, and as much as he loved that role, the movie went through production hell and never got released. The clock had been a manifestation of failure in his eyes since, and now it had released a new feeling: dread. The pendulum seemed to move to him with every Bong! like a swinging executioner’s axe. This symbol of fatalism seemed to mesmerize Billy, holding him still. He starred in silent terror for what felt like centuries. 

Midnight.

When the clock finished its ghastly wail, there was a moment of silence. Billy let himself breathe for a moment. Then, the phone rang. It was a much quieter sound, a small little dingle-ingle-ing instead of the thunderous Bong!s, yet they too were foreboding. The phone rattled in its receiver, like a small, scared, trapped animal. Or perhaps more like an undead mummy in its tomb. Like one you’d see in the movies, of course. Mummies did not move. 

It continued to rattle and squeal. Billy was terrified of the confrontation that laid on the other end, and it was not one he wanted to embark on. Yet, he could not stop himself. Both hands trembling, he used one hand to pick up the phone and bring it to his ear, and the other to press the button and then weakly and ineffectively wipe the tears from his eyes. 

“Heh heh heh…” said the voice on the other end. “If it ain’t Billy the Kid!” 

It was exactly who Billy feared it would be. His sponsors. 

“Uh…” Billy nervously began. “Hey, Gianluca…”

“Billy, my fella, I told ya you can just call me Gi! We’re friends ain’t we?” 

“Yeah, friends…” Billy timidly replied. 

With much more enthusiasm, Gianluca responded, “I thought so! Heh heh…” 

Now came the moment Billy was anxious about. “Uh… Gi… there’s… something I gotta tell ya.”

 Gianluca interrupted him. “Ya don’t have to be the bearer of bad news, kid, I already know.” 

Tears began to return to Billy’s eyes. “Gi, I’m trying my hardest, honest! I’m so sorry, man! I really want to pay you back! Heck, I’ll cut out my… other purchases too…” He looked back to the ground, where some leftover white dust was lazily laid out. 

“Nah, I know how you fellas are. Ya don’t gotta stop,” Gianluca responded with what might have been sympathy. He then muttered, perhaps not intended to be caught on the call and heard, “Besides, we’d lose a bit of money if you’d stop…” Gianluca returned to speaking at a normal volume. “Well, Billy, these matters are complicated. I think we gotta talk it out in person.” 

“Oh,” Billy responded. 

“So I should stop at your office when tomorrow?” 

“Actually,” Gianluca replied. “I’m in your neighborhood right now. Can I come on over?” 

“S-sure,” Billy complied. 

“Thanks kid,” Gianluca said in delight. “I’ll be over in five seconds.” He then added, “Heh. Count it, even.” He hung up.

Billy was confused, and slowly put the phone down. The last statement was sarcastic, right? Just a bit of humor that Gi was known for. And yet, Billy found himself counting. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. On “five,” lightning struck and thunder crashed. Billy felt a shadow loom over him. A second of silence, and there was a tap on his window pane. Heart pounding, Billy slowly turned his head to face the window. 

And there he was. Standing in the window, hundreds of feet above the concrete, was Gianluca Hayden. The mouth of Yellow Crown Enterprises, holding a black umbrella, wearing a black trench coat and a black fedora, with a red tie and a white handkerchief in his breast pocket, and a gleaming smile on his face. It was the mouth of Billy Hart’s sponsor. He stood on the tips of his toes on the window sill, and below him were hundreds of feet of nothing until you hit the ground. Behind him, blinding light flashed on a sheet of dark grey. 

With a tip of his hat, Gianluca said, “Good Evenin’ Billy!”

Billy was too terrified to speak. He always knew that the Yellow Crown was not the most trustworthy organization. And he knew that his “buddy” Gi was a bit… eccentric. But what was happening now was too bizarre to explain or deduce. It was otherworldly. 

Billy felt his muscles moving without desire. He slowly began to stand and with his arms out like a zombie from the movies, made his way towards the window. Gianluca held out a single hand, and Billy stopped in place. Then, Gianluca turned his hand swiftly and without explanation, the windows unlocked themselves from the inside and slowly opened. Gianluca gracefully walked into Billy’s apartment, closing his umbrella as he did and flicking his hand again once he was inside, causing the window to close once more, though it remained unlocked. 

“Sorry if I brought any of the rain in, Billy.” Gianluca casually began. “Hey, thanks for letting me come over at such a late hour. I think I work best at this time, actually. The boys and I consider ourselves to be a couple of night owls, ya know?” Making his way to the other room, he exclaimed, “Anyway, let’s talk business.” 

Billy followed, slowly, silently, and still in shock.

Gianluca made himself at home on Billy’s couch. Billy finally worked up the courage to ask something, though it was certainly not the question that was the most important in his mind, for he was too shocked and scared to ask it. “So… you wanna drink?” 

“Heh, nah,” Gianluca politely replied. “I have a… specific preference with my drinks. I plan on catching some of that later tonight, so I’m good at the moment. But thanks for the offer! So how about you get yourself something to drink and I can return ya with another one, eh?” 

Billy did as he was told. Perhaps after a night of misery, dread, and crack, caffeine was not the best choice, but Billy wasn’t known for making good choices, especially on a night like tonight, when nothing made sense and stress was at an all time high. How was this happening? Was he even awake? Was he still high and did he imagine Gi in the window? Did Gi just come through the door? It hurt Billy’s head to think about it. 

Returning with a cup of coffee, Billy sat next to his enigmatic agent. 

“So,” Gianluca began. “Let’s lay down the facts.” 

Billy nervously nodded, taking a sip at his coffee, hoping it would ease his nerves. 

“So you lost the role. Again.” 

Billy sighed. 

“This is fine,” Gianluca assured him. “Really, it is. A minor setback. I can set ya up with another one real quick, trust me.” 

Billy looked up. 

“However, ya still don’t have enough money to pay us what ya owe us. In any capacity.” 

Billy winced. 

“This, too, is okay. Billy, my man, the Yellow Crown is a flexible organization. When we can’t get money, we find more creative and manageable ways to create mutual benefits between us and our clients.” He quickly flashed a smile at Billy. 

For a second, Billy thought he saw sharper teeth in Gianluca’s mouth, but he quickly dismissed this. “What were you thinking?” Billy finally responded.

 “Well,” began Gianluca. “First of all, we might need ya to do a few more… favors for us? Don’t ask me what they are, because nobody knows yet. We’ll reach ya when we need ya. Does that sound good, kid?”

 “Well, if I have no other way to repay you…” Billy warily agreed. 

“That’s the spirit kid!” Gianluca encouraged, slapping him on the back as friends are for some reason known to do. Billy was startled, but he felt he wasn’t in a position to question anything Gi did. 

“But there’s one more thing we gotta do for this bargain.” Gianluca continued. “If you’re gonna help us out on a few more projects, and we’re gonna continue supporting you, you’re gonna need to make a few… lifestyle changes. And I’ll help you out, don’t worry. So you okay with that?”

 Billy was really unsure. He honestly wanted to say no. But he knew where his resources were coming from. If he wasn’t being supplied money or job opportunities from these people, his dreams would fall apart and he’d go broke in no time. He’d have to get a worse job or die on the streets. Probably both. He’d either have to settle later in a much more embarrassing way, or now, in the hands of a successful, albeit shady, organization. 

Billy did not notice, but as Gianluca began speaking again, he subtly flicked his hand. Billy did not see this either, but it caused all the windows in the room to silently unlock and open. Mist began pouring into the room, unaware to Billy. 

“Besides,” coaxed Gianluca. “It’d really improve your life. You’d probably start cleanin’ up your act, doin’ a lot more. It seems all the stress of this whole mess has made you age quicker than you should. We could help ya feel younger. So what d’ya say?” 

Billy sighed. “Sure, Gi. Whatever you think is best.”

“Ha ha, great!” Gianluca exclaimed. “We can start right now, actually. Just let me do something first.” Gianluca turned so he was facing away from Billy. He closed his eyes and put his hands together, and began to mumble to himself. “Thank ya, Lord, for lettin’ me have this one. I promise I won’t fail you.” 

Billy finally began to notice the mist in his apartment, how his couch was now adrift on a thick ocean of it. Everything seemed to have become grayscale. Like so many of the oddities of the foreboding night, Billy was incapable of asking about it. Once again, he responded with the wrong inquiry. “Uh, Gi. Ya prayin’ to God?” 

Gianluca was completely silent for a moment. He slowly began to lower his hand, and then tilted his head up and cackled. He actually cackled. He then slowly turned his head to Billy, opened his eyes, and said quietly, calmly, and maliciously, “Not by a long shot.”

He then pounced at Billy like a predator in the wild. Billy quickly turned his eyes towards the face of his suddenly violent agent and “friend.” The last thing Billy saw before going under was that he was right with his earlier thought; his teeth really were quite sharp. 

Billy felt Gianluca’s teeth pierce the skin of his neck. Billy couldn’t move away as Gianluca held him still with superhuman strength. Billy felt the worst, most excruciating pain he had ever felt in his entire life, of which was soon to end, for exactly 13 seconds, but he could not scream. His bodily functions stopped before his consciousness left. That went alongside his blood. And for a brief moment, the actor Billy Hart was dead and gone. 

Gianluca removed his mouth from Billy’s neck. He took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and made it match the color of his tie. Then, he knocked Billy off of the couch and onto the floor. His corpse splashed in the surrounding ocean and the mist flew up around him as it briefly parted, before it cascaded back down and covered him. He was now but a dark blot in it. But Gianluca knew what came next. Though he knew he’d risk dirtying the couch, Gianluca stood up, looking down on the corpse of Billy. It began to squirm and writhe. Billy was not awake for what happened next, but he sure as hell did move. 

A loud sound came from below the misty sea. It sounded like a cross between a roar, squawk, a screech, and a moan. Then, the corpse of Billy began to rise, quivering. He was completely changed. All the pigment had left his skin, and he was white as paper. His eyes had already been bloodshot from the stress, but it seemed the blood vessels had all exploded, as they were now completely red and pupil-less. The point of his ears had grown very long, and they seemed no longer able to support their own weight. Every bone in his body could be seen through his skin, including each individual piece of his spine in his hunched back. He seemed to curl himself. His teeth were now similar to that of a prehistoric saber-toothed tiger. His fingers had grown into long claws, which tightly gripped the floor. The tips of his shoulders somehow lengthened into long, bony pillars covered with stretched skin. Growling, Billy turned his tilted head towards Gianluca, and looked at him with a look of pure, concentrated, uninhibited rage and hunger. He barked at Gianluca as he pounced, prepared to rip him to shreds.

Billy was never able to, however, because Gianluca was prepared. He bounced up from the couch and levitated in place, and then twisted his hand once more. The mist rose up and twirled around Billy in midair, and even though mist was in most circumstances not physical, it restrained him. He squirmed in it and howled louder than before. 

A voice spoke in Gianluca’s head. “Is it done?” It said with a thick Russian accent, almost as though it were a thought in his head.

 Gianluca knew better, of course. “Yes, my lord,” he responded aloud. “The neonate is secure. Another to your all-powerful army of the undead, Lord of Darkness, Czar of Malice. I return to you now.” He gave a quick bow in Billy’s direction, though certainly not intended for him. Then, he raised his other hand, and the mist rose and became ever thicker. Now, nothing could be seen in the apartment, for even the two dark blots quickly faded. 

From within the mist, Gianluca could be heard: “Billy Hart, you are invited to the manor of Count Gregor, lord of the vampires, master necromancer, bane of all that’s holy!” 

Soon, the mist let up, and left through the windows where it came from. And not a soul remained in the apartment of Billy Hart, starving artist.     

The End…? 


Across the Galaxy

Ava

I can’t believe we were so close to Earth! It doesn’t seem real. After all this fighting and escaping and loss we were finally going to make it. I closed my eyes taking a deep breath, waiting for the pod to say, “Landing now,” or “You have arrived.” I looked to Arin and she was staring out the window. I felt sweat drip down my neck. I started to fan myself all of sudden feeling a bit hot. Soon beads of sweat started to pour down my forehead. My head started to throb from the heat. It was getting hot and my face felt on fire. I held Arin’s hand scared for what could happen next. My whole body was hot and it felt like I was getting lowered onto flames. Something wrong was happening.

Arin

This is the moment I have been waiting for for days. Should I believe that it’s happening? Sometimes when you want something for so long or so badly when it actually happens you have no idea how to react. Almost seems too good to be true. Until… it was too good to be true. We squeezed our hands together. My forehead starts dripping with nervous sweat. We were getting hot, like slowly walking near a bonfire. Ava mentions the escape pod might be burning up. I squeezed my eyes tight, I felt like we were so close. Why does this have to happen? We worked so hard it’s not fair. A tear rolled down my cheek. 

“ Oh no,”  I said under my breath.

Ava 

I got up from the seat in the escape pod and looked out the window flames that were engulfing the windowsill. There was a crash and I jumped back as the window burst shattering glass all over the floor. I slowly stepped back seeing the flames spread throughout the inner wall of the pod.

“WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! EVACUATE! EVACUATE!” the escape pod was blaring red lights but there was nothing to do. We had to wait as the flames crept to us like a wolf hunting its prey. I practically felt the flames leaping at my face, I started to cry my eyes wide as the bright orange flames surrounded my body. Suddenly I lurched forward as I felt a falling motion. We were moving fast and me and Arin hit the wall as we spiralled out of control. I closed my eyes wishing this was all done, that this feeling would go away. Then there was a crash, a big thud. I hit the side of the pod then tumbled out feeling the cool pavement, A dark screen fielded my vision and then everything went black. 

Arin

I gradually opened my eyelids. My head felt like it was just hit with a long metal pole. As I slowly tuned in to my surroundings and focused my eyes, I  saw that I was finally not on the toxic planet of Niburus. We have no chains no bandages, we were free. It was getting dark, I expect almost 9:00pm, the sky was grey and a storm might be coming. There were many old abandoned buildings. My knees were scraped from the cracked road. I saw Ava out cold on the pavement. I limped over to her body. This was the closest I have ever been to death, and I have had a gun held up to my head. I felt like my bones were holding on by a thread burning up side my body. I used the last bit of energy and strength to wake Ava up, “Please don’t be dead,” I repeated in my head. I can’t lose someone else.

“A-a-Ava..” I stuttered. I shook her, my muscles tensing up. She coughed and rolled over. 

“Arin, are… you ok?” she whispered. I used all my might to wrap my arms around her scarred body. I gave her a warm embrace after life was almost snatched from us. Sometimes you don’t realize what you have until you lose it, or almost lose it. I just realized how much I needed and cherished Ava. What would’ve happened if we didn’t make it?

Ava

I woke up, my head pounding. I looked up and saw Arin. She had a long cut on the side of her face dripping with blood next to her ear. She had a worried look on her face. As I rolled over coughing up some blood I crawled onto the concrete. I tried to stand up but my ankles gave in and I fell back to the ground. I looked at my cut arms and saw goosebumps rise. It was chilly out and the wind snapped at my face.

“Arin… we need to find shelter,” I said, then coughed again. I looked around then saw a sign made of wood and it was slightly tilted to the side, it said, “WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF SIER!”

Arin

I agreed with Ava, we needed to find shelter. I looked around, THERE!

“Ava, I see an old shed next to that brick building.” I  pointed out.

“Arin I’m not sure I can make it all the way there, my body is aching,” Ava groaned.

“It’s ok I will be right here to help you.” I lifted Ava’s limp arm over my shoulder and we hopped to the other side of the street. The wind was tugging on our hair, and the grey clouds were passing over our heads giving me chills up and down my body. Once we got over to the shed, we sat down on the rough wooden floor. First we needed sleep so we can rest before we decide what to do. I took off the sweaters me and Ava tied around our waist and balled them up for pillows. Ava’s skin looked pale and she had  bloody deep wounds. She looked terrible. I could tell she was trying to keep her eyes open.

“Sleep,” I whispered into Ava’s ear. As Ava dozed off I looked around the shed. I rubbed my hand against the creaky hardwood floor. There was a cracked window, a broken sliding barn door, three hay bails in the corner… A-are those bodies?

Ava

I heard Arin gasp and slowly tap my shoulder, I abruptly sat up. Suddenly the pain came shooting back into my body. I squinted to see in the dark shed but I could make out three figures walking towards us. I tried to shuffle backwards but my ankles still hurt so bad. I sat there waiting for whatever was coming towards us. There was a crack in the roof overtop of us, the moonlight shone down lighting up our face. I heard some toads croaking and the chirping of crickets. I waited as the figures came closer to the light, I waited for them to finally reveal themselves. I looked down as I saw a grey converse enter the pool of light and then the whole person, a raggedy boy with a buzzcut and cold grey eyes. He had dirt and scars all over him and was wearing a navy green T-shirt and dirty beige Khakis. Behind him was a girl. She had long black hair close to her waist, her skin was a light tan color and she had black trimmed glasses. She walked up next to the boy and I saw her jean shorts and yellow tank top. Standing next to the girl was a boy holding her hand. He had golden hair and blue eyes on the side of his arms was a blue tint as well as on his knees. He was wearing a blue shirt and sports shorts. They stared straight at me and Arin, their eyes looked scared.

Arin

“Ava, get behind me.” I stammered, staring back at the three kids.

“So clearly your name is Ava, hi I’m Rose, And you are?” The long black haired girl said as she looked at me.

“How do I know to trust you?” I scowled at her.

“I’m Liam and looking at you it doesn’t seem you just strolled in here, where are you from?” The blond hair boy said.

“Why would I tell you? You are nothing more than three strangers,” I said still sceptical.

“We got kidnapped by aliens, though I don’t expect you to believe us,” said Ava.

“I was kidnapped by them too,” Liam said, sighing, “They even put there serum in me.”

“Why aren’t you one of them then?” I asked. 

“It didn’t work fully.” Liam said staring at the ground.

“Ok, so you’re Liam, you’re Rose, I’m Arin and this is Ava, then who are you?” I stared at the hidden boy in the shadows.

“My name is Hunter.” We were all awkwardly standing in the light of the shed all connected in one way but still complete strangers.

Ava

“Come here, we have some makeshift beds over there,” Liam said pointing to the corner with the hay bales. Me and Arin walked over to the hay bales and saw a bunch of straw piled to make multiple beds. There were trash bags that seemed to be stuffed with grass which were used as pillows and a bunch of old clothes and rags tied together to make multiple blankets. Next to the bed was an old bag which seemed to be filled up with different foods. 

“Ok, you and Arin can share that bed me and Liam will share that bed and Hunter can sleep in that one,” Rose said.

“I guess they’re dating or something,” I whispered to Arin.

Arin

Me and Ava climbed into the pokey hay bed, And I can say that those pillows were not the comfiest pillows I have slept on. I heard Liam whisper, “Night babe.” 

Hunter slowly drifted off to sleep, the moonlight gradually disappeared. The wind was getting softer but the air was getting colder. I took a deep breath and waited for Ava to close her eyes, then I rolled over and released all my stress. 

I was sitting in a cold metal chair. My wrists dripping with blood, bound tight with rope. I was looking down at Ava lying on the floor with Master Malden hunched over her. He was pressing a hot iron rod on her throat, melting her like a marshmallow. She let out a blood curdling scream. 

“Arin, HELP. It hurts so bad…” Her voice was losing power. I tried to break free from the rope but it just burned my wrists causing them to bleed more. I tried to move out of my chair but nothing was working. I-I was trying. Then I heard Ava give a hopeless breath and then, she laid there motionless. 

I shot up in the hay bed panting, I was breaking out in a cold sweat coming down my forehead. It was a nightmare.

Ava

I woke up feeling good, that was the first time in a while that I had had a decent sleep in awhile. I sat up and stretched my arms. As I turned around, I saw Hunter looking in the bag for some food. He took out an old bagel as well as some nuts. He started to take bites of the bagel leaning against one of the hay bales. He looked up and saw me staring at him. He quickly looked back down at his food. I shook Arin awake and she looked up at me groaning. 

“What time is it?” She said rolling back around to go  to bed again. 

“Time for you to get up! Come on, let’s get some food.” I said trying to turn her back around. I got up and walked over to the bag and looked through looking for some food. I grabbed a slice of bread and some salami. I walked back to me and Arin’s bed and gave her some of the bread and salami. 

Finally after everyone ate, we all went outside of the shed. I still ached a bit and was kind of sore but I was able to walk outside, and the fresh air felt nice. 

“So what are we going to do…” I said. 

“Hey Ava remember all the other kids, you know there all going to be turned aliens right?” Arin said.

“And…” I said looking at Arin seeing what she was getting to.

“You want to just leave them there,” Arin said staring straight into my eyes.

I looked at her trying to see if she was joking or not. She wasn’t.

“Arin do you really want to do this, you want to go back and save them?”

“Ava, it’s almost our duty to do this if we could escape then we must be able to help them escape.”

“Well then how are we going to get there? The only way back is that escape pod and it’s really broken,” I said as we all looked over to the broken escape pod which was crashed in the middle of the road. 

“I mean if we tried we would probably be able to fix it or at least make it flyable, maybe there’s stuff inside the ship,” Rose said. I forgot that they were all there and didn’t even think about if they wanted to come or not. Hunter nodded next to Rose. I turned back to Arin.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I said to Arin.

“Yes,” She said. I turned to Rose, Liam, and Hunter.

“I’m in,” Rose said.

“Me too,” Hunter mumbled.

I turned to Liam, he was staring at the ground.

“I know you don’t want to do this because of what they did to you but…”

“Um, I don’t know guys I just… well I just don’t know, I’ll wait to see if you guys can actually fix that escape pod.” 

We all walked over to the ship and started to try and see how we could fix it. Rose was already starting to fix things, she seemed pretty smart and Hunter was listening to her and started reattaching wires. I turned around and saw Liam pacing back and forth looking nervous. Rose noticed Liam and went over to him and started talking, walking off in a hurry. 

Arin 

While we were all preparing the ship, I saw Rose and Liam walked off. He was yelling about going back to planet Niburus. Suddenly horror struck me. Liam was turning into an alien. A transformation that felt like burning metal piercing your skin. He was bending over seething with pain. Liam fell to the ground, skinning his now bright blue knee’s on the street. His head pounding and melting. He opened his teary salty eyes, seeing his skin bleeding profusely, slowly turning blue. Liam’s eyes were bulging out of his skull. He screamed as loud as he could, “Make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!” He couldn’t hear himself over the buzzing noise, feeling like it was bursting his eardrums. 

Liam didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t make it stop, he didn’t know how to. The pain was like nothing he had felt before. 

“Liam, you’re okay, you’ve got this. You are the strongest person I know. Fight it!” Rose screamed, but still muffled by the buzzing. Liam could see through his blurry vision Rose was sobbing. “Liam LOOK AT ME!” Her voice was trailing away as Liam wanted to tell Rose nothing could make it better.

“Rose, let me help!” I said running over to them.

“No! Let me handle this. I’m his girlfriend, I’m the one that’s supposed to be here for him.” She demands.

“Rose, st-stop, stop trying.. AHH UGG!” he suddenly screamed with a shock of pain

“Liam I will fix it, trust me.”

“Rose help me.”

“ I-I don’t know how, but I’m with you.” Rose was losing hope. “Just hold on to my hand, focus on this moment.” 

Liam took Rose’s hand and held on tight. He looked at her in the eye, and took a deep breath. The pain will go away, she said. She told him to wait. He waited, waited for Rose. He didn’t know why he felt the need to wait, I mean it wasn’t going away. But he couldn’t leave—he couldn’t leave Rose. For the first time in a while, he broke the tough screen he had been hiding behind and cried so hard his eyes couldn’t cry anymore. And all Rose said it’s ok.

Ava

Everyday we woke up, everyday we worked more and more on the pod, everyday we went to bed hoping that the next day would be the day where we would finally finish the escape pod, and everyday Liam got more and more anxious of the day to come. 

I went in the straw bed which wasn’t as uncomfortable as before. I laid awake, Rose said that we would be done with the escape pod by tomorrow. I was so nervous, I just couldn’t sleep. What if it didn’t work, or what if we don’t make it and we get lost in space? I wondered what Liam is going to do. I knew how much he doesn’t want to go but maybe he’ll still come, and how are we going to actually save all the children? I forced my eyes closed and waited as the sleep came over me and I finally fell asleep.

Arin

The next morning, we all woke up full of adrenalin. Today was the day, we were going to rescue all those innocent kids. You could feel the emotion in the air. We ate breakfast without a word, silently, slowly, nervous tension began crawling through my body. I tensed up and started breathing rapidly, my heart was pounding. Ava put her hand on my back, she knew I was panicking.  

“It’ll be ok, we are safe, and soon those other kids will be too. We are doing the right thing and we are right behind you.” Ava reassured me. We walked out to the escape pod and we all got in. The sky was clear and spotless, not one cloud to be seen. Me and Ava sat in the two front seats controlling the pod, and Hunter, Liam, and Rose sat in the three back seats. Me and Ava squeezed our hand tight together. Rose was leaning her head on Liam’s shoulder, I could tell Liam was choking back tears. Hunter was looking out the window gagging and coughing, he said he has motion sickness. I pressed one button and that was it “Taking lift off, destination planet Nibirus.”

Ava

I closed my eyes, hoping this would work. I felt nervous but a bit excited. I clicked the button that said “Lift Off.” We waited a second and we heard the sound of the escape pod turn on and then we shot up into the morning sky. The escape pod had left the ground. I closed my eyes as Arin reached forward to press the “Superspeed” button. I held the chair tight and waited until I felt the jolt forward, and then we were off. A minute later, I opened my eyes and saw the darkness around me. There were bright stars and when I turned around, I could see Earth behind us, it looked like a marble slowly shrinking away. I turned to see Liam and Rose cuddling and Hunter was standing next to the window. He almost looked like he was gagging.

“Hunter, are you ok?” I said. 

“Umm yeah just a little bit *gag* motion sick.” He said then turned and stumbled to the bathroom. I looked in front of me and gasped as I saw the planet of Nibirus approaching. We started to slow down as the surface of the planet became more and more clear. The engine started to decelerate we landed softly on the grass of Nibirus.

Arin

One small jerk and we were there. Memories and flashbacks began racing across my mind. Mia, my parents, that little girl behind tortured. Well, this is why we were here, I guess. To save those poor children. We headed straight to the entrance, I whipped out the card that I used a couple weeks ago to escape the building. I locked the door of the escape pod. We ducked over to the door and I swiped my card. Right away, there were two guards. Me and Hunter broke out in a fight. Two minutes later, both guards were down on the ground and I had a bloody nose. Meanwhile Ava, Rose, and Liam were on their way to the kids. Me and Hunter were trying too catch up to them, some more guards at our heels. We only had one key and over 100 children, and barely any time. 

Ava

We ran into the lab. There were tons of children and each one looked depressed and cold. Some of them were crying, and some of them were beating on the walls or trying to figure a way out.

“Hey! How did you get out? that’s not fair!” A girl with short straight hair and a gap in her teeth. All the kids turned towards us there faces surprised.

“Shhh they’ll come back,” Liam said.

“Who?” The same girl said.

“The aliens, they’re going to turn you into them you’ll-you’ll turn into an alien… like me,” Liam said as he showed them the said of his arms which were both a light blue color. All the kids gasped as the saw Liam’s arms. 

“Well how are you going to get us out?” asked a little girl with pigtails and two pink bows.

“With this!” I said as I pulled out the access card. I then began unlocking each cage and more and more kids came out hugging each other, and some crying.

“Now what do we do?” a little boy with brown hair asked.

“Well we need to escape, follow me,” Rose said motioning towards the exit.

Arin

As we were running to the others, six guards came at once. 

“I got these three you get the other ones!” I shouted at Hunter.

I kicked and punched and ran and jumped. Both sides weren’t giving up. A guard punched me in the gut and kicked my face, blood all over the floor. Hunter’s leg was dripping with thick blood. Me and Hunter went back to back and did one move and took 4 out at once. Only two left. I kicked one’s ankle and punched his nose one out, one to go. I looked behind me and saw Hunter finish the last one off. We gave one celebratory high five and ran straight to the cages where the rest were. On the way there we ran into Ava, Rose, and Liam. They were running back with a bunch of kids behind them. 

“To the escape pods!” Liam directed.  

Ava

We burst out of the door and ran towards the market. I turned behind me and saw all the kids running. There were kids of all ages, and we all flooded the streets of Nibirus. Aliens jumped back as kids came near them. I smiled. We were going to make it. Then I stopped, I turned around as I saw Master Maldens personal soldiers were chasing after us. 

“Everyone hurry, were almost to the path and then we can get to the escape pods!” I yelled. We hurried up and made it to the path, the path where Mia died. I held tears back as I remembered when Mia died in the acid, wait that’s it! We have to push the soldiers into the acid. The big doors were ahead of us, we just needed to make it there, then we’d be safe, but no. More soldiers came running through the doors. I stopped frozen.

“Every one on the count of three push them in the acid!” I said loud enough for everyone to hear but not the soldiers.

“ONE,” I yelled.

“TWO,” Arin yelled.

“THREE,” Rose said.

All the kids pushed the soldiers in front of them over into the acid. They began to burn in it and we kept running. Finally we made it to the doors. 

Arin

We all burst through the door.

“I have been in this situation here before…” I said under my breath.

“This time we are safe” Ava whispered grabbing me by the hand. We split up everyone in different escape pods. Me and Ava watched everyone safely get inside the pods and wished Liam, Rose and Hunter good luck. They were leading all the escape pods back to earth. Me and Ava will be the tail of the pack, making sure no one will get left behind. As we were getting into our last escape pod, we heard a cold, harsh voice we recognized. Master Malden was leaning on the wall one leg up like a highschool boy on a locker. He was there the whole time. 

“Go ahead, escape I will give you guys a head start,” Master Malden said with a smirk.

“What? Why aren’t you stopping us?” I replied.

“I’m giving you an advantage, I would take it if I were you.” He was slowly walking toward us.

 “Three, two.” He was counting. Me and Ava quickly go into the escape pod. We closed the door.

“ONE!” We were off.

Ava

I pressed the “Lift Off” button and sped forward, I looked forward. We were all the way in the back to make sure nothing happened to the other pods. We kept going then I heard a blast, I turned to look behind me. A big ship was behind us, I squinted my eyes and saw standing right in the center window was Malden, and the ship, it was shooting, AT US! We kept going and they kept missing but were getting closer. We got closer and closer. The Earth approaching, as well as Maldens ship. I clicked the “Boost All” button. All the escape pods burst forward, we all burst into the atmosphere. The escape pods were getting faster and faster because of the Earth’s gravity. We were so close I could see our shed, we were finally going to make it.

Arin

We were so close. Now was the time, I was shaking. Me and Ava saw everyone else we rescued standing on the ground below us ready for war, weapons, formation, and everything. We quickly approached them and landed on the ground. Goosebumps were rising on my lims. I have never been more nervous for anything. Not even this morning when we were setting free the kids. We rushed to the front of the blob of people. We had the taller ones in the front, shorter in the back. All of us carried weapons we stole from the aliens. Me, Ava, Rose, Hunter, and Liam all hugged as this might be the last time we could hug. Liam kissed Rose on the cheek and shared a warm loving hug (I held back throwing up). Tears were running down all of our cheeks. My eyes were red. This could be goodbye. If this is the end, all we got to, at least we got this far. I had a hole in my stomach, and knew it could only be filled if we won this battle. I was fired up, as determined as a fox about to pounce on a rabbit. We won’t run away, we hide, we will stand here, we won’t move for anything. We saw a big black ship coming straight for us. It was time to fight.


The Septic Eye

Hey my name is Shuji and this is my excellent story about how I got the Septic Eye.

Bye mom, I hope you rest in peace. I am going off to college, I hope I make you proud. I am at my mother’s grave, crying like a wimp. (Well of course I am, it’s my mother. Don’t judge me readers you are not Judge Judy.)

 I walk away with a glum look on my face, sluggish as an obese man that just ran the Iron Man. I pull out my phone and there is a weird Icon on the screen. I look around and think, why is this happening to me? It happens every week, but this time it said we have been watching you for the longest time, I think you are ready.  The confusion on my face then was obvious. A damp white cloth is slapped on my face. Chloroform! THEY WERE TRYING TO CAPTURE ME! I squirmed and tousled but they still got me. You see I’m a strong boy, but not as strong as that beast of a human that had me in his grasp. I got in a truck and I heard movement. 

The leader (Pewdiepie) took off the mask and said, “Welcome to S.H.O. Business.”

“What’s that?” I said with a smirk on my face, trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny, S.H.O. Sacred Hero Organisation. This is what we do when we aren’t posting videos, we save the world.” 

“Ha HA HA HA HA HA HA. You’re funny”

“Anyways we recruited you because you work out, do parkour, are very smart, and are really good at shooting.”

“But what about college? And my dad is gonna die without me, you can’t take me. I am flattered but I can’t do this”

“Who said you had a choice? Guys knock him out!”

 After that 2 weeks of training blindly of what’s going

“Hey guys!”  I say happily, now that I am finished.

“Hey.” Sean said, “And welcome come to the S.H.O., the Sacred Hero Organisation.” 

“I thought your name was Jack?” I say with confusion.

“No that’s just my user name, Jacksepticeye, it is a very common mistake to make.” 

As I look around I see things that you would see in a movie. Like a supercomputer, images of the world and a weird picture with a floating eye that looks like a Septiceye named Sam. My thinking becomes corrupt and my mind is like a black whole taking away my memories and I feel my conscious walking into the darkest part of my mind. I feel a hand grasping my shoulder and it’s Sean, but he has no eyes, a bleeding mouth and a slit throat. I close my eyes and I’m back into reality. I notice the whole time that the team was shouting my name behind me.

“Shuji! Shuji! Shuji!” They all scream. 

“Get out of there it’s all fake, stop looking!” Markiplier says with a loud voice.

I need to not look at that. But, I think that is what we are looking for so how am I going to do this. Wait I see someone else, who is that? IS THAT?! H2O DELIRIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wait he has a hockey mask on in real life? And no one still hasn’t seen his face except CaRtOoNz? Why don’t people just try to take it off. That’s insane. What should I do? I should probably ask for our mission because we are all standing awkwardly.

“Hey Sean when is our mission?”

“Uhh, I think they are going to brief us right now.”

“Good morning all you bros!” Pewdiepie says to all of us.

“Our mission, it is very dangerous. We are going to to retrieve the SepticEye Sam!”

Everyone shouts with joy and and screams from the tops of their lungs. I do do the same. 

“Yeah, woooh, wahhhhhhh!!!!” I scream with the others.

“Shuji, Sean and Mark you guys are going to do this ultimate mission. Guys celebrate them, give them energy, they can do this, come on!!!!”

“YEAHHHH WOOO AHHHHH!!!” Everyone screams. “YOU CAN DO THIS!!!!”

I smile with joy, like a boy that just found his lost cat from 3 years ago. I actually feel like I can do this. Well no I can’t, but they don’t know that. All they know is that I am ready. I am not going to disappoint them even though I am scared. Probably when I get there I won’t be like a dog in a thunderstorm. 

“So Sean where are the weapons?”

“RIght here, but I don’t need them because of my power.”

“WHAT?! You have powers?”

“Yeah everyone does Mark won’t need them either. You’ll probably develop them later this week.”

“Wait what? What powers?”

“I don’t know Pewdipie said that you need to see something for you to unlock your powers.”

“Uhh.. I am so confused.”

“It doesn’t matter right now we need to focus on the mission, we can ask when we get back.”

“What? You started the convo…”

“SHHHHHHHH let’s go,” Sean says interrupting me.

I get into the hyper car and zoom off. My stomach drops to the bottom of my abdomen like an anvil falling onto an animated character. I’m surprised because we get to the location super fast. It is a weird lab place. (Cliche isn’t it readers? Spoiler, my friend Sean welp he….) I was right, now I don’t feel as unprepared. I have my 2 guns, a Scorpion, and my TMP. I’m ready to defeat these evil guards with these hollow points. Bullets flying, green magic and some fire. I roll into cover. 

“Shuji cover my back I am standing up.”

“Okay Mark let’s do this!”

We are back to back shooting. Headshot. Headshot. Headshot. We are destroying but where is Sean his magic is not flying through the hair. I only see fire in the hair from Mark. Wait he has a gun to his head. Oh no, what do I do. 

I whisper to mark, “They have Sean, what do we do?

“Just follow my lead,” Mark says confidently.

He walks up to the giant muscular guard with his guns in his hands.

“PUT YOUR GUN DOWN OR I WILL SHOOT!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No.”

Boom. Sean’s brain blows out into pieces. His brains drop onto the ground and are covered in blood. His body drops and eyes turn black.

The guy who got shot him is the guy from my vision. Bop Bop Bop. Mark shoots angrily at the guard’s head and burns his body to ash. People are dead. Everyone here is dead, OMG, what the hell!

“Shuji go in side there are no more guards but security. DO IT NOW!”

“OK,” I say with a worried voice.

I walk into the lab almost throwing up because of all the blood around me. I see the eye. And walk towards it like a moth to a light, walking through the lasers for the mounted guns while dodging consciously. I am at the tube and, my mind, it’s, it’s in Darkness again. I see things that I don’t want to see. I see death itself. The matted black plague in my mind grows stronger taking away what is good and replacing it with evil. 

The eye says, “Death awaits others, have fun.” (Ohhh reader, I love this part. Read carefully.)

This is what I do. I have fun. Breaking the glass I take the eye from the tube and use my knife to gouge out my eye. With the eye in my hand I slice it. Slice it more and more with anger with blood coming out of my eye socket like a blood waterfall gushing with craziness. As I replace this disgusting eye with the Septic Eye, I feel this power and it’s great. I feel it pulsing through my veins and into my hands. It’s like all I need to do is Kill. I need the KILL! Just KILL! I jump out of the building breaking through the roof and find the car. I see Mark. I think that he is now my new victim. It’s time. Time to let the world know who is king!

My Silent Resistance

“Taz, the psychologist from the adoption agency is here. She’d like to ask you a few questions,” Dad says to me. This happens every year. I run out of my room and into the living room, where I see a tall young woman standing in front of me.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tazu,” she says. I wave shyly in the corner and get out my phone to talk to her.

I am autistic, what most would consider “lower functioning,” and I can’t speak with my mouth parts, so I use a text-to-speech app to communicate. “Pleasure to meet you too. Now what is it that you would like to ask me?”

I pray that even though she now knows I’m non-speaking, she will assume competence and not condescend to me or treat me as subhuman, in a way. That is a stigma that many nonverbal autistics such as I know all too well. That’s why I hate labels like high-functioning and low-functioning: low-functioning means your capabilities are ignored, your humanity brushed aside, and high-functioning means your deficiencies are ignored and you can’t get the support you need; basically either way it sucks, and you often have to go through life alone.

Fortunately, she treats me normally. “All right, first question: are you happy here?” she asks. I nod my head. I am so happy with my dads, though the trauma of my past still haunts me.

“I’m glad to hear that, Tazu. Next question: Do you feel safe here?”

This is a tricky question. It appears to be analyzing two variables: immediate, actual safety and perceived safety. I assume that for this evaluation, what she really wants to know about is actual safety, and I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I feel unsafe with my dads. 

I decide to be honest. “To be honest, occasionally not so much. I mean, my dads treat me well and I feel very safe in their care. But sometimes I get these irrational fears that my dads are secretly planning to turn on me. Or that one of them could do… what my mom did to me. But it’s completely unreasonable. I know they would never do that. So yes, I occasionally worry about my safety, but I know those worries are not rational.”

“Thank you for being honest with me. Final question: my results tell me you’ll be able to hold a job someday. Is that something you are considering?”

I frown and hesitate for a second. “I highly doubt I will ever be able to hold down a job. Who would hire an autistic girl who can’t talk?” 

I walk out of the room, feeling utterly hopeless. My dad sees me and walks over to check on me. “Hi Taz, you look sad. What happened? Did the evaluator talk about anything upsetting?” 

“Yes,” I type. “She thinks I can get a job.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand why that would upset you.”

“I can’t get a job. No one would hire me.”

“What do you mean?” my dad asks. “You’re smart, funny, and a brilliant writer. I’d hire you.”

I roll my eyes. He just doesn’t get it.  According to the latest statistics, 85 percent of autistic adults are unemployed, and for nonverbal people, the statistics are even higher. It is statistically very unlikely that I’d ever be able to hold a job. I’m just thinking realistically and long-term here. 

“You KNOW me, Dad. Employers don’t. They’ll just see a weird, too short girl who can’t talk. Autistics don’t get hired.”

“Sure they do,” my dad replies. “What about Einstein? Newton? Dickinson? Heck, there are even rumors of Hitler being autistic, and look how successful he was! I mean, I’m not saying you should become Hitler, but you get the point.”

“First of all, I don’t want to be associated with Hitler. You do know he KILLED autistics along with countless other people, right? Besides, those were the exceptional people. I’m not exceptional.” 

Dad giggles. “First of all, I don’t promote Hitler. Second of all, you’re exceptional to me”, Dad replies. “But you’re right. Employers don’t know you like I do. I’ll tell you what. There’s an autism resource fair next Sunday. Why don’t we find out what your options are?”

I sigh. “All right, let’s go. But if I don’t like it, you owe me a trip to the ice cream place.”

Dad laughs. “It’s a deal,” he says. 

ONE WEEK LATER

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. A too-short Japanese/Korean-American teen with long wavy hair and wide eyelashes stares back. 

Fun fact: 15-20% of autistic people are nonspeaking. Another fun fact: only less than 2% of them get jobs. Final fun fact: I am one of those 15-20%. 

It’s really hard to believe, at age sixteen, that I’m still alive. When I was trapped in the misery of my childhood, I never thought I would make it this far. For years I had expected, and later hoped, to die. Then it happened, and for a while I thought I had my wish. But then my dads rescued me and life started to seem worth living. 

Could I have actually died, probably? Died briefly and been reborn? Nah, I don’t think being reborn as the exact same person is a thing. When I was a little girl and hospitalized, no one would tell me what was going on. They didn’t think I’d understand, because then I didn’t have any method of communicating. 

On to much lighter things! I’m going to an autism resource fair! For a future I thought I’d never survive to see! Wow, I’m really bad at changing the subject. Alright, let’s think about cats. And the color purple. Purple cats? 

I put on a purple shirt, one I’ve worn every other day for the past year. Wearing purple makes me happy—so why not be happy every single day? 

I brush my teeth and hair, put on deodorant and chapstick. With my poor motor skills, chapstick is about as good as it gets. Best to play it safe.

I’m all ready! I bounce up and down, read a few poems, and play quiet classical music while my dads are still asleep. 

Dad drives me to the fair when he wakes up. Dad points to a display board advertising a new initiative called “Hiring Neurodiversity.” “See, Tazu, this agency will help you get hired without an interview!” he says excitedly. 

“And how long will that job last once they find out I can’t talk?’

“You don’t know. Don’t assume the worst.” 

Just then, a tall, thin man walks up to us. He has blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a big blue “Autism Speaks” t-shirt with a puzzle piece logo. 

“Hello, sir,” he says to my dad. “Are you finding any helpful resources?’

“Yep, lots of great information,” Dad replies.

For an alternative definition of great. Most of this stuff is for newly diagnosed toddlers. Do they expect us to magically poof out of existence at age 18? 

“I’m so glad to hear that! My name is Jackson and I work for Autism Speaks. We’re working on fundraising and finding a prenatal test and cure for autism. We have a budget chart if you would like to see it. Now who’s this little girl?”

I take a glance at his budget chart. It seems like they make a lot of money, and only 4% of it goes to helping actual autistics. The rest go to research, which I assume means finding a way to wipe us out of the gene pool and preventing us from ever being born. Yeah, so much for Hitler being autistic. Might as well be named Auschwitz for Autism. How is autism “speaking” if you’re trying to eradicate the people who have it in the first place? 

“This is my daughter Tazu.”

“How nice! Can she hear us?”

“Yes,” I promptly reply. I am autistic, not deaf.

“Oh, she types. How… nice,” Jackson replies, looking displeased.

 “Anyhow, Tazu loves to write,” Dad says.

I share a nature poem I have recently wrote with Jackson. 

“You have a very talented child,” he says to Dad. “Autism Speaks is working on an anthology about autism and the strain it has on families. Would she like to write for us?”

Wow. I never dreamed this could happen. Somebody in the real world thinks I’m good and wants to publish my writing. Screw my first assumptions about this group. A eugenicist wouldn’t want to publish my writing. Sure, he has some questionable viewpoints, and he talks about me like I’m not there, but at least he’s offering me opportunities.

“YESYESYESYES!” I type. 

Jackson smiles. “A personal story would be great. Something that could reassure and inspire parents of kids with this devastating disorder.”

Wait… parents? Like my mom? I wanted to write for fellow autistic people, not the people who did what they did to me… this isn’t… this doesn’t really…

“She’s tired, isn’t she? I’ll send you an info packet about our next autism support meeting. I think it would be helpful for you both, especially Tazu who needs to understand what parents go through. It’s so hard when your child lacks empathy and love is a one-way street, isn’t it?” 

Wow. Now I REALLY hate him. I try to forget and instead see this as an opportunity to share my voice and combat what seems to be the COMPLETE LACK of actual autistic input in this organization. 

A bit later, Dad drives me to the ice cream place as he promised. “Whew, that was HOT!” he comments. “And the drive here was so long! I’m all worn out for the day.”

“We would have gotten here sooner if you didn’t blab on to EVERY SINGLE PERSON YOU MET,” I type. “You’re like a dog sniffing the butts of other dogs.”

I smile. It doesn’t matter that the fair was hot and boring. It doesn’t matter how hurt I was by Jackson wanting to “cure” me of who I am. None of that matters. Because publish publish PUBLISH! 

I turn to my dad for a second. “It’s just—it was a little strange how that man was talking to you about me when I was right there. Also how he’s all into cure and prevention and stuff.”

“Yeah, I didn’t love that either,” he replies. It just felt a bit off.”

“But it’s not important. More important is that I COULD GET FLIPPING PUBLISHED!” 

Dad smiles. “I’m so happy for you too! But to be honest, the way that man talked worried me a bit. Like he didn’t see you as a full person. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I think I can handle it.” I reply.

“That’s good.” Dad checks his phone. “Hey, I just got an email from Jackson about the autism group. It’s in two weeks. Do you want to come?”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to meet some more of my fellow Autistics.” 

                                                  …..

I pace back and forth, the light shining brightly in my room. I can’t believe I’m going to an autism support group later today. What if they don’t like me? What if they want to get rid of me? But what if they’re really nice? I don’t want to miss out on a great opportunity!

It is 4:30 in the morning. I get up and wake my other dad up, whom I call Pop.

“Hi Taz! You’re up early. What’s up?’

“Hi, soft drink,” I playfully type.

“No, I’m Pop!”

“Hi, champagne. Icky!”

“Your dad and I love that you hate the taste of alcohol.”

“No, icky you!”

Careful, Taz. Insult me too much and I’ll have to disown you!’

My smile fades. The flashbacks from my old past come flurrying into my head, no matter how many times I try to get them out.

“Oh no, Tazu, not for real…” Pop says. “I only meant to tease you like you teased me. Not make you sad. I would never really… do that. Other teens say ‘I hate you’ to their dads. If ‘icky’ is the worst thing you call me, I think I’m good. Plus… you’ve smelled me after going to the gym. Given how stinky I get, I’m lucky YOU still love ME!”

I hug Pop tightly. Of course I will always love my crazy old Pop. 

I fall back asleep. At a fairly more reasonable time in the morning, I do my daily routine and prepare for the group. 

I walk into a large penthouse, filled with mostly adult parents who as far as I can tell are not autistic. Most don’t have kids with them. Some wear blue puzzle-piece t-shirts with slogans like “AUTISM SPEAKS: IT”S TIME TO LISTEN” and “MY CHILD IS PART OF THE EPIDEMIC BUT THE EPIDEMIC IS NOT PART OF MY CHILD!” I only see one kid, a blonde-haired little girl. 

“Ouch! Daddy, get it out! It hurts, it hurts!” the girl screams. 

“Cassandra, just suck it up. It’s just a tag. Don’t bother me,” her dad says. He’s wearing a shirt that says “VAXXED: SOUNDING THE ALARM FOR MY VACCINE INJURED CHILD.” I know how uncomfortable tags scratching against my back can feel. Non-autistics don’t seem to notice, but my dads have always been sensitive. I’d offer to help, but I don’t want to make a bad impression on the group. A young teenager, wearing a sweatshirt that says “Autistic pride worldwide,” escorts the girl to a small room, where I see a bunch of other kids.

Then, the support group starts, and I follow Dad to the group. 

“This group has been lifesaving for me,” the orange-haired mother of the young teenager exclaims with a smile. ‘It’s been a bit tough ever since my daughter first told me she might be autistic. She discovered it through Tumblr or something. We always thought of her as shy, introverted, maybe even a genius. We denied her diagnosis for a while, but she persisted! Now we’re looking for a professional evaluation.”

Another mom speaks up. “How wonderful! We’ve been helping prepare my son for adulthood. Just found out he has moderate to severe developmental delays in regards to self-care. I hadn’t noticed. I love this group too, though the negativity can sometimes overwhelm me, if I’m being honest.”

“I agree. So much focus on the cure and the missing piece of the puzzle. If you asked my daughter, she’d tell you that her autism is a culture, and only a disability because of society.”

My first impression was completely wrong. These supportive parents, listening to their children and their views on being autistic.

“We, um, appreciate your concerns,” Jackson replies. “However, our group is based in Autism Speaks’ mission statement, which is to find treatment, prevention and a possible cure for autism. Also, autism can be soul-crushingly devastating at times, and it’s important not to whitewash it. However, we understand how it is so easy for those of us with… higher-functioning kiddos to forget what it’s like for other parents.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose that’s true,” the second mother says. “Anyways, our son just had a neuropsych and was diagnosed with moderate to severe developmental delays. His motor skills… his disorganization… his ability to do chores… I always thought that he just couldn’t care less about learning to drive, but now there are cognitive problems holding him back!”

I consider this for a moment, then type to give my insights. “Well, when you’re autistic, development is not linear. For example, some people think I can’t understand them because of my ability to speak.” I glance at Jackson for a second giving him an evil eye. “But I’m rather deep thinker and have good cognitive abilities. Dad has tried teaching me how to drive a car, and it usually ends in confusion and sensory overload. So a smart boy who struggles with household tasks is totally normal for autism.”

The two parents nod appreciatively, while the other parents in the group scoff at me. One man turns to his wife and whispers “I don’t believe she really has severe autism. She’s nothing like my child.” 

“Tazu, you’re here to listen, not comment,” Jackson scoffs, then turns to the group and says “self-absorption is a symptom of autism. This is why we must fundraise for a cure.” 

“Anyways, how have everyone’s weeks been?” Jackson redirects the conversation.

“Mine was awesome! My daughter said her first word! Just like a normal child,” one dad says.

“That’s great!” Jackson replies. “She is on her way to functioning like a child without autism.” 

“Horrible. Cassandra made another mess. Paints all over,” the dad of the little girl with the itchy tag says. 

“My daughter used to do that. She said she was going to be an artist. I just told her that if she makes a mess, she cleans it up! I had the most lovely artwork, though,” the mother of the teen girl says.

“Well, you have a very high functioning daughter,” Cassandra’s dad says. “Cassandra’s results could never be called art. It’s just a mess. Cassandra is low functioning. She’ll never fit into society. We’ve been implementing behavioral interventions but I really don’t see the benefits. All the shrieking! And the bizarre motions with her hands! At this point, sure, I don’t expect total compliance, but at this point I’m fed up. This intensive therapy is just not working. I want my money back.” He sighs. “All this because of a measles vaccine.”

I shudder. Intensive therapy….

Four years ago….

Torture. Torment. Terror. Treachery. Nope, when you’re autistic, it’s just treatment. And that’s what I was subjected to, for forty hours a week. A therapist would come over and do drills with me, 6 hours a day, every day. “Touch green.” “Look at me.” “Say ‘I love you’ now.”  “Good girl.” “Do what I say or you’re a bad girl.” “Let’s see if you’ll behave.” 

I didn’t know it then, but there was a word for this: ABA-based behavioral therapy, with aversives, the only scientifically proven treatment for kids like me.

“You need to look at me, Tazu,” the tall, intimidating, slightly overweight therapist Becca, says. Oh no, not this again, I can’t do it. It hurts too much. 

“Do as I say or you’re a bad girl.”

 I immediately look up. It immediately sends my thoughts scattered in a million directions, and it’s almost as if she can read into my soul. My eyes start watering and burning and I can hardly focus. Spears of hot pain rush through my eyes and and and

I look away and start rocking back and forth to calm myself. 

“BAD GIRL!” Becca yells at me, and spanks me. She reaches for her bottle and sprays vinegar into my mouth. I am miserable, but I can’t resist. Being a “bad girl” will only make it worse. 

                                                       …..

Intensive therapy. Behavioral intervention. Total compliance.

That’s what Cassandra’s dad wants done to her. The same kind of nightmare I lived. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

I can hear Dad’s voice. “Tazu! Tazu, look at me!”

“EYE!” I shout. “No eyes,” Dad says. “No eye contact. Just Dad. You’re with me now. You’re safe.” I hug him tightly. He’s right. Aversive therapy is in the past. If a therapist ever hurt me, my dads would fire them. No more forced eye contact. No more punishments. I’m safe.

“Can you smell my shampoo?” Dad asks.

I reach for my phone. “I also smell your B.O,” I type. 

I hear the voice of the orange-haired mother. “Maybe you guys would like to step out, go to the kids’ room for a minute?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Jackson said I’m supposed to be, um, learning what parents go through. I can’t do that in the kids’ room.” 

I begin rocking back and forth to put out the internal fire happening in my head.

“That’s the same thing that Cassandra does! Her father lets her do it in public? Negligent! She’ll never go anywhere if she acts this strangely,” Cassandra’s dad says. 

Dad sighs. “Tazu, you might not need a break, but I definitely do. Will you come with me?” 

I nod and follow him to the kids’ room. I can hear Cassandra’s dad in the background. “I don’t know how that man puts up with that daughter,” he says. “If I had a child who didn’t talk and acted like that…”

“That went much worse than I was expecting,” Dad says. “Some of those parents were so judgmental about their kids. I’m so sorry I exposed you to that.”

Just then, the young teenager with the “Autistic Pride” shirt comes up to me. “My name is Stella. What’s your name?”

I reach for my keyboard. “My name is Tazu. I’m 16 years old.”

“Really?” she asks. “You’re so small! I read that anxiety can cause stunted growth in girls. That study wasn’t specific though. It only said ‘girls.’ Like do trans girls count? What about trans guys and non-binary folks? Is it based on gender identity or sex assigned at birth? They really should have specified.”

“Yeah, they should have,” I agree. As a pansexual cis girl, I also dislike cisnormativity. 

“Yeah,” Stella says. “Wait, what were we talking about before?”

“We were discussing the mystery of why I am tiny,” I type.

“Well whatever you are, tiny is cute!”

I blush. “Thank you,” I reply. 

And then a little girl gallops into the room. She has messy blonde hair and blue eyes. She looks about 7 years old, 8 maybe. “I’m Cassandra! Or Casey if you forget.”

“Nice to meet you! This is Tazu, and I’m her dad,” Dad says.

Casey wiggles anxiously. “Are you friends with my dad?”

Not in a million years, Dad silently mouths to me. “No.” 

Casey relaxes. “Why didn’t you stop Tazu from wiggling?”

“Because I think people can wiggle if they want to,” says Dad.

“Wow,” Casey says admiringly. “You’re awesome. Tazu, I got an idea. Can you abobt me too?”

“Do you mean ADOPT you?” Dad says.

“Yeah! Dad wouldn’t mind. He wants to send me away. He thinks I’m annoying. He thinks I’m, um, hurt by a vaccine or something.”

Just then, her dad comes in. “Cassandra! There you are! Sorry about my daughter. She has no sense of boundaries.”

“Oh, okay. Well, see you next week for the next meeting?” Casey asks. 

Yes, it was a bad meeting. Yes, it triggered me. But I can’t help myself. This little girl, mistreated by her father… I can almost see my past self in her.

“Of course I will see you next week,” I say. “We are friends now.”

DAD POV

Casey reluctantly trudges back to her dad’s car as I stare in shock.

Tazu just agreed to go to another meeting.

To return to the place that set her off.

To expose herself to people who could remind her of her past.

How can I protect her? How can I protect her from the PTSD, the nightmares, the distrust of anyone around her?

It took so long to get her to trust us. I don’t want to risk that progress. I take a deep breath. Maybe I’m just being an overprotective father. “Tazu, I get that you feel bad for Casey, but I want you to think about yourself too. You screamed at that meeting. It looked like you had a flashback.”

Tazu nods her head. She gets it.

TAZU POV

“I understand,” I type. “Casey’s dad is a jerk, so is that other man, and Jackson didn’t stop them. Plus the fact he thinks autism was caused by vaccines—if I ran a group that alone would be a reason to expel someone. But that’s why we SHOULD be there. To give that girl a bit of light in her life.” 

This is a dilemma. A conundrum.

I like that word, conundrum. If I could talk, which I can’t, I would say the word out loud over and over, just to taste the crispiness of it. 

Jackson walks over. “Hello! Now I know Tazu had unreasonable behavior at the meeting, but I hope she’ll come to next week’s.  It’s good for her to think about her audience and not let her low-functioning autism get in the way.” 

I nod. This seems to make Jackson happy. 

Just then, Stella’s mom enters the room. “So sorry about that meeting,” she says. “That man has an attitude problem. Do you want to come to the beach with us? We’ll be talking about boring grownup stuff like mortgages and parenting, but our daughter Stella will be there.”

I nod. 

I am at the beach with Stella and her best friend, Jeffery, who is also autistic. We have a nice conversation about art, the world, movies, and cat videos, which Stella loves.

Stella and Jeffery are very cute. Especially—especially Stella. I have been noticing… things. “Are you a couple?” I ask. They both start laughing maniacally. “Boys aren’t my type,” Stella says. “And gay girls aren’t my type,” says Jeffery. “We’re best friends.” 

I switch the subject, embarrassed. “Anyways, Jackson from Autism Speaks asked me to contribute an essay—”

Stella and Jeffery exchange a concerned glance at each other.

Later, I work up the nerve to ask Stella out. A grin spreads across her face and she starts rocking excitedly. I assume that’s a yes. A big silence surrounds us until she finally says “I could tell when I first met you that you… swing that way. I may be socially delayed, but I have a very fine-tuned gaydar.”

I laugh. 

A few days later:

Me and Pop walk into a large office, with blue puzzle pieces all over it. Jackson is right there, wanting to discuss my opportunities.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it here,” he says. We discuss the essay. I’m getting paid a lot! “Besides the essay, I’d like to offer you two amazing opportunities. One, my coworker is making a documentary about autism and its effect on families. She invited you to speak for it. Two, a reality TV show would like to interview you.”

“YES YES YES YES YES!” I type. I’m going to be TV famous! Hooray!

“Glad to hear it,” Jackson says. “Your name will bring us so much publicity.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hi guys, thanks for reading! I wanted to include a little guide for how to best interact with autistics. Yes, I am Autistic myself, though verbal. 

  1. Respectful language: Most autistic people prefer using “identity first” language (“autistic people” or “autistics”), rather than “people with autism.” This is because autism is integral to our identities and isn’t a disease that can be separate from us. As well, we prefer not to use terms like “suffering” or “struggling” with autism because it’s just who we are, not a burden. As you read the story, pay attention to who uses what language.
  2. Charities: Organizations like Autism Speaks have been criticized for lack of autistic input and negativity. Instead, support organizations like the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, the National Autistic Society, or the Autism Women’s And Nonbinary Network. Some red flags for a bad charity are: the use of puzzle pieces or the color blue, promotion of a cure, lack of autistic board members, and promotion of abusive or damaging “autism conversion therapies” such as the behavioral treatment Tazu was subjected to. In part two, you will see an example of a good charity.
  3. Help us out socially, but respect our boundaries and don’t force us to socialize. (Yes, disabled people have boundaries too). 
  4. Let us flap, bounce, rock, etc. This is called stimming and it is actually organizing for autistic brains. As well, don’t force us to make eye contact.
  5. Eliminate the word “retarded” from your vocabulary and don’t use “autistic” as an insult.
  6. Always assume that we’re capable: If someone can’t speak, talk to them anyway. Chances are, they’re just as bright as Tazu.
  7. Amplify the voices of actual autistic people.

My Silent Resistance PART 2: 

Pop takes me to a small office to be interviewed for the documentary. I’m so excited! Ready to change the world, influence the national conversation about autism, spread the word to make sure that what happened to me and the abuse Casey is living through doesn’t happen again. I want to save all my fellow autistics, or at least make a difference to some of them. I know it can’t happen in a day, but at least this interview is a good step. It’s support group day today, and I’m thrilled about missing this one, though I was hoping to see Casey again. Jackson gives me a blue puzzle piece shirt to borrow for the interview.

I wait for what feels like an hour, maybe two. I’m so bored! I hide behind a plant and rub my hands against it. I throw off the Autism Speaks shirt. Writing for this company is okay, but I don’t think it quite deserves me publicly advertising it. Just then, a young woman, wearing an Autism Speaks shirt, walks up to me. “Hello, Tazu,” she says in a coo-like voice, as if she’s talking to a puppy. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” 

“Sure, ask away,” I say. 

“When did you learn that you had autism?” she asks. 

“Um, I kinda always knew. I mean, it was kinda obvious. My parents thought I couldn’t hear them, so they talked about it all the time in front of me and how much of a burden it was. They whispered ‘autism’ like it was a dirty word. I was diagnosed early, I think?”

“And how do your parents feel about it?” she asks.

Dads. Focus on dads. “My dads love me for my true authentic autistic self.  They try to accommodate me the best as possible. They take me to respectful therapies that don’t try to change who I am, but make my life easier as an autistic person. The therapies they take me to help maximize me rather than normalize me. Trauma and fear still get in the way sometimes, and I still have occasional meltdowns, but with their support and love, I’ve grown into a somewhat well-accomplished autistic person.” 

Not well-accomplished enough to be able to hold a job outside of an autism organization, though, or even hold myself together in a job that is in one. Not well-accomplished enough to get over the fear, the pain, the flashbacks, the inner ghosts from my old life. 

I sigh. Probably won’t share that with the interviewer. The stereotype is that autistic people have no feelings besides desperation and self-hatred, and I don’t want to give way to that stereotype. 

“Um, we use Person First language here. You’re not ‘autistic’, you’re a person WITH autism. Anyways… what about your REAL parents?”

My… “real” parents….

When I was little, my parents never bothered to teach me to communicate. I was always trying to please them, but it never worked. They never talked to me, but in my dealings with them (or perhaps as they would put it, their dealings with me) I discovered three things.

1. That my parents didn’t like me. They spoke of having another child, a “normal” one, to alleviate their suffering, but also expressed concern that the next kid would also “turn out wrong” (i.e, autistic.) When they did have another kid, they quickly changed their mind and aborted the baby because “imagine how hard her life would be, growing up with a sister like that!”  Whether I got a sibling or not, the point was this: In their eyes, I was a Worst-Case-Scenario, a Tragic Outcome, a Defective Factory Product, a baby they’d have aborted if they only knew what it would become. I was a failure.

2. The reason why I was a Failure, a Not-Quite-Human-Person, and not “normal” like the people I looked up to, was because I “had autism.” No one ever talked directly to me about this (“she’s too incompetent to understand her affliction”) but my parents spit it out in front of me like it was a dirty word.

 “All this because of.. autism.”
 

“You really should go easier on Tazu. Her defectivity, her…. autism.. she’s not the one who cursed us with it. It was Jesus. Jesus Christ wronged us and made our life hell… made our daughter hell.”

 “Autism prevents my daughter from ever being fully lovable and us from ever gaining our sanity. Why do all these self-righteous social justice warriors tell us it’s a gift, a ‘neurodiversity’, a hidden joy? There is no joy in this child.” 

“I want out of this… autism. I want out of this monster. I want out of this child”. 

I never really knew what “autism” meant, but all I knew was that I had it, it was a monster, and therefore I was a monster, could never be lovable, was a curse from Jesus. When I really came to understand myself was when I later discovered the autistic community online, who were probably the “self-righteous social justice warriors” my parents tried to shield me from. Before I met them I saw the world in two groups: Failures and Normals. When I found this community, my world was changed- more than changed. A whole new world, populated by people like me. (Some of them also said that Autism Speaks was a hate group, and I’m starting to see that from my time here, but… who cares? Probably just a vocal minority). To my parents however, autism was far from a culture. I learned that if I stopped having autism, Mommy and Daddy would like me, and I’d stop being a Failure. I’d become a sacred Normal, like Mommy and Daddy and Becca were. 

3. Because I had autism and was a Failure, I was never safe. Therapists would scream and pin me down and lock me in the dark, all in the name of compliance training, applied behavior analysis (ABA), hard work, “tough love.” People say ABA is like dog training for kids… I couldn’t disagree more. No reasonable dog trainer would treat a dog that way. My mom tortured me too at the therapist’s recommendation. My dad was the more sympathetic one. He was the one who made the comment about autism not being my fault but being Jesus’s fault instead when my mom yelled about how much I had robbed her of. (He was a very devout Christian who also happened to believe being gay was a sin). He was the one who called the police when it happened so I wouldn’t die. He didn’t hurt me or anything, didn’t abuse me, didn’t hit or punish me. He always said “I love the child but hate the autism” while my mom was more like “hate the child because of the autism.” But for all the abuse it caused me, being on the spectrum with parents like mine gave me a unique (dis)advantage.

Non-autistics are always so discreet. There’s a meme I saw on the Internet: a smiling zombie going look at me I’m a neurotypical, I give weird hints about things instead of just telling people! So much confusion, so much fuss over not being rude or offending people, and it’s like, just tell me already! But because my parents assumed I couldn’t understand them, and they hated me so much that they had every intention of being rude to me, they said exactly what they thought of me right to my face. They gave me suggestions for how to make them like me, and I didn’t even have to ask: don’t be so loud, stop those bizarre motions with your hands, start speaking, make eye contact. Because of this direct advice, I lived to appease them: but it never worked. 

My.. real parents….

I want to speak. About my experiences with abuse and self-hatred, about the trauma that came along with living with parents who hated me and my brain, even about it. But something in this woman tells me it’s not safe. I want to speak so badly. Want to resist, but I can only resist through actions, not words. And if my resistance is silent, it’s pretty much useless, right? 

I kick my leg up. “NOOOOOO!” I scream. The fire starts up in my brain again. I’m so ashamed. I’m having a meltdown—on live TV! 

I can hear the interviewer saying “Defiance is a symptom of autism. Individuals afflicted with the condition may have tantrums for no reason. You can see how this must feel for parents.”

How this must feel for parents…. how would my mom feel?

 i hate her i hate her she’s ruining my life

gotta get rid of her we must get rid of her now

burden strain crisis epidemic 

I start crying, then bang my head against the wall as hard as I can to make the pain more physical than emotional (in the background, the interviewer says, “self-injurious behavior is a symptom of autism”). I type “TURN OFF CAMERAS” mid-meltdown, but she doesn’t listen. 

I’ve just proven myself unworthy of dignity. The public is going to see my meltdown and think that’s what autistics look like, all we’re capable of. I’ve let down the community I promised to serve.

To avoid further humiliation, I dash out of the building. (I’m preparing for the interviewer to say, “elopement is a symptom of autism” any minute now.) I text Pop to come get me, and tell him about the interview and what a disaster it was. He texts back, “I’m sorry to hear about what a PITA that woman was. Can you hold on for a few minutes? Still at the support group. Parents are being PITAs there too. I was just about to call them out on it and give an angry speech on how au-some we are before you texted!” (PITA is text talk for pain in the ass). He texts again, “Love you my fellow Autie. Stay strong. I should be there in another hour or so.” (Pop is also on the spectrum, though verbal and neurotypical-passing).

“See you in an hour, champaign!” I text back, completely recovered from the meltdown. 

That gives me an hour to hang out with Jeffrey and Stella. I text them and they meet me next to the Autism Speaks building. 

I tell them about the interview, how annoying that woman was, how she publicly humiliated me and it’s going on a documentary. “Utterly disgusting,” Stella types. “Has she ever even met an autistic person, or is she just going off Autism Doesn’t Speak For Sh*t and a whiny parents complaining group chat?”

We all laugh. 

I start questioning myself. This is the only organization that’s been actively criticized by the people they claim to support. No one says the Cancer Foundation doesn’t speak for them, or the NAACP is a racist hate group. It’s not even just that it’s focused on parents either—no LGBTQ person says Parents and Families of Lesbians And Gays doesn’t speak for them either. If Autism Speaks is so bad, why am I working for them? Because I’m pathetic and can’t survive in any other jobs? Which matters more—selfish survival or giving back to my people, my community? The community that taught me not to hate myself, that helped me realize that I actually was a person worthy of respect, not a Worst-Case-Scenario or Defective Factory Product, the community that raised me since the day my dads took me in—is that really worth losing for a so-called “job” where I won’t even be listened to? 

We go out for ice cream. I try an oddly satisfying new flavor-maple with pieces of bacon in it. We have a nice conversation, and Stella and I plan our date. 

We return to the building, and Pop is there waiting for me, along with Stella’s mom and Jeffrey’s mom. 

“Hey guys!”, Pop says. “Stella’s mom was just telling us about an autism positivity group they go every week and thought you guys might want to tag along. It starts in two hours.”

“I guess it sounds fun,” I type. “I’m a bit skeptical of autism groups now though.”

“Don’t worry,” Stella says. “It’s a different kind of group… a better one. The moderator is autistic along with everyone else. People are free to be and move as they want. There are even free fidget toys! And NOBODY treats us as subnormal, like we’re foreign creatures. No negativity. I promise!” 

“There’s a parent group too,” Stella’s mom says.

“I’m not a big fan of those,” Pop says.

“Ours is different. Mostly autistic parents with autistic kids. No negativity there either. And I can assure you, they’re very dedicated to speaking out against Autism Speaks.”

“I don’t know about it. What do you think, Tazu?”

I consider it for a while. “Sounds AU-some!” I finally type. “Let’s go!”

A few hours later

We walk into a huge, loud building with lots of people. A woman hands me, Stella, Jeffery, and our parents tiny pamphlets. “Welcome to the Autistic Self Advocacy Network!” she says. “Our goal is to empower, accept, embrace, support, and give resources to autistics worldwide. So, are you guys here for the support groups?”

Stella and her mom were right. This seems like a much better type of group already. There is a box of fidget toys, many kids and adults of all ages bouncing and flapping freely, everyone is wearing shirts and pins like “AU-TASTIC” and “GOD CREATED AUTISM TO DECREASE THE ASTONISHINGLY HIGH NUMBER OF BORING PEOPLE ON THIS EARTH,” and there are posters on the wall like “you are welcome here,” and “your brain is not broken.” That noise though! I cover my ears, and the chaotic drilling in my eardrums softens. (It’s not as loud as the Autism Speaks penthouse though. Why is it even called a penthouse? Just sounds like rich people apartments to me. Then again, rich people apartments sounds like an oxymoron.)

“There are noise cancelling headphones in the back if you need them,” the woman calls out. “We try to keep ASAN as sensory-friendly as possible. So sorry about all the noise.”

I get my headphones. The woman escorts us and our parents to our support groups. As I’m following her, I notice a huge drawing. On the top of it, it says, “NeuroQueer: Supporting transgender and gender nonconforming autistic people since the beginning of time.” A thousand people have drawn photos of themselves. 

Sentenced

I open my eyes. Fluorescent lights above, voices chattering, desks scraping. I sit on a hard wooden seat while a tall figure looms over me. It waits until the talking ceases, the tables settle, and then it speaks. A low, gravelly voice, sending chills up and down my spine. The voice is shrouded by itself, but not unintelligible. 

“Where is your paper, Wilson?” Here he pauses, and it seems like my math teacher is rising in size. “Taylor? Davis?” 

The kids next to me, also jammed in desks, seem to shrink in their seats as the monster turns to each of us. All the other students have left, leaving three of their peers to face the wrath of this beast. I wonder about those other students. They’ll be at recess now, laughing, playing, knowing that they’re not in trouble and they won’t suffer in the least. I remember when I was one of those kids. Bouncing carefreely out the door, straight As, never in trouble. Of course, that doesn’t appeal to me now. Ever since–

“I announced it three times yesterday,” the voice jolts me back. With a whimper, the kid on my right, Jordan Davis, begins to speak, but is silenced by the creature’s next words. “Three times, Davis. Close your mouth.” The figure turns away in disgust. “You will see me after school. Three thirty. Do. Not. Be. Late.” His words, though not loud, leave our ears ringing as we murmur our consent, rise from our seats, and quietly file out of the room. 

“Bro, Grossman’s a beast!” Prince Taylor, my best friend, says. 

“Yeah man, you don’t mess with the Grossmonster,” I say, punching him back lightly on the shoulder. “I thought Jordie was gonna pee himself!” Prince cracks up, playfully nudging our timid friend on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jordie’s pale skin flushes, and he brushes his blond hair out of his earth-colored eyes. He used to be a teacher’s pet, but hasn’t fully conformed to our system. 

“Man, you need a haircut!” I say, grinning. 

The kid’s eyes roll again. “At least I don’t look like some military-school dropout!” 

We all laugh at this. Before my mom got depressed, she tried to send me to some hardcore “Academy for Troubled Teens” or something. Prior to leaving, she shaved my head, but then she couldn’t make me leave the house after that. My hair is still growing back, leaving me looking like a small, hazel-eyed Justin Timberlake.  

“After all that trouble, I don’t think I want to endure the lunch monitor screaming at me for no apparent reason,” I say, smirking. “Wanna skip?” 

“Sorry, man, we got English next period, and you know Mrs. Jones calls parents,” Jordie says, and Prince nods.

 “Alright, see you in detention.” I stroll down the hall nonchalantly towards the back entrance of M.S. 13. 

Suddenly, someone comes out of the classroom on my left so quickly that I have no time to react. She plows into me, knocking me to the floor. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I look up from my spot on the floor to see a girl with long, black hair and deep, olive eyes. She’s wearing faded jeans, orange Converse, and a Penn State sweatshirt. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, embarrassed, hurrying to my feet. I try to step past her outside, but she moves, blocking my only way out. 

“Where are you going?” she asks me suspiciously. 

“I, uh, think I left my water bottle outside.” For some reason, I’m thrown off by this girl’s sharpness. Mostly, the hall monitors let me pass, but she’s different. 

“I think you’re lying.” She says this definitively, no doubts about her statement. 

Relax, D. I think. She’s just another seventh-grade student who probably won’t care too much if I sneak off. After all, it doesn’t affect her in the least. Why should she worry? 

Offering her a lazy smile, I begin to continue past her down the hallway. 

As I’m about to open the door, I hear a whisper. 

“If you do that, I’ll tell Mrs. Jones,” The girl stage-whispers, turning the heads of some students working on laptops in the hallway. 

I sigh. There’s no reason to argue with this girl. What’s the point? I would just get in more trouble. 

D, maybe there’s no point in skipping. You’re broke and will get caught by the security guard anyway. There’s nothing to do without Jordie and Prince, so lay off it. 

I cast the girl a glare, and march off towards the cafeteria. 

******************************************************************************

“Dude, we thought you had chickened out on skipping or something!” Prince says. “So this girl stops you?”  

“That’s right, man,” I respond. We stop in front of Grossman’s classroom. Jordie knocks, and approximately fifteen slow seconds tick by until the daunting man opens his door. He grins, and leads us to three desks in the middle of the room. “You will sit here in silence for half an hour. If one of you talks, ten minutes will be added to your sentence.” 

Sentence. The last time I heard that word was in a courtroom. My dad stood in the middle, head bowed, hands shackled behind his back. The judge banged his gavel. “Mr. Wilson, you have been sentenced to four years in federal prison for breaking and entering, theft, and the injury of other citizens.” 

Next to me, my mother burst into tears. “Why, Frank, why?” I heard her mumble through her grief. My father’s lawyer, Bill, turned to me. He looked angry. He opened his mouth to speak, but what comes out is Mr. Grossman’s voice. 

“Wilson, if you want to stay, by all means, be my guest. Your friends would be disappointed though, I’m sure.” 

I jerk awake, and look up to see my evil teacher towering above me. I grab my bag and race out the door as fast as my legs can carry me, beating my friends outside by ten whole seconds. We joke around for a couple minutes, but soon we have to go. 

As Jordie, Prince, and I part ways, I sit on a bench in front of the bus stop, staring down at the floor. I hate detention, but I hate my father even more for being in jail and doing all those stupid things. I dig around in my pocket for the unfinished math homework, checking the bus schedule as I pull it out. While I was stuck in detention, the bus came and went, so I have half an hour to wait. Shrugging and checking around for any classmates that may catch me doing work, I begin on the algebraic equations. They’re actually not that boring, and by the time the bus comes, I’m almost finished with the paper. Smiling to myself, I complete the last two problems on the short bus ride to my house. 

******************************************************************************

When I get home, I find Mom crashed on the couch, bottle of wine more than half empty next to her on the floor. Previous stains are located on other places of the old green rug that Dad gave to Mom when they got married. I don’t bother hiding them under old newspapers anymore, they’ve basically become a part of the shaggy piece of cloth. Mom’s still in her waitress uniform when I cover her with a blanket, the soft corners falling over her sleeping form. Her breath wafts up to me, the alcohol heavy, as I kiss my mother on her pale, overworked cheek. Turning away, I lug my schoolbag down the hallway to my room, not one thing out of place. Everything is tidy and neat, unlike the rest of the apartment. I fall asleep twisted in sheets that offer no comfort to my dreams that night.  

I’m standing in the middle of my math classroom. The Grossmonster is standing there with that annoying girl from the hallway. The teacher sneers. Your father’s in prison? Detention, see me at three thirty. I start to protest, and then I hear laughing. I turn around to find Adam and Jordie laughing their heads off. What happened? I cry out, and suddenly the whole school–Hannah from Biology, Toby from History, Alex from English–they’re all there, surrounding me, laughing their heads off. It’s maniacal laughter, their heads thrown back and fingers pointing. I look down at myself, and realize that I’m not wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants anymore. My outfit has changed drastically. I’m dressed in a gray jumpsuit, no pockets and a number tacked to my chest. The walls of the classroom begin to transform, forming a cell, but my classmates are with me, closing in…

I wake up covered in sweat and shaking. It was just a dream, I tell myself. I get up and shuffle around in complete darkness, my hand shaking as I grope around for my cell phone. It’s 5:24 AM, so I do what I always do after a nightmare–I search up my father’s case. 

Wednesday, November 16, 2010-–Marcus Wilson, with a history of federal offences and warnings, has finally been convicted of theft. The crime occurred earlier this year, when two armed, masked figures stormed a jewelry store and stole two diamond necklaces, one sapphire stone ring, and three pairs of pure gold earrings, three inches in length. One employee was injured in the process, receiving a broken wrist after being roughly shoved into a glass cabinet and falling to the floor. The other workers survived with minor injuries. Marcus Wilson and Anthony Johnson both pled guilty and were sentenced to four years in federal prison. Marcus has a wife and child, and Anthony has no family members that we were able to contact. The suspects and their families were not available for comment. 

I shut off my phone and walk to the living room, where my mother is watching the local news. 

“Morning, Mom,” I say, rubbing the last bits of sleep from my eyes. “You’re feeling better?” 

She gives me a watery smile. “I love you, Dashiell. You are your father’s son…”  Her half-lidded eyes return to the TV, and I nod to please her, now pondering the thought of what my dad was like as a young man. When he wasn’t involved with drugs, gangs, crime… I plop down next to her and put my head in my hands, unable to get the thoughts about my father out of my head.

“Hey Mom, how long has it been since we’ve visited Dad?” I know the answer. The last time we visited, I got really angry at him. We got into a yelling fight, and the visit was canceled early. It’s been over nine months. 

“Honey, I don’t know. Sometimes things go by in a blur, or they drag out slowly…” Her words are beginning to slur, so I take the bottle of wine from her hand and set it aside. We watch TV until I realize I’m going to be late for school. 

“Bye, Mom!” I shove last night’s paper into my schoolbag and run to catch the bus. 

I decide that after school, I’m going to do something that I haven’t done in nine months.

******************************************************************************

I square my shoulders and walk into my dad’s temporary home. The guards pat me down, I sign some papers, and since I’m thirteen, I don’t need a parent or guardian here with me. The big security guy leads me through the familiar hallways, down the metal stairs, and into the basement, where Block C is located. We pass a couple doors, I read the numbers. J-9873. M-4277. O-3858.  I wonder how all these men got here. What did they do? Do they have families that visit, or do they just waste away in their cells for fifteen years? Are they actually guilty, or were they framed for a crime? I realize all the questions and words buzzing around in my head are making my hands sweat and my mouth dry. I lick my lips and take a deep breath. We stop outside a door that reads W-8309. I know that number very, very well. 

“Wilson, you got a visitor!” The guard yells at the door. I can hear shuffling inside the cell, and there’s an awkward silence. 

“He’s being pretty good. He could be out soon.” The guard continues. I nod, and then two hands are placed gently through the gap in the middle of the door. I stare at my dad’s hands. They look pretty normal, no scabs or scratches. That’s good, I tell myself reassuringly. The guard cuffs Dad’s hands quickly, expertly, and they withdraw. The door is opened. 

My father stands, head down, hands cuffed in front of me. He’s wearing a gray jumpsuit like the one I had in my dream. My father raises his head, and I look him in the eye for the first time in months. His face is hollowed and gaunt, his eyes sunken and his cheekbones quite prominent. 

“Dad?” I ask, my eyes already filling with tears. He’s unable to speak, I see his eyes light up with shock and sadness, and I can’t help but rush to him, hugging, loving, wanting. We stay like that for a long time, until I pull away. 

“You’ve grown so much, Dashiell. I haven’t seen you for such a long time…” He says, voice hoarse. His shaggy brown hair falls into his face, and he wipes it away, along with a stray tear. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. 

He looks at me for the longest time. Finally he whispers, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Dashiell. I should never have gotten involved with Anthony and those guys. I’m sorry for being hard on you. Will you forgive me?” 

Without hesitation, I hug him again. “Yes, yes, yes,” I say. We end up moving to a table inside my father’s cell. He asks about Mom, and I tell him she’s a bit of a mess. He gets up, takes something from under his pillows, and returns. He gives it to me. I examine the bundle. It’s a stack of letters, bound by a piece of twine. 

“I wrote these to your mother,” Dad says softly. “I’ve decided to work on the better me. When I get out of here, I won’t look at the gangs and my old buddies again. I’m going to be a new man, Dashiell. A new man.” He seems delighted with himself, so I smile as well. We chat for a little more, and of course we reach the inevitable subject–school. I spill everything; skipping school, the trouble my friends have got into. When the guard signals that our two hours are almost up, my father takes my hand. 

Looking me in the eye, he says, “Son, you may not be the most well behaved kid at school. Actually, it sounds like you and your buddies are the troublemakers. And it sounds cool at the time, but you’ll start getting into serious trouble. You’re definitely going to regret what you did, and there’ll be consequences. That’s exactly what happened to me, and I beg you not to go down that path. Please, son, choose what’s right and be the better person. Stay away from people who lead you down a dangerous path. Remember, I love you, and your mother loves you too, so please avoid situations that are.” 

He squeezes my hand, and the guard escorts me out of the room. As the door closes, I wave and say just loud enough for him to hear; “I love you too, Dad.”

******************************************************************************

Epilogue

When D got home, his mom was snoozing on the couch. He gently shook her awake.
“Hey, Mom. I… visited Dad today.” Feeling tired, he left the letters next to her bottle of Bud Light and retired to his room early. When he woke up and strolled down the hall the next day, the smell of eggs and bacon reached his nose. Rubbing his eyes hard, D saw his mother making breakfast in the kitchen, a pile of open letters on the counter. As he got closer, he saw the letters contained his dad’s handwriting. 

“How much bacon, D?” his mother asked. 

D went back to school that day. He walked in with Katie and a smile on his face. Looking the feared math teacher in the eye, he held out a neat, fully completed homework assignment. When Prince started making cat noises during the lesson, D didn’t join in. Jordie and Prince came up to him later that day.

“What’s up with you, man?” Jordie looked concerned, but Prince had a menacing look on his face as he stood defiantly behind Jordie, arms crossed. 

  “I… don’t want to do this anymore. I’m sick of playing around, getting in trouble, and never taking anything seriously. We’ll get into bigger trouble, you know.” 

Both his friends’ expressions hardened. 

“I thought we were real friends, Dashiell,” Prince spat at him. They walked away, wanting nothing to do with him anymore. 

It was sad to watch his old friends ignore him, but Dashiell started hanging out with other kids after that, grades improving as well as his various relationships. 

 A few months after D’s visit, his father went on trial for the last time and the judge let him go. D’s life was finally piecing back together, especially since his father came back. 


The Flower of Night

A sustained shriek rips through the raven-dark air. A young boy emerges from a building, his eyes alight with fear. He takes a step into the night, slowly at first, and then sprints. He reaches the opposite sidewalk and disappears into another building. 

Shoes. Thousands of shoes. In every color, shape, and size. Here, near the street lamp, there’s a pair of black leather pumps, stomping up and down in a frenzy. Across the block, a pair of well-worn, mud-caked hiking shoes performs a tapdance. Over there, down by the red brick townhouse is a collection of neon sneakers. All of them dance around this angry Sun-on-Earth. It cackles and dances and glints. It plays and spreads and reaps the block of its population. 

A young woman clutches her shawl, tears wetting the soft cloth. She is the source of the scream. Her mouth is open, her sound lighting the thousands of ears grouped around the fearsome fire. 

A man in a navy-blue pinstripe suit holds onto his briefcase for his life. His daughter is gone. His watch shines with the reflection. She’s disappeared into the mass, yet to appear. Which mass?

The people scream, but the young boy is deaf. All he knows is that his mother descended into the street thirty minutes ago and he hasn’t had dinner yet. He treads to the floor-length window and screeches a sound he cannot hear.

They lick the street and eat the sidewalk without a moment of consideration. Buildings are devoured in a matter of seconds. It advances. The brave knights who hold the hoses and those too desperate to try to salvage their own lives are the only ones who remain near this beast. It growls and laughs at the few helpless and stupid enough to tease it. It pounces and engulfs them. 

A second sun emerges. It tears the sky heavy with tears into a dreadful begonia. The stars fall, one by one. 

The person in only a purple Peanuts t-shirt advances into the flower, ready to be eaten.

This is a flower of night. It fades and crumples and grays as another one takes its place, ravaging the sky. 

The fire was beautiful. It was the color of wheat in harvest season. It smelled of cinnamon and campfires. It glinted like a million mirrors and faded like a tired firefly. It kissed the earth with passion, love almost. 

No one will remember this. They will remember only the old man who limped and leaned on his old wife. They all limp. Every single one of them limps, whether their limbs be lithe and lean or wizened and broken. They are oldened, every one of them: wrinkles line their faces like old war-paint; their eyes are sunken and flighty. They will remember the picture released in the press, the following day, a lifeless representation of the arid desert lacking everything of the city’s breath. An urban tundra, frozen over, for none to survive.

The flower has faded.


The Cottage in the Woods

It was a seemingly ordinary day at Camp Lemon, but not for Emilya Collins. Emilya was simply hiking along the Yellow Trail like everyone else, except for the fact that she wasn’t engaging in meaningless chatter like everyone else. No, Emilya was a loner, and she wanted to stay that way. She also had dirty blond hair that she always kept in a tight bun at the back of her neck, and was only four foot eight.

The group halted when the counselors up front did so. At this point, in time and space, the group of middle-aged (by camp standards) campers on the Yellow Trail were supposed to meet the younger campers, by the way of the intersection of the Green Trail and the Yellow Trail, but the younger campers and the Green Trail had seemingly disappeared. 

Since the counselors couldn’t investigate just by themselves, (since that would mean leaving the campers alone) two of the counselors said that they would stay behind on the trail with anyone who wanted to, and two others would take students who wanted to explore (aka look for the younger campers, their counselors, and the Green Trail). Since Emilya preferred small groups to large ones (but she liked to be alone above all), and since less people wanted to “explore,” Emilya joined that group.

Twenty or so minutes after the “explore” group started “exploring,” Emilya got bored. When she thought the coast was clear, she set out to re-find and explore the cute and mysterious cottage she saw around five minutes back. 

Just as Emilya was escaping, she heard a most annoying phrase.

“Halt!” It was Claire Oderr-Clemens, the biggest bully in Camp Lemon. Even the head counselor was scared of her (only because the mad scientist Dr. Oderr-Clemens-Shakespeare-Rowling-Silverstein was her mother, and she threatened that her “explosion-causing mother will hear about this!”) Both mother and daughter were known for blowing things up. When they arrived at Camp Lemon, they planted an explosive in the Nurse’s office that didn’t blow up because, as Claire said, “I just want to scare people.”

Dr Oderr-Clemens-Shakespeare-Rowling-Silverstein threatened to actually blow up the nurse’s office if they expelled Claire.

“What does your uncivilized person want from me?” Emilya grandly replied. Claire got rather red in the face.

“Want to leave with Emily,” grunted Marsha Balonrey, the strongest person in the entirety of Camp Lemon. Due to the threat of Marsha, Emilya warily let them find/explore the house with her.

The walk to the house was peppered with Claire criticizing Emilya’s literary tastes, and Marsha pointing everything out.

However, soon they reached the mysterious cottage. It was small, but probably appeared bigger on the inside, with cute woodwork. It was the sort of place Emilya might want to live herself one day. 

When the rebels approached the cottage, some sort of forcefield froze the bullies in their positions, but they were surprised by the forcefield, so they were stuck in rather ridiculous poses. However, this did not affect Emilya, so she walked on through. 

Emilya adored the tiny little cottage, everything from the Gothic arches, to the fascinating books, and the cauldron on table, until she saw the old hag putting ingredients in aforementioned cauldron. Then Emilya was scared out of her wits.

“Emilya, I know what you want,” the hag croaked. “I know what you need.”

“Who-who are you?” the usually eloquently-tongued Emilya stammered.

“I am Cerona,” the hag answered, “and I can help you, Emilya. I can have an Asgardian spirit eat your enemies for breakfast. I can summon a Linckenlay poltergeist to drive them insane. I can do that Emilya, and so much more. Just say the word.” 

The always-quick Emilya replied, “That’s absolutely ridiculous simply because you never said what the word is. If you’re going to enchant people at least do it right.” The hag looked indignant.

“Little girl, have you any idea of what I can do? The things I know?” Emilya yawned. She looked and sounded bored.

“No. Please enlighten me.” The hag looked even angrier.

“I can send the Earth out of its orbit and into space! I can kill you with the snap of my fingers! You, little girl, need to learn about respect for your God!”

Emilya still looked bored. “I don’t care,” she casually announced. “If you could kill me with the snap of your fingers, you would have already. What do you want?” 

The witch was growing in size, and was slowly getting younger until she was a 25 year-old with her black hair in a bun, and was wearing extravagant, yet simple silken purple robes. She had red-hot, fiery anger in her eyes, and magic in her fingertips. She was all-powerful, and wanted everyone to know it.

“I am sick and tired of your comments, little girl. I had a reasonable price for you: in exchange for me fixing your problems, you would be my assistant for twenty years.” 

Emilya was still unimpressed. “You should be aware that indentured servitude is currently illegal in the United States of America. And hidden prices are common, but frowned upon…”

 Cerona literally had fire in her eyes.  While colors were flying out of her fingers, she chanted an incantation: “Hanf hivobe avilf. Levwe libh vall.”

Now Emilya looked impressed—and terrified. Cerona knew real spells! In her haste, she grabbed the enchantress’ cauldron and oar. Cerona looked frightened.

“Not so powerful now, hag,” Emilya snarkily said. Cerona now looked more angry than scared.

“I am no mere hag, little girl! Give me the cauldron and oar if you know what’s good for you!” 

Emilya now looked rather cocky, with a strange little spark in her eyes. “I don’t answer to hags! All my fear and ignorance was false!” ahe said as colors flew out of her fingers. “I know how magic works! You can only use your cauldron for ‘little’ magic, like making a hiking trail and a dozen people disappear, or for aiding big magic. Spells can only be used to aid big magic, but you can only use spells if you’re powerful enough. You’re a Felleli enchantress,” she said as she donned a scarlet, velvety cape. “The angrier you are, the more power you have. I was getting you angry for a reason, for I am the almighty in the sky, I am the power above, I am your Goddess, and now, with your hard work done, I shall rule the world.”


The Tale of Lillian Becket

Chapter One: The Beginning

Aug 8

My story is a hard one to tell. Most would say to start at the beginning, but isn’t that the least important part? My beginning starts with my parents, who have a tangled history, a history woven with lies and secrets.

My name is Lillian Becket. When I was born, I was far from expected. They called me a blessing, a very surprising blessing. My parents work some secretive job I know very little about. What I do know is ever since I could toddle, only one of them would be around at a time. Often, the dinner table is only half full and food lays cold and untouched. I have my suspicions, but most of them are unrealistic hopes that stir in the safety of darkness and twilight. Whenever I question their absence, I am met only with anger.

I have friends, some as fake as the plastic wind-up toys that sit on my desk. I do have two who understand me, and have for years. Their names are Maya and Dylan. They found me swinging from the old squeaky playground set, after a brutal round of taunting and teasing. Maya, with her kind blue eyes and hip length hair is the one who wraps her arms around me and tells me it is okay to cry until my eyes dry of tears and my heart is satisfied. 

Kyle, with his deep dark eyes and his tight curly hair listens to me and assures me that it will all work out in the end, and that the sadness lingering in my eyes will soon wash away like footprints in the sand.

 We live near the sea. The only place I feel truly safe is sitting by the shore. Salty wind whistling through my tangled hair. That is where I sit now, trying to explain my story in the lined paper of this jet black notebook. Besides the coast, my other safe place is my journal. I can explain myself without interruptions and judgements. So please, don’t ask questions, don’t wonder, just bear with me as I try my best to tell my story. 

So, now that you know a little bit about me, I can begin the middle. 

The middle began on a day much like this one. Clear sky, breeze whistling through the palm trees that line the outskirts of town. When I wake in the morning, nothing seems odd about the way the books are lined straight and ordinary on their bookshelf and the way the clouds dance across the sun. But in the air, a scent lingers, of blood and roses, sweet. Gruesomely sweet. Humidly sweet. And slowly my nostrils flare, registering the discomfort in the air, but dismissing it as quickly as it came.

Like any normal morning, I stretch my arms in wide circles, feeling the soreness sleep has brought to my shoulders.

I have always been a morning person, in that serene time between dawn and when people actually begin to stir.

Tiptoeing down the ice cold stairs, I listen for my mom, or my dad. Per usual, neither are present. I am almost positive that Dad went on an early morning run down the beach, just like every morning. Who knows where Mom is?
I head into the kitchen and grab a bowl and the box of honey cheerios. Filling it with cereal and milk, I turn towards the living room. I sink into the couch, bowl balanced unsteadily on my knee.

I slurp my cereal while the TV blares. The images and light mix together, searing my eyes. The smell of dusty light is embedded into my couch, along with the slightly sour smell of my mothers perfume. I take a long deep breath and turn as my phone lets out a high pitched chirp. Picking it up, I see a text from Maya and a response from Dylan.

I click on our group chat and see that Maya has asked to see if one of us will help her pick out a dress for some event she has to go to for her dad’s demanding job. Hearing her complain about spending time with her parents makes me want to scream, but she is my best friend, and I don’t want to be alone all of today.

I respond with a short, “Yes,” and turn back to my show. 

After ten short minutes, barely halfway through the show, I hear a knock on my door and open it to find both Maya and Dylan on my doorstep. I reluctantly let them into the house and stomp upstairs to pull a gray sweatshirt over my shoulders and shove the hood over my head. I want to give off the don’t-talk-to-me vibe.

Dylan gives me the side eye as we scamper to the car and I decide that I will tolerate them, and try to cheer up. In shotgun, I crank up the music and play the part of DJ. In between flipping through songs, I stare, expressionless, out the car window. Maya and Dylan make chit chat until they cut off the music and, from the backseat, Dylan turns to face me. He looks at me and I know something is on his mind, but before he can tell me, we pull into the mall parking lot. I shoot Dylan a glance, but read nothing from his expression. 

As we walk, I can feel the pavement, hot underneath my flip-flops. We enter the mall and the cool air conditioning and the smell of new products envelops me. I’m slightly overwhelmed, always have been when going to malls. I wish I could communicate this to my friends who are mall enthusiasts. I turn to glance at them and Maya is staring at me with an expectancy in her eyes. Did I miss something?

“Well?” Maya questions.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you want anything?” She sounds exasperated. This happens to me a lot, just spacing out in the middle of a conversation.

I shake my head, a definite no. Even if I did want something, I don’t think I have the strength to ask my parents for money right now.

“Hey Lillian, are you OK?” Dylan questions.

“Yup, just tired,” I reply. I’m not lying, I’m tired of being here and of these parentless nights.

After two hours of trying dresses on, both Dylan and I are completely out of steam and hungry for greasy fast food. We end up dragging Maya out of Macy’s with a light blue, strapless dress.

We drive to the closest Five Guys and buy paper bags of salty, hot fries and fountain cold soft drinks. Grease soaks through the bottom of the white paper bags and cold condensation lingers on my fingers. We run to the car and gobble fry after fry, slurp our drinks, and enjoy each others company.


The McDonald Murder

The little door bell rang as I stepped into the Mcdonald’s office. The cold air rushed in to meet the toasty warm fire under the chimney as I, Billie Clement, hoped to work at this delicious fast food restaurant. The waiting room was surprisingly empty for a job interview, except for one man reading a newspaper. The man didn’t look up as I walked in, he probably didn’t care either. I sat down in one of the chairs and waited for the interview to begin. Right when I sat down though, a woman walked out of the waiting room. I didn’t see her face to tell if she got the job, but who cares? This is my day. Another man walked out of the room and told me to walk right in. As I sat in a comfy leather chair I handed the man my resume:

Name, Billie Clement Age, 26

Sex, male

Professional experience, I can heat my food up in the microwave

While the man looked over my resume carefully with a couple nods, he put the paper down, folded his hands, and looked at me with tired eyes.

“Congrats Billie, you got the job,” he said to me.

Finally, I thought to myself as I walked out of the room and closed the door, I didn’t mess up! But as I was walking out, the man with the newspaper wasn’t there. Then, I heard a shrill scream from the room. I quickly ran back to the room. The window was shattered, I looked to the desk and saw the interviewer, with a knife in his bloody back, and a note that read: SEE YOU MONDAY! 

It’s Monday, the day that I feared and was excited about because, duh, first day of work! As I walked the tiring 2 blocks to Mcdonalds, I could make out the shape of the giant letter M on top of the giant Mcdonalds building. In front of the building was the statue of the mascot, the one and only Ronald Mcdonald the clown. As I was walking I thought about who could’ve killed the interviewer, I mean, who has anything against someone that could give you a job? Oh, now I see why. Only a couple minutes later I arrive at Mcdonalds. “It’s strange that there’s cars parked, but the lights are off,” I mutter to myself. I unlock the doors with the key that the interviewer gave me, and walked inside. I go to turn on the lights, but I can’t find it, so I head to the store next to the restaurant and buy a flashlight and some batteries. I head back inside Mcdonald’s and turn on the flashlight. The sight scares me, people are scattered everywhere, cops and citizens. “Maybe there was a fight?” I say to no one, but how can a fight end with no winner? And also, where’s the Ronald Mcdonald mascot? Right when I think that, water starts to drip on my shoulder, and as I look up, Ronald is on the ceiling, except it’s not Ronald. His teeth are sharp and dripping gooey alienish saliva. 

His hands and feet are claws. The alien Ronald he has red all over his body, and I don’t think that’s from the ketchup dispenser in the corner. He tries to jump on me and I try to reach the door but he pulls me backward. He starts walking towards me as I cover my eyes and brace for my death. But then, just as I can feel his warm, sticky breath in front of me, I hear the sound of someone being whacked in the head with something metallic, and then a body falls to the floor. I uncover my eyes and there’s a Mcdonald’s employee standing over the monster with a frying pan in his hands. He looks at me with his frightened eyes. He tells me, almost in a whisper, ”Run.”

I didn’t really hear him that well because I was halfway out the door at the time. I slam the door shut. And run, almost in a sprint, back home.

I slam the door open and rush to the phone, 911, call the police they can fix this. I think. The cops pick up the phone and ask me what my emergency is. 

”There’s this, um, like, KILLER CLOWN, RONALD MCDONALD IS. A. KILLER. CLOWN.” I think I might have been too over panicked. Naaah, I don’t think so.

”Sir can you speak more clearly please?” The cop says to me. 

I scream into the phone with anger, “Speak clearly?! A lot of innocent people were just killed. And it was almost me too! By a monster-like, killing, psychopath clown at Mcdonalds!” 

“Sir I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but will send over a couple people to check the place out,” the cop says in an annoyed tone, like this happens all the time. 

“No you’re going to need more than a couple, send the whole place. Thirty people just died and you’re acting like this is bullshit!” 

“Fine sir, if it makes you happy we’ll send everyone over,” she says to me. I’m about to say thank you but she hangs up. 

“Maybe I’ll just go to bed,” I mutter under my breath. I trudge upstairs and collapse in my little bed. “It will all be over tomorrow.” I say to myself. The next day I try calling the police hq. No one answers. “Hmm, maybe they’re still at Mcdonalds.” I say aloud, so I run over to McDonald’s but not before I make sure to take a pocket knife just in case. 

As I walk up and press my face against the door to see if anyone’s there, I see a bunch of dead cops and the clown bending over and looks like he’s eating something. Just then I get a call on my phone from my friend. “Shit,” I say to myself. I try to turn off the ringer but I guess the clown already heard it, because the next moment, the clown is right at the door, his mouth covered in blood, but it’s not his. I try to scream but no words come out. I run away from the door and try to call someone, anyone that can help me kill this thing, or else there’s no way of stopping it. 

I yelp a gun store and see that it’s not far away, I run over there, and buy a little revolver and some ammo for it. Then I run back to Mcdonald’s and open the door, the monster is nowhere to be seen so I turn on a flashlight, holding it in one hand and the revolver in the other. I walk down the hallway shining the flashlight in every room, and when I come across one room, my blood turns cold. There’s someone standing up in the kitchen not moving. I run over him and ask in a whisper, “What are you doing? Hello?” He doesn’t answer or try to shake his shoulder but he falls over, like he was propped up. Just then I heard a clang of something falling on the floor. 

I crouch just in time as the clown walks into the room, grinning ear to ear with his red-stained teeth. He pokes each pan and pot that’s hanging on the wall like he’s toying with me, wanting me to be afraid. I jump out of my hiding spot and try to shoot him, but the bullet bounces off one of the pans and hits the ceiling. The clown runs to the right and I manage to shoot him in the arm. He screeches like scratching a fork on a plate. My ears are bleeding from the noise. He runs towards me.

“Bad move Ronald,” I yell to him and lay the finishing blow right as he pierces me with his long fingers in the stomach. I point the gun under his chin, and pull the trigger, then I black out from tiredness. 

I wake myself up and stand on my wobbly legs, I walk over to Ronald and see his shirt covering a letter, I tear the shirt off him and tattooed in black is written: TEST SUBJECT NO.0.

Agent: So, that’s why you came here Mr. Clement?

Bobby: Yes, I thought you guys at the government could give me some answers about this thing.

Agent: Oh yes Mr. Clement, but the thing is you won’t be coming home for a long time.

Bobby: Wait, what?

Agent: Kill mode.

Robot: Kill mode activated.

Bobby: No, no, no, there’s got to be a mistake I-

BLAM!

To be continued.


The Cheese Thief

Pedro the Sombrero Snake was a snake from Sombrero, the capital planet of the Sombrero Galaxy Union. At first, he would seem to be your average Sombrero citizen. He was a snake, the native species of the planet, ate cheese, the food of choice, and he always, always wore his sombrero.

Back when he was little, Pedro the Sombrerito Snakito was very close to his grandfather, José the Sombreroto Snakoto. Every night, José would tell Pedro stories, before tucking him into his little blanket burrito for bed. 

It didn’t happen suddenly, but, for most of the time that Pedro the Sombrerito Snakito was growing up, there was less and less cheese to go around. Pedro, having heard so many stories of Sombrero valor, decided that he would be the one to solve the problem. The moment he turned two, and became Pedro the Sombrero Snake, he was ready to go, and find a big supply of cheese. The day after his birthday, he got his Sombrero Space Helmet, and was off.

He had heard rumors of a huge stash of cheese in the Milky Way, so he decided to take a trip there. The first few planets that he ran into had no cheese, so he was considering searching elsewhere when he saw this little blue planet. The planet itself was uninteresting, but he saw what appeared to be a huge ball of cheese peeking around it. Suddenly reinspired, he quickly slithered over towards it. 

When he got close enough to see it clearly, he was overjoyed. It was a miracle! Suddenly, he was approached by a small spacecraft. A window opened up, and somebody pulled him in. One of his assailants held him in place while the other closed up the window, and steered back down. One of the creatures turned around, and Pedro finally got a good look at it. They both had disproportionately big, green onion shaped heads with gigantic eyes, and wore bright yellow uniforms with a cheese emblem on them. The one holding him had a gigantic grin, and the other had a very small, wispy mustache.

The one with the mustache spoke. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Pedro responded, “I’m Pedro the Sombrero Snake. Why did you stop me?”

The one holding him said, “You are trespassing on Cheese Fiend lands. We are Clidney and Goyd, the moon men currently in charge of patrolling this quadrant. You’re under arrest, so we’re going to take you down to our highest security prison.”

Pedro felt all hope leave him. How could he possibly escape a high security prison? His doom was upon him, and he could feel it closing in. Apparently, the moon men could too. They were quickly arriving on the surface, where there was a whole crowd of moon men standing on either side of an empty street, as if they were waiting for a parade to pass by. At the top of the street, there was a huge, imposing building, helpfully labeled as “Jail.”

Clidney and Goyd landed the ship in the middle of the street, and pulled Pedro off. Slowly, they pulled him up the silent street, towards the jail. With every step they took, Clidney and Goyd said, “Doom.”

With every “Doom,” the mob took one step closer to Pedro.

Sixty-seven “Doom”s later, Pedro, Clidney, and Goyd were at the front door of the jail. The mob was so close that, if he had arms, Pedro could have reached out to either side and touched them. Clidney opened up the door, and Goyd ushered him in. Through the window, Pedro could see the mob going back to where they had been before he’d arrived.

They escorted him down thirteen flights of stairs, to a common jail cell. After daring him to escape, Clidney and Goyd walked away, leaving Pedro to his fate.

Once left in the cell, Pedro collapsed onto the floor, miserable. He would close his eyes and pretend he was home, if snakes could blink. He sat there, bemoaning his fate for another forty-two minutes, before suddenly stopping. His hour of dramatics was over. He was ready to escape.

He slithered up to the bars, and examined them. They were four inches thick, made of cold-rolled steel. He stuck his head around to see the other side before realizing: he was a thin snake. He could just slither through the bars and leave, so he did. He just slithered through the halls, up the thirteen flights of stairs, and out the door. 

None of the moon men were looking at him, so he looked around. A lot of moon men were wearing the yellow Cheese Fiend uniforms. He made sure to avoid them as he snuck out of the square. He already knew what his next mission was—steal a huge mound of cheese, and slither away.

Pedro had no idea where he was going, so he just wandered around, until he came across another building, labeled as “Cheese Mine Headquarters.” Seeing as it had the word “cheese” in its name, Pedro decided that he should go in. 

One window was open, so he snuck in through it. There seemed to be a Cheese Fiend meeting in progress, so he decided to stay put, and listen in. There was a panel of Cheese Fiend leaders, facing a currently empty stage. As Pedro watched, a white unicorn climbed up, and stood in the middle of the stage, facing the panel. Ten spotlights suddenly swiveled to shine on her, and the light bouncing off her bright turquoise horn nearly blinded him, so he looked away.

Once he deemed it safe to look back, the lights were controlled, and the unicorn was just starting her speech. “Hello, Cheese Fiend Leaders. Welcome to the Cheese Mine Headquarters. I’m Cynthia, the new director. The new cheese mining initiative has been incredibly successful, and we have had to expand the Cheese Warehouses to fit it all in. With the amount of cheese to process, we have decided to eliminate our current shipping process, in favor of a newer, better one. We will build small ships, which we will then cover with enormous balls of cheese, to be flown out to our buyers. In fact, we already have one built, ready to send out. The rest will be finished shortly.”

The Cheese Fiend Leaders all clapped. Pedro would have done the same, if he could have. Cynthia the unicorn had just given him a really good idea. When she left the building, Pedro sneakily followed her.

She led him right to the Cheese Warehouse, where he finally got to see what he’d been looking for all along: a huge ball of cheese. There were fifteen Cheese Fiends guarding the front of it, where the pilot would get in.

Pedro knew he had to get that cheese, but also had enough self-preservation to not launch a one-snake assault on fifteen enemies. He decided that, instead of hijacking the cheese on the ground, he’d do it out in space.
As the entire ship was covered in a huge ball of cheese, Pedro ate himself in, and settled in to wait. A few hours later, the Cheese Ship started to move. He looked out through his entrance hole, and saw that they were just leaving the surface. He waited until they had passed all of the perimeter guards before eating his way into the cockpit. There was a pilot in there, but Pedro managed to open the hatch, and throw him out, where he would soon be found and rescued by Clidney and Goyd. 

With the pilot gone, Pedro had complete control of the Cheese Shop. He immediately changed course, heading for the Sombrero Galaxy. It took him a while, but he brought the cheese safely back to Sombrero, where he was hailed as a hero, and ate his fill of delicious moon cheese.

With his new taste for adventure, Pedro soon set off on many great adventures through space. Soon, any Cheeser would tremble with fear at the sight of a long, snaky shadow, or even the mention of Pedro the Sombrero Snake.


Grayforce

“Hey, who’s Rose?” Cam asked. Amina looked up from her phone at Cam, seatbelt unbuckled and craning his neck from the backseat to peer over her shoulder. She giggled and turned off her phone with one hand, swatting her cousin away with the other.

“Cameron, sit your behind down and put your seatbelt on,” Amina’s mom said, eyes never leaving the road. “I know you know better.”

Amina stifled another laugh and pushed her round glasses up.

Cam hung his head, sliding back into his seat. “Sorry, Auntie E.” Amina listened to the click of his seatbelt as her mom turned the radio’s volume down.

“Why’d you turn it down?” Amina asked. “What were they talking about?”

Mrs. Jackson sighed. “Some members of Catch 88 robbed a restaurant in the next county over.” She shook her head and muttered something under her breath. “I’m not interested in hearing that right now.”

“It would be so awesome to actually meet Catch 88,” Cam said. Mrs. Jackson’s eyebrows shot up and Amina gasped in mock horror. “If they turned to the good side,” he quickly added. 

“Buuut,” he said, twisting his wrist, “I’m more interested in whoever Rose is.” 

Amina tried to keep a hold of her phone, but the pull of Cam’s telekinesis was too much for her. Her smart phone slipped clean out of her dark brown fingers, past her cornrows, and into Cam’s lap.

“Ugh, I think you’ve gotten too good at doing that,” Amina grumbled. Sometimes, she wished that she had mind manipulation like Cameron and Deterge, the wicked queen supreme of the criminal three-person posse Catch 88. Other times, she was grateful for her own gift, no matter how bothersome it could be every now and then. 

“Yeah, no thanks to our training classes.” Cam deftly unlocked Amina’s phone and went straight to messages. “Like, how the heck’s a genealogy project going to help us hone our abilities?”

“Genealogy project?” Mrs. Jackson asked, turning into the bursting mall parking lot. 

“I’ve got a genealogy project due next week,” Amina said, adjusting her glasses again. “And you know what would help? Maybe some more info on Aunt Deandra? I’ve got plenty of info on dad’s side of the family, but-”

“Nope,” Mrs. Jackson said as she turned the car into a teeny parking space and yanked out the keys. 

Amina sighed. She hated going behind her mother’s back, but the family tree part of the project she was supposed to present to her homeschool cooperative super training class was going to look pretty weird if she didn’t have any information about her mom’s side of the family. What she was about to do… well, it was the only way to get the details she needed. Besides, maybe she’d be able to figure out what had gone wrong between her Aunt Deandra and her mom  – and maybe even fix it.

Amina watched her mom get out of the car. It seemed like she was moving through water- couldn’t she hurry up? She was really trying to go about this without abusing her ability, but her mom was making it so hard. If her mom didn’t always somehow know when she was trying to dig through her mind, Amina would’ve probably jumped right in without hesitation.

“Are you planning on getting out of the car sometime this year?” Cam asked, poking her in the back.

Amina rolled her eyes. “Very funny, Cameron Lesley.”

Cam’s eyebrows scrunched closer together, making Amina’s cousin look like he’d glued a furry caterpillar to his forehead. “No, but really. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Amina said, grabbing his arm and jogging to catch up to her mom. “Come on!” Excitement jiggled in her stomach alongside the guilt and unspoken worry she’d swallowed down.

As they walked towards the mall’s entrance on a fading crosswalk, Mrs. Jackson rattled off a list of rules. Practical ones like no talking to strangers, no using their abilities, etc. She seemed to be mostly preaching to Cam who grinned the entire lecture. Ironic that this time around, Cam would be playing the role of angel child. Well, hopefully. Cam could always tease a smile out of her, but Amina knew he was also thoroughly capable of turning heads for all the wrong reasons at all the wrong times.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, alright?” Mrs. Jackson said, capping off the speech with a kiss on Amina’s cheek. “Be safe.”

 Amina nodded, then watched, toes itching to get moving as her mother strolled a bit further down the massive hallway sooo slowly. Finally- finally!-  Mrs. Jackson disappeared around the corner, probably on her way to get her nails done.

As soon as Mrs. Jackson was out of Amina’s line of sight, Amina turned to Cam, eyes still glued to the coffee shop window that faced the mall interior.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep the giddiness out of her voice. “You stay here and keep watch for my mom. If she comes back, just… I don’t know, distract her, I guess.”

Cam nodded. “Should I pretend to choke on my mint latte?”

“Ugh, Cam, no,” Amina said. “And give me back my phone. Please.”

Cam handed her phone back to her. “So when will I be meeting this ‘Rose’ ?”

Amina shrugged. “Rose is my debate class partner. I put her name down so it would look like I was texting a friend instead of my aunt.”

“Alrighty then.” Cam paused. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I applaud your planning, this really is phenomenal, but what if she-”

“It’ll be great,” Amina said. “She’s my aunt. I should be close as close to my mom’s family as I am with my dad’s.”

Cam nodded. “ ‘Cause if you weren’t we wouldn’t be buddies, would we? If anything goes down, though, remember, she’s your family, not mine. I’ll come in there and,” he mimed clocking someone in the head with a bat.

Amina began walking towards the shop. “Sure you will,” she said over her shoulder. 

“Haha, you think I’m playing!” she heard him call after her.

Amina entered the coffee shop and scanned the large yellow-colored space. There were plenty of people, but Amina knew she was looking for a woman in a gray sweatshirt and jeans. That was what her Aunt Deandra said she’d be wearing over instant messaging. Amina had wondered if her mother was secretly in contact with her aunt, as she’d found a box full of Aunt-Deandra related stuff, including a conveniently current phone number, under her mother’s bed after FBI worthy snooping.

The strong smell of coffee undiluted by sugar curled inside of her nose. How could people actually drink this stuff? Soft chatter, occasionally broken by the sound of awkwardly loud laughter, provided some nice white noise. Amina forced herself to relax.

After a minute of searching, her eyes landed on the gray sweatshirt. The woman, her Aunt Deandra, was sitting alone at a booth in the far corner of the restaurant. Her hood was up and the sweatshirt was enormous, hanging off her body. Her auntie looked cozy. Amina liked cozy.

 She adjusted her glasses and strode over, clutching her phone. As she slid into the booth, she grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The woman, whose face had been obscured by the hood until now, looked up. To Amina’s delight, she shared her mom’s high cheekbones, rounded nose, and nearly black eyes. “Oh, we’ve met before. You were just a baby.”

Amina opened her mouth to say something else, but Aunt Deandra interrupted with, “Is Estelle around?”

Amina shook her head. “Well, see, I have a family tree project due for my training class, and it wouldn’t have felt right if you weren’t part of it. Estelle, er Mom, just dropped me off to meet with you…” 

Amina let her voice trail off, hoping her Aunt Deandra would put the pieces together herself.

“It doesn’t seem like Estelle to send you here alone to meet up with me,” Aunt Deandra said, rubbing her neck. “Is she nearby?”

Amina squirmed. Aunt Deandra sounded… almost panicked. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Amina wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but obviously, this wasn’t it. She could still fix everything, though. “Mom doesn’t know. I wanted to surprise her when you joined the family again.”

Aunt Deandra’s carefully waxed eyebrows furrowed before she laughed. “Of course. Just like your mom to say that I left the family.”

“Excuse me?” Amina asked. She glanced at the coffee shop entrance doors, where Cam was casually browsing on his phone. No Mom in sight.

“Did she tell you that I left the family?” Aunt Deandra asked. “That I didn’t want to be involved in her life anymore?”

Amina snapped her focus back to her aunt. “Kinda, yeah. She never talks much about you.” Sometimes, when her dad was working late and she and her mom were cleaning up the kitchen together, her mother’s lips would loosen from exhaustion and a good meal. Those were the nights she experienced her aunt in snippets and stories.

“That makes sense. It’s a shame you had to contact me without her knowledge.” Her aunt grinned with beautiful gleaming teeth. “A girl should know her auntie, right?”

Amina nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” She quickly added, “Oh, and the family project, too.”

Aunt Deandra laughed. “Right. You thirsty, baby?”

Amina nodded. She had almost forgotten they were in the coffee shop! For one sparkling moment, she and her aunt had been laughing together.

As soon as Aunt Deandra returned with the iced lemonade Amina had requested, and a mango smoothie for herself, Amina pushed her glasses up, saying, “Can I start with the questions?”

“Sure,” Aunt Deandra said before taking a sip from her smoothie. 

“Well, why did you leave the family?” Amina asked.

Aunt Deandra’s smile evaporated. “I didn’t leave. I was forced out because I decided to do whatever it took to get the ability training I needed.”

Amina tried to hide her excitement at hearing that she, her dad, and Cam weren’t the only supers in her family. “You’re a super?”

Aunt Deandra nodded. “You didn’t just get it from your father’s side of the family.”

Wait…

Amina readjusted her glasses. “Uh… how do you know I’m a super?”

Aunt Deandra sipped her drink before looking around the coffee shop. “You know, you’re something extraordinary, Amina. What if I told you that there is a group of very, well, special people who used to be just like you? Being kept from the real way their abilities worked.”

Amina gripped her drink. This was starting to feel wrong, like she’d been tricked. She knew she hadn’t; she’d sought her aunt out and she’d arranged the meeting, but… her stomach was doing a funky flip-flop, I’m-not-happy dance with improvised choreography.

“What if I could introduce you to these very special people? They, in a way, know you already. Do you want to know them?” Deandra continued, stopping every now and then to take a sip from her drink and pull her hood tighter around her face. Her movements were so measured, so… practiced.

The warning lights flashed full force in the back of Amina’s mind. She shouldn’t be meeting strangers, but… they were her aunt’s friends… and her aunt wasn’t a stranger. Right?

Amina’s phone pinged. She ignored it. “Um, who are these people?”

Aunt Deandra swallowed. “I shouldn’t say.” She gestured towards a man in a black suit, his nose inches away from his cellphone. “We don’t know who’s listening.”

Amina knew that she shouldn’t use her ability in public. It wasn’t quite illegal but if she removed her ever present glasses now, the coffee shop-goers would get panicky. People didn’t like to be reminded that supernaturals lived among them no matter how commonplace abilities were. Then again, she didn’t normally meet up with mysterious estranged aunties, so, slowly, she slipped her glasses off.

She blinked as her eyes, uninhibited by her glasses’ vision modification lenses, swept over her Aunt Deandra. Her vision wasn’t as clear now, but she could see much more than her eyes alone could tell her. Any warmth she might have harbored towards her aunt drained right out of her chest.

Aunt Deandra sighed. “You know who I am now, don’t you?”

Amina clutched her phone to her chest and struggled to slide out of her seat. “I… I should go-”

“Amina, wait,” Aunt Deandra said, her voice still low and relaxed. “Don’t make me-”

“No, no, I have to go. This is wrong, I shouldn’t, you’re-” Amina’s words tumbled all over themselves.

Aunt Deandra snapped her fingers right as Amina slid out of the booth.

The yellow of the walls began to swirl. The people stretched like multi-colored spaghetti.

Amina tried to move, but her legs were lead and her tongue suddenly felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Of course, she thought. Short-term reality warping

“You’re Hypatia,” Amina breathed. Her voice sounded like she’d gone on a helium breathing spree and tied her tongue in triple knots.

Aunt Deandra nodded. “I am. Listen to me. Your mother isn’t going to get you the help you need to properly use your abilities. Only Catch 88 can do that. My parents refused to send Estelle and me to a proper super-learning institution, and-”

“How is Catch 88 a proper learning institution?” Amina asked, her voice climbing octaves as the temperature in her cheeks rose. “You guys mug people and rob banks and do… do bad people stuff!” What, did her aunt think she was stupid? And she’d mentioned her mom being denied the opportunity to go to the training school- what the heck was that about? Her mom had the supernatural abilities of a soda can!

Aunt Deandra frowned. “I’m not involved in most of the criminal activity. But you’d be surprised what Deterge and Clepsydra, despite their lawless lifestyles, can do for you.” She paused, then added, “It’s only going to get worse. You can’t control what your mind wants to see, can you?”

Amina didn’t want to answer, but her face must have betrayed her, because her aunt continued with, “Those glasses you wear in order to suppress your psychometry are only going to help your abilities strengthen. Eventually, they won’t work. Your mind will build up a resistance to the medication due to constant use. Matter of fact… I bet you’ve even seen into someone with the glasses on once or twice.”

Amina felt like cold fingers were doing the Irish jig on her neck and arms. Her aunt was right. It had only happened once or twice… but it had happened. That was how she’d learned that back-of-the-room Bailey in her SAT prep class had been late to class that one day because his bike had broken down, and that her dad secretly wanted to grow a beard. Harmless things. For now.

The yellow swirls shrank back into their normal form. The coffee shop reformed around them as people shrunk back to normal size. Her aunt’s reality manipulation ended. No one seemed to notice that reality had just been stretched out, stopped, and then smooshed back together by the invisible hands her aunt’s mind.

“Whoa,” Amina breathed as chilled air rushed through her lungs and the sounds of people around them returned.

“Imagine. You wouldn’t have to wear those glasses to control your psychometry.” Aunt Deandra- Hypatia– said. Her voice sounded far away and bluesy, like it belonged in the middle of a sultry jazz song playing from down the street. “You would be able to filter out whose information you want to know and whose you don’t at will.”

Amina was about to say that she’d think about it- then make a run for it- when Cam slunk over to their booth. Amina forced herself not to announce her aunt’s super identity. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Amina’s mystery aunt! Amina, your mom just texted me. She’s coming since you haven’t been answering your phone. We should go meet her outside so she won’t see,” he gestured with his hand towards Aunt Deandra.

Amina sucked in a quick breath. “Okay.” She looked at her aunt. “Is there somewhere I can meet up with you when I make the decision?” She wouldn’t join her wacko aunt in becoming a criminal, but she sure would be making all the right phone calls to the local authorities as soon as it was safe. Right? Criminals hurt people and enjoyed it. She pressed her clammy palms to the legs of her jeans.

Aunt Deandra shook her head as she looked over her shoulder. “You can’t get back into contact with me. It’s not safe.” She glanced at Cam, then back at Amina. “Choose.”

Cam snapped a finger in front of Amina’s face. Amina jumped.

With a flick of his wrist, Amina’s phone shot into Cam’s waiting palm. “Amina, let’s go.” He waved the phone a few inches from her nose. It pinged once, twice, then three times as her phone showed her the notification for missed calls and (probably ranty) text messages. 

Amina turned back to Deandra, trying hard to erase mental images of her mom, hands on her hips, give her the talking to of a lifetime for teaming up with a gang of super thugs. It wasn’t for real! She would go with her aunt and then call the police. They’d find Deandra that way.

But Deandra wasn’t looking at her anymore. She was scowling. Her eyes were fixed on a spot behind Amina’s head. Amina froze, sure that her mother was standing right behind her. She slowly turned, breathing deeply. In. Out. In. Ou-

Cam’s mouth fell open. He looked like he might drop dead on the spot. 

“Let’s make this quick. Hypatia, where’s my money at?”

Amina’s eyes finally landed on the person behind her. 

Deterge was even taller than she looked on television. Her short black hair framed her white mask. A bulky looking white and gray bodysuit concealed the rest of her body. It looked like she’d never been to fashion school and had designed it herself. 

Amina shivered. She’d studied Deterge for her current events class, but she’d never encountered any textbook information on Deterge having temperature manipulation abilities. Despite that, Amina felt cold radiating directly from the super. She was an unregistered super, so for all anyone knew, she could turn her eyes fifty million different shades of violet and see into the future with them in addition to her infamous telekinesis. If she could see into the future and was able to anticipate police raids, maybe that was why she never got caught. 

Deterge repeated her question. “Where’s my money?”

Aunt Deandra stood up. “I don’t have it. I have something better.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amina could see people diving under their booths and tables, pulling out their phones, and snapping photos with flash. A baby cried.

Deterge crossed her arms. “Even after all the extensions I’ve given you? Pathetic… but not unexpected. I thought this might happen. This actually works out nicely.” She turned to her ‘audience.’ “What I’m about to do to this woman is nothing compared to what I’ll do to any government official who dares try to suppress us. Catch 88 will not stand for the suppression of our gifts, and we will bend-”

Aunt Deandra crossed her arms, too. “I’d forgotten how much of a drama queen you are. Are you going to accept my offer or not?”

“No,” Deterge snapped. “Give me the money.”

Under normal circumstances, Amina knew Cam would be live streaming this super-exchange via his mom’s Facebook profile. Instead, his eyes looked glazed as he gaped at the criminal super in white.

Aunt Deandra’s mouth opened and closed without a single sound, kind of like a fish’s.  “I don’t-”

Deterge snapped her fingers. Every drink sitting idly on a restaurant table exploded. A spray of ice-cold lemonade hit Amina’s right cheek and eye. People screamed.

“Now, you and I both know that I would like to blow you up just like I did those beverages. But I won’t since Catch 88 needs more than one competent member. So, if you don’t give me the money right here, I’ll have no choice but to do the next best thing.” Deterge said this like she was talking to an inattentive preschooler. 

“Which is?” Aunt Deandra asked.

Deterge turned to Cam. “Who is this?”

“He’s not involved,” Aunt Deandra said, rolling her eyes.

“Then he’s perfect,” Deterge said. She slid out of the booth from behind Amina and grabbed Cam’s wrist. “I know you know him.”

“I don’t,” Deandra protested, although she didn’t seem all that determined to save him. 

Amina screamed, “She doesn’t! Cam doesn’t have anything to do with Aun- Hypatia, she doesn’t know him.”

Deterge paused. She chuckled. “Did you say aunt?”

Aunt Deandra swore. She glared at Amina with the kind of look that seems to turn your insides to stone. 

Amina shrunk back from her aunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Oh, don’t apologize. I met you here because you have a chance to help your auntie out,” Aunt Deandra said. She looked back to Deterge. “What if I let you train Amina? You can let the kid go, I’ll have half the money by Saturday in return.”

Amina could not make her mouth move. 

Deterge tilted her head. “I don’t know… how long would she train with me?”

“Train? She doesn’t have to train.” Aunt Deandra said breathlessly. “You said you were raising an army. Amina’s your first soldier.”

“W-what?” Cam squeaked, not even bothering to struggle against Deterge.

Deterge shook her head and laughed. “Not gonna work, I’m afraid. Now, if you don’t have the money-”

“She can see into people’s minds, Alice.” Aunt Deandra said. Deterge flinched, probably at the use of her real name. “Where else are you going to find a natural-born spy? I am giving her to you.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Amina heard herself saying.

Deterge grabbed Cam’s curly hair. “You’ll agree if you want him to live.”

“You wouldn’t kill a child,” Aunt Deandra snarled. “You haven’t reached that level of stupidity.”

“Haven’t I?” Deterge threw Cameron across the room. He went flying, hitting a nearby chair, landing limbs akimbo on top of it. He was very, very still. The man under the table next to the chair yelped and scrambled away. 

Amina screamed, heat pushing up into her chest and face. It felt like someone was holding her underwater. She was breathing, but whatever she was taking in wasn’t keeping her alive.

Her mind kept shoving Deterge’s stats in her face over and over and over. Then, she realized that though Deterge had the power to end everyone in the coffee house, and maybe the mall, Amina now had her real name and age and everything. Plus, something was brewing deep in her gut. Would she be able to use it?

She heard Deterge swear colorfully and hit the floor.

For once, her psychometry wasn’t just a bunch of nobody-cares facts that threw themselves at her in a flurry of color and sound. Everything was black and white, purpose stark. Her mind was an arrow, already locked on bullseye- a deep black tunnel leading into what looked like color. It knew where to pierce the skull and allow her inner eye to peer through. She could feel her mind scanning through Deterge’s, scraping through memories like they were file cabinets. 

Amina imagined her mind had arms and that Deterge- Alice Jennings, actually- had file cabinets for memories. She used her mind arms to rip a cabinet straight out of the shelving. 

She heard faint screaming in the distance, and for a moment, her arms weakened, and she could feel Alice/Deterge fighting against her.

Amina dug deeper, punching through the soft gray folds of Alice’s mind and pushing through the tunnel. She was swimming deeper into a clear pool of some kind of juice- ew, she thought, ignore that– deeper and further until she touched on a flaming red file cabinet. Her motions were slowed by the surrounding juice, but her arms still worked through it, grabbing hold of the filing cabinet and yanking. Someone was pulling in the opposite direction. Amina knew she couldn’t win and her stomach begged for her to stop. It rolled and flopped. She ignored it and examined the cabinet, holding on to it like it was the last morsel of food on earth.

Names, memories, all kinds of bits and bobs floated in the cabinet. Her mind’s hands pulled at the random objects. They crackled under her touch. Hearing them crinkle felt good.

John Jennings. Johnnie. Melanie Jennings. Little Mellie, Jennifer Jennings, Little Je-

“Stop!” she heard someone screech.

Amina blinked. The cabinet scraped against her hands before falling away. Her mind screamed in pain as it was ripped from Deterge’s. Searing heat danced along her forehead and temples.

She stumbled back, the world spinning around her in circles and ovals and craziness. Something warm leaped up from her chest and into her throat, filling her with a sour, gushy feeling. Her cheeks were furnaces on the verge of overheating.

Her vision, which she hadn’t realized had been missing until now, cleared. No matter how many times she swallowed, the gushy feeling in her throat wouldn’t subside.

Deterge writhed on the floor. She wasn’t covered in blood, or even scratched. Her hands clawed at her mask, scalp, and hair, trying to reach for something she couldn’t touch. Amina’s mom lay next to Deterge, groaning. When had her mom gotten there?

“Johnnie!” Deterge wailed. “Johnnie, I’m sorry!”

Amina stepped back. She had to get away. She had to get away from what she’d done.

The people who’d hidden themselves away under the coffee tables began to emerge as Deterge slowly stopped squirming. A few darted out of the open door, dragging crying toddlers and children behind them.

“Is she dead?” someone called out. 

She’s dead, she’s dead, her brain screeched. Amina’s hands shook. Did the people know she’d killed Alice? Had she killed Alice?

Arms wrapped around Amina from behind. Her aunt was saying something to her. 

“How did you do that?”

Amina shook her head. She didn’t want the credit. She didn’t want this. “Make it go back,” she whispered.

“What?” her aunt asked. “Make what?”

“Time! Make it go back, I can’t, I have to fix it and you have to do it because I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Alice! Make it go back!”

“I can’t,” her Aunt Deandra said. “But listen to me, Amina. You could make a lot of money using that gift of yours. If you did what I think you did, you-”

“No!” Amina screamed. Her mom. She needed her mom. Her mom would be able to wash this away, hold her tight and away from the world. “Let me go, I want my mom!”

The only signs her mother showed of hearing her was lifting her head. Her dark curls obscured her face.

Aunt Deandra’s voice sliced into Amina’s ear. “Forget about your mother, Amina. You and I, we can get your friend the help he needs and then train you. You have a gift, something so wonderful that you have to learn to use it properly. You can’t go on having a normal life with powers like yours.”

“You’re not my mom! I want my mom now!” she yelled. She stomped down on her Aunt Deandra’s foot. Hypatia, momentarily surprised, released her. Amina ran towards her mother, sneakers gripping and releasing the floor over and over.

Mrs. Jackson raised a hand. “D-Deterge might come back to her senses, honey. Stay where you are.”

Amina obeyed, eyeing Deterge. 

Then she remembered her cousin. She couldn’t just stand there.

She rushed over to Cameron, who was moaning and rolling around.

“Everyone put your hands where we can see them!”

Amina’s stomach dropped. Police threw open the coffee shop’s double doors and clambered in, shouting directions as their hands traced their gun holsters. 

Amina raised her hands high over her head, craning her neck over her shoulder to see Detege being apprehended. Her Aunt Deandra gave her one last look even as police surrounded her before pressing her palms together. Space folded in on itself, swallowing Aunt Deandra before popping back into place.

She didn’t care. Let her aunt warp away like she’d done nothing for now. Amina was going to find her. She knew what her aunt looked like, sounded like. It would only be a matter of when, not if, she and the police captured her. 

“Amina,” Cam groaned. “Amina, what’s… what’s going on?” 

Amina focused on Cam. Her mind immediately jumped into his, gathering facts she already knew. That had always happened without her glasses. But now, her mind was hungry to slice and tear Cam’s memories like they were gray putty erasers. That…that was new.

“Just- just relax,” Amina said, more to herself than to him.

Amina must have been making her I-can’t-see squint face, because Cam scrunched up his face and snapped his fingers.

Amina’s glasses knocked straight against her face and landed on Cam’s chest. Cam groaned. “You’re welcome,” he croaked. He hesitated before asking, “Your… your aunt? Where is she?” He tried to sit up, eyes darting around the coffee shop.

“I’ll find her,” Amina vowed, feeling silly with her hands still up in the air.

But first, she would train. She would petition her parents to send her to the National Training Institution, and if they refused, she’d run away somehow.  However it happened, she needed to get her powers in line before she destroyed somebody’s mind the way she had Deterge’s. She needed to rein in whatever in her had felt good as she crinkled Alice’s memories into badly burnt and churned pain.


The Dark Room

The cold, empty, dark room. That’s where I am. The room is pitch black, I can’t see myself or anything around me. I don’t even know if my eyes are opened or closed, it’s all just dark. I need to slide my bare palms along the cold, rough surface of the walls and floors to recognize what’s around me, the skin on my knees becoming sore and scraped. Every few minutes I crawl on my hands and knees, feeling to see if something, anything changed. Just in case something appears. There are areas of the wall that change textures, from rough to smooth or dry to damp, but there are always no entrances or exits. I’ve tried calling for someone, banging on the walls, screaming for help, sobbing. But I’m trapped. Trapped in the dark room.

Everything’s quiet apart from my movement and breathing, my beating heart, and shallow breaths. It’s so silent here. I hardly remember anything before this. I remember a life, people around me. I remember sadness. A never-ending river of sadness, despair, and hopelessness. I remember tall walls, barred windows, and paper clothes. I remember eyes, everywhere, watching me. And now there’s just the dark room. A maze with only four walls. I’m scared that if I make it out of the dark room, I’ll go back to that place. Filled with locked doors and judgeful stares. Lies and constant eyes. Staring. Always.

I hear voices calling from all sides. All the time. Crying, screaming, yelling. Sometimes angry, sometimes sad, but they’re always scared. They mask their tones but, underneath, they’re scared. High-pitched, confused voices. Scared teenagers hiding it all in anger. All just teenagers’ words, calling out from the darkness. Sometimes I wonder if they’re mine, but then a furious shout sounds. The voice of a gruff man, commanding, angry. I know that’s not my voice. 

I don’t know what I sound like. My voice disappears into the walls, echoing in the abyss that hides beyond, mixing like a chorus with the rest of them. But I know what the dark room sounds like. I hear noises. Scratching on the walls. Sometimes quiet and soft, other times loud and desperate. But I can’t remember whether or not it was me. I can’t remember why my nails are chipped and broken, sore cracks in them that sting when touched, and bleeding, the feeling of the liquid trickling down my fingertips. Everyday, I move my hands against the cold surface and find the grooves in the walls and floor. But sometimes they’re gone. Replaced by a smooth, flat wall. Still, I know that I hurt the dark room. I know that I made it angry.

I try to claw through the dark room, but whenever I do I hear someone crying. Calling my name between sobs. I’m unsure if its below, above, or next to me. I’m not sure if it’s me. I’m only sure of the dark room.

I’m safe in the dark room. I listen to the yelling, banging, screaming, and crying on the other side of the wall, but I’m safe from them. I’m in the dark room. Whenever I feel along the walls I only feel the cold smoothness of the dark room. There’s no one else. There’s nothing else. There is only the dark room. There is only the metal walls that echo with the pain of others. The metal floor that feels damp with my tears.

No one can hear me when I’m in the dark room. Only the dark room can. No one can see me when I’m in the dark room. Only the dark room can. Only the dark room knows I’m here. The dark room with its cushioned walls and cushioned floor. Its metal door and little window. The dark room where people wait outside. Screaming, yelling, shouting, crying. Some angry, some sad, all scared. But the dark room is where we hide. The dark room is where we scream. The dark room is where we yell. The dark room is where we shout. The dark room is where we cry. The dark room is where we’re angry. The dark room is where we’re sad. The dark room is where we’re scared. The dark room is where we’ll die.


The Heart

As I was walking home, sobbing in the rain, I get a text saying, I’m sorry, I love you, I hope you will be happier than you were with me. I keep crying as I’m walking to the nearest Seven Eleven because I hated Chinese food and right before he dumped me, Dan, brought me to a Chinese restaurant. Even after three years of dating, he still doesn’t know me. But I forget about him, so I walk into the Seven Eleven. 

I start getting slushies and realize that my mascara is all over my face. People at the store are staring, but honestly, who cares? I then buy a bunch of chips. After they kick me out for almost falling asleep on the floor, I walk into the Starbucks attached to the Seven Eleven. I decide to get a venti iced coffee with two shots of espresso. I know, terrible choice, but I personally hate sleeping, and it was already around 3 AM and I need to be at work by 8:45, so I guess I could just deal with it. When I’m done drinking my coffee and eating my cookie dough cake pop, I leave the place. 

As soon as I walk out of the Starbucks, I realize it’s not raining anymore. That kind of cheers me up. I don’t feel like getting an Uber looking like this, so I decide to just walk home. I’m now walking in an alley and I notice it smells so bad. As I’m thinking of what could be in the dumpster right next to me, my stomach starts to churn. But since I’m already grossed out, I might as well text Dan stuff that I’ll probably regret in the morning. 

I start texting him, You don’t deserve anyone you no good heartbreaker. I know, sounds cheesy. Right after I send the text, I hear a sound. It’s quiet but I’m able to hear it. I look around and say, “Is anyone there?” Having a scary movie preference, that is the dumbest thing anyone could ever say. 

So I decide to look around, I then turn back to the dumpster. I was hesitant to lift up the top of it. But I eventually start to hold my breath and open up the dumpster. The smell is repulsive. I want to throw up. As I turn on my flashlight from my phone, I look down and see the most terrifying thing I would ever see in my life. 

It was Dan. He was wrapped up in a black bag, but I could see his face through the clear colored grocery bags. He was so bloody. He looked like he was in a fight then hit really badly. His face had scratches and bruises all over it. His chest was like a lagoon of blood, it was disgusting. I wanted to scream. My ex-boyfriend that I loved endlessly was in a dumpster, dead and soaked in his own blood. I wanted to pull him out to see if he was still alive and able to survive. But I wasn’t stupid. It’s the twenty-first century. People are going to lie, for example. If I’d call the police right about now, what would I say? That I just magically found a dead body in a dumpster that I just happened to be looking through? They’d also find my fingerprints if I checked if he was still alive or pulled him out. So calling someone was not an option at all. But I loved him, but he didn’t love me. I wanted to die. He was so special and kind, except for tonight. 

As I got home, I realized that my apartment door is unlocked and a little open, so I take my taser that I keep in my purse and hold it up. I then walk into my apartment and see that there is blood everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, and on the doors. I cannot believe it. What if this is where Dan died? What if this was something else that didn’t have to do with Dan? As I walk around my apartment, I realize my fridge was open and leaking red liquids. I was terrified of what could lie behind the steel refrigerator door. As I open the door, I see a heart. A bloody, big, red heart. 

I fall on the floor from the shock. I start crying hard, and then have a couple panic attacks. But then I say to myself, what the hell am I supposed to do with this? I can’t call the police because my fingerprints are all over my own house. So I decide to do something crazy, I decide that I would be doing some early spring cleaning. So I put on some sweats, go to Target, get the buy four get 1 free bleach sales. But first, I had to send my boss an email saying that I was sick and couldn’t come to work, so that by morning he’d see my email. Then started scrubbing, scrubbing hard. 

After about six hours of bleaching my house top to bottom, left to right, and side to side, I was so scared of what would happen in the future. Was I supposed to live with this forever? Well I can’t, if you were asking. I honestly want to know who would do such a thing. But before I can think of anything close to that, I have to sleep. I need to rest every part of me that I could think of. Then I start thinking of Dan’s family. He has a sister and two brothers, he has a 5-year-old niece and a cat in his house. He was only twenty-four. He had such a big career in law ahead of him. But then I started wondering who could’ve done it. I start to think of who could possibly have had a grudge against him or even someone who wanted to ruin his career, but that was going to be a hard one because Dan was a famous lawyer for celebrities in LA. After that, I realize that I just can’t sleep. So instead I head to Dan’s house, but I need to prepare for anything. I have an emergency gun and a taser. I also pack a first aid kit just in case I get into an accident. I do realize that I could either be killed or go to jail. 

As I was getting ready to leave for Dan’s house, I remember that I need to make sure that my boss at work knows that I am “sick” and can’t go to work. So I grab my phone from my kitchen counter, check it, and then realize that I have a lot of missed texts and calls. I even have a voicemail in my inbox. So I open my text app. I first see one of my friends from work, Melanie, had texted me, Where are you? So I text back that I was staying home from work today. 

Then I go back to check who else had texted or called me. The text right after Melanie was Dan, and I was anxious to open it. What if the person that did it texted Dan from his phone while he was put in the dumpster to decay? I wasn’t ready, so I just go on to check my voicemail box. And of course, in my voicemails there are possible scam messages, so I go through all of those and block most of them. And after that, I go to check if I have any left, and I have one more. I was thinking I had just missed another scam call, but no, it’s a voicemail from Dan’s phone. I was so scared I could feel my goosebumps spreading everywhere from how scared I was. I know that I was eventually going to have to listen to it, so that time might as well be now. So I carefully open it and put my ear against the speaker. At first, all I can hear are the breaths from someone, then I realize that it’s Dan breathing. It sounds like he was out of breath and running. But what I was about to listen was going to ruin me for life.  

So I’m still listening to the voicemail from Dan, but as I’m closely listening, I hear a guy’s voice come in. He sounds drunk, and I can’t really understand what he’s saying to Dan, which gets me annoyed. But then I hear a door close, so that means the guy either left or someone else is now there. I hear a girl’s voice. It sounds so familiar. It sounds like she was whispering to him or the other guy there. I’m just not sure who the people were. After that, Dan and his “friends” went back and all I could hear was music being blasted and screaming for about an hour in the voicemail. Then I hear the girl whisper again, and I hear Dan and the girl get out or go away from the loud music. I got scared, as if, maybe Dan was cheating on me the night he died. But that wouldn’t matter because we would have already been broken up by that time. As I am still listening, I hear some kind of argument happening. I hear Dan saying, “No stop, I can’t do this anymore, just enough!” As I hear this happening, I quickly understand that whoever Dan was with could’ve been the person who killed him. And that I need to listen very carefully. 

As I’m still listening, I realize that I might’ve known where he went but before I can think, I hear a loud crack and what I thought was a hard fall. I was thinking, the girl that was with Dan at that very moment, or whoever he was arguing with, had hit Dan in the head with something hard. Then waiting for a sound to come up, I hear him say in a vulnerable voice, “Why did you do that to me?” And I hear the girl say, “Because you never loved me.” I then hear a gunshot sound and Dan choking. I was crying so hard. I had just heard the love of my life get shot in the middle of the night. I was disgusted. I wanted to throw up. But I needed to stay strong throughout this experience. 

So I now grab a piece of paper from my bulletin board to write down every girl that I have in record of knowing Dan. I write down some ex-girlfriends, some girls from work, and some friends. After I’m done writing, I put the piece of paper in my bag, lock my door, and leave my apartment. 

As I’m in the taxi to Dan’s house, I start thinking really hard about everything Dan’s ever told me. Maybe there’s a clue on who could’ve done this to him. But I then realize my phone was ringing. I see that it’s Melanie so I pick up. I asked, “Hello?” in a ratchet voice to make her think I was sick. 

She then asks, “Where are you right now?” 

I then panic a little, deciding if I should tell her I’m at home eating soup or if I’m going to the doctor. But as I think about what I’m going to tell her, I start remembering the horrors from last night. At some point I just go with saying, “I’m going to a pharmacy downtown to get medicine.” 

Then she for some reason sounded annoyed, but I just don’t really care right now. She says, “Oh, ok.” She also says in a cute subtle voice, “I can totally bring you soup later when you’re back. I could just let myself in. I still have your keys!”

 And I just tell her to leave them under my door mat after she leaves work. 

But instead of saying, ok, she just says, “Well I’m here right now. I wanted to see how you were feeling.” 

I was kind of confused, but I had to hang up because I needed to pay for the taxi and because I was here at Dan’s house. I was scared of how I would react to see his house, because well, there’re pictures of us together all over it. 

As I walk into the house, I flash back to all the great memories Dan and I had. All the ferris wheel rides, the date nights, the cute cuddling nights at home. Even before we even started dating, I had gotten sick in the middle of a little meetup we had and had to go home. He then showed up at my house with a cute care package that had a teddy bear, chocolates, and a bunch of calming stuff. Going through this is an emotional rollercoaster. I was first in shock, then fearful, then just depressed, and now I’m just a mess. But I really feel like Dan is in the room with me right then and there. It’s hard being there, but I kind of have to. I then start looking around in desks and drawers for any notes or reminders to where or who he could’ve been with. But as I’m skimming each room and piece of paper I can see, I find something weird. 

It looks like some kind of document, at first I was like, Oh that’s just Dan being a lawyer. But as I look through it, I see that there are these confusing notes on it. It looks as if it’s some kind of code. It’s a bunch of numbers. So after waiting and doing nothing for like ten minutes, I finally decide to something productive and search up the numbers of the piece of paper into Google. When I am done writing these literal ten numbers into my phone and messing up the order about five times, I enter it and press search. 

There are only two things that come up, this weird dating website, this website called White pages, and then even more random numbers. After researching on both of them, I decide they are all pointless and aren’t getting me anywhere. So I start thinking, and I realize there are enough digits for it to be a phone number. So as I dial star six seven just in case I don’t know who it is, I dial the rest of the numbers. As it’s ringing, it goes straight to voicemail. And the first thing I feel once I hear the voice of the voicemail is that my heart deflates, my jaw drops from how shocked I am, and I start to cry a little. 

It’s my best friend of two and a half years of work add two years in high school. Melanie. I can hear her voicemail saying, “Hey, it’s Melanie, leave a message.” I was terrified, but there’s no possible way that it was her. She doesn’t even really know Dan. I’ve never even introduced them. My happiness just disintegrates immediately. But the more I think about it, the easier I realize it could’ve been, if she in fact, was the killer. She has the keys to my apartment. And on my little keychain with all my keys. And I told her where I was last night at Starbucks and Seven Eleven. She had everything she could need to kill Dan, or even me! I was terrified and then I realize, someone was at the door. 

I grab my gun ready and loaded, walking slowly down the hall to the front door. My gun is ready to fire, and I have pepper spray in my pocket. I’m ready to go through anything. As I open the door carefully, I see pink hair, Melanie’s hair color. I quickly grab my pepper spray, open the door quickly, and spray her in the eyes. As she screams in pain, I push her to the floor, I take my gun, and say my last four words to her. “Go die in Hell.” Then I point my gun at her, right in her forehead. 

I shoot. 

The last thing I will remember of Melanie and my ex-boyfriend are the blood coming out of their mouths.

3 and a half months later

Now, you all might be asking, what happened? Well, let me tell you. 

After my terrifying experience three months ago, I checked into a mental help bunker, which basically meant I took a break from reality, a couple months of doing therapy and meeting new friends. I started getting sick a lot of the time. I knew in the back of my heart that I was in fact pregnant with Dan’s baby. I was thinking of all the exercises that my therapy had taught me, but I couldn’t resist and just started bawling. So I then checked out of the therapy bunker and went back to the real world. I then had Camille. She looked exactly like Dan. I eventually had to go back to work, but I went to a different place. I also ended up disappearing completely from Dan’s family because I couldn’t bear seeing them. I’m still guilty of that. So yeah, that’s just my life. 


5 years later

“Sweetie! You are going to be late for school, come get your bag, and give mommy a kiss!” I say.

 “Ok, I love you, bye mom!” Camille says as she leaves from the back door. But about five minutes later, she comes back through the back door again saying she missed the bus again. 

In a silly voice, I say, “Ok, I will just drop you off on my way to work. No worries, Milly.” As I’m grabbing my car keys from my kitchen counter, I hear my phone ringing. I was expecting it to be my boss, Larry, asking if I was working today because I had told him before that I might have an opportunity to check out houses near Camille’s new school to move into for a few years. 

But as I check my phone, and it’s an unknown number. I answer and the only thing the person on the other end of the call says is, “Hey.” 

I pause for a minute in silence to realize the heartbreaking realization I had just made. Instead of asking questions, the only words that come out of my mouth are, “Daniel?”

Where the Sun Goes

The ground shakes as I step out of my house.

Not again! I think, sighing and sitting down on the porch. We are supposed to sit down at every Switch. No one questions this law. No one knows what happens when you don’t sit down.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper to myself as I close my eyes. The ground shakes harder and harder, the wind blows faster and faster, then the feared cold enters the air and chills my bones.

I open my heavy eyes and look up at the moon. No one knows where it comes from.

Across the street, my best friend Lara is sitting on her porch like me. “Lara,” I call.

“Oh, hi, Hannah,” she says.

I cross the street, checking for cars. It’s hard in the darkness. Everything from Day is now black and cold, like someone comes around every Switch and paints the world black, then takes off the paint when it turns to Day. Lara and I feel the same way about Night. We love the warmth and brightness of Day, spending all our free time frolicking together in the sunshine. Night is when a lot of people regularly sleep, when they don’t have to work or go to school. Nobody wants to be outside now.

“The Day was only six hours long,” I complain. “Night is so stupid.”

“Yeah. And now we have to go to school during Night.”

I like school, even though a lot of kids don’t. We have to go every 28 hours, for four hours at a time. Sometimes a Switch occurs during school, but that doesn’t matter because school is lighted during Night. Occasionally the electricity goes out, and then we’re in trouble.

Lara stands up and walks inside her house. I follow. We go to her room and stay there for a few hours, chatting and playing.

After five hours of doing nothing with Lara, our phones buzz simultaneously. It’s the signal for school. “Ugh,” she mutters. 

I run out before she does, bursting out onto the dark street and running freely. We always run to school, because we live pretty far from it. Lara soon catches up with me as we dash through the darkness. 

We arrive. We’re in Level 5 now, and our teacher is Mr. Chase. He doesn’t like questions that much—he usually shuts them down and doesn’t answer them. But something’s been burning in the back of my mind all Night.

“Mr. Chase,” I say, coming toward him in the thankfully bright classroom. “I was wondering something. Where does the moon come from?”

“The moon?”

“Where does the moon come from?” I repeat.

“Hannah, how do you suppose we would answer that question?”

I blink, thrown back. “No one’s even tried?”

“We can’t travel into space, Hannah. We would be destroyed by Switches. We’re never going to find out anything about the moon.”

“But… but—”

“No one knows where the sun goes during Night. We never will. Now go back to your seat.”


After school, still during Night, Lara meets me outside.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“About the moon?”

“Yeah. If we want it to go away, we need to figure out where it comes from. And where the sun goes.”

We stand still, gazing at the eerie circle in the starry sky, bathed in its mystery. This is a mystery we can solve. Mr. Chase is wrong.

And what causes Switches? And why can’t we fly up, up into space? And what are the sun and moon made of?

“These are questions we could answer,” I say confidently.

“Yes!” Lara cries. “We’ll be the first people to ever know. We could build bird wings for ourselves and fly up during Night, reach the moon, then follow it through the Switch.”

I laugh. “Why would we stay with the moon if our goal is to be in Day? We should do that during Day so we could meet the sun and stay with it eternally. And we’d be famous.”

Even though it’s not possible, I really, really want to believe it is.

“What if there’s a way to stay in Day without going to the sun? What about—” Lara suddenly stops and looks at me, eyes wide and hopeful. “We could stand up during a Switch! We don’t know what happens when you do that. Maybe you go to an alternate universe where it’s always Day.”

“That would be fun,” I agree, thinking of infinite sunlight, warmth, and joy.

“We should do that as soon as possible. When the next Day is over, we should stand and see what happens.”

“Yeah!” I exclaim.


The Night is long, fifteen hours. The longest Night ever was twenty-five hours, but that was a long time ago, before I was born. Switches were less common then. I wake up as the ground stops shaking and I suddenly see red under my eyelids. That means light! Day! I throw off the blanket and run outside. A perfectly childish thing to do, but I never get tired of it. I’m only ten years old, still little and curious and excitable.

I find Lara, who runs outside like me when it turns to Day. We walk down the street, happily looking all around us. We get to the house of our friend Addie. She goes with us to the pool, where we have tons of fun jumping and diving and playing. Six hours of that flies by like nothing.

We walk back to Addie’s house and eat a meal with her parents. Lara keeps flashing me looks. After the meal is done, I go to her and whisper, “What is it?”

She only says, “Are you ready?”

I almost ask what I’m supposed to be ready for, but then I remember our plan. We’re going to stand during the next Switch! At any point during the next ten hours, we could be flung into an alternate world. I can’t wait to see what we discover, but I’m scared too. Lara doesn’t look scared.

After two hours of watching movies with Addie, we feel it. The shaking.

“Let’s go!” Lara shouts, bolting up and pulling me with her. We stand in the middle of the room and clutch each other, closing our eyes, the ground shaking and the wind howling.

But Addie wasn’t in on the plan. “What are you DOING?!” she cries. “Why are you standing?”

She grabs us and pulls us back down onto the couch. My heart lurches.

Lara is angry. I know without looking. “No! No! Addie—”

“Too late,” I sigh. The shaking has died down.

Lara explodes. “Addie! We had a plan! You ruined it! Now it’s Night and we wanted to be in Day!”

“You shouldn’t stand during a Switch,” Addie replies quietly, looking away. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“We’re going,” Lara sneers, dragging me out into the Night.

“That was stupid,” I say as we leave Addie’s house.

“Oh my gosh! Addie’s so annoying.”

Lately, I feel Lara’s gotten more self-absorbed and bossy. Sometimes, she seems much older than me.

“I guess we have to do it after the next Day. Let’s remember to be away from people that might deter us.”

“Right.” Good luck with that, I think. How are we supposed to know when to stay away from people when Switches are completely and utterly random?


I’m exhausted so I collapse on my bed as soon as I get home. I sleep deeply. Again, I am woken by a Switch. I don’t know how long the Night was. My mind still hazy, I stand up while the ground shakes. This is what Lara said to do, right? Yeah. Good. I find it impossible to keep my balance while my head swirls and the wind moans even in my room, so I grope around for my bed, which I lean on. The ground shakes more. My eyes are shut tight. I want to open them but can’t. Next time, I tell myself.

Then the shaking stops.

I didn’t realize I’m hyperventilating. I flop down on my bed out of exhaustion, trying to catch my breath. Too late—something builds in my throat, and I vomit on the floor.

Ewww! is my first thought. I can smell the revolting vomit, and I don’t want to see what it looks like. Then I wonder what that tells me about my brave decision to stand. Where am I? What did that do to me?

I pry my eyes open and gasp. My heart sinks.

Didn’t I just leave Night? Why is it still dark? Why has nothing changed?

I realize something awful. I attempted on the wrong Switch! I was supposed to do it on a Day to Night Switch! NOT NIGHT TO DAY! Now I’m stuck in Night. And we wanted to stay in DAY!

“Aaaaarghhhhh!” I scream, bursting into tears. What have I done? I curl up into a ball, crying. I’m so dumb. I should have been aware of what I was doing.

I slowly feel my way to the light switch near my door and turn it on. It doesn’t work. Huh? I try again, same result.

“Uh, Mom?” I call out. “What’s wrong with the light?”

I am met with the most bone-chilling silence I have ever heard. I can almost feel ghosts around me. My already weak stomach drops as I turn and find even more silence. My heart is beating like crazy. This isn’t real. This is a dream. It’s not possible to be in two Nights in a row. I am hallucinating.

And no one’s here. Terrified, I dash into the empty kitchen. My parents aren’t here and I can tell without looking.

Then it all makes sense.

By standing during a Switch, you resist flipping from Night to Day. You stay in whichever one you were in, while everyone else sits and is Switched to the other side. Now the electricity’s in Day, like everyone else, and I’m alone.

And I’ve made an important discovery, too. Lara will be happy to know how to stay in Day. It’s just as easy as staying in Night!

But will I ever see her again? Shoot. I’m on the opposite pattern… but at the end of this Night, I can stand again and be in the same Night as them. I hope that works.

I still can’t see. I feel my way to the front door and open it. Still black outside. I sit on the porch and run my hand over the chilly railing. I shiver, but don’t go inside to get a jacket. The moon is in the same place as before, still eerie with its dark patches and strangely bright glow. I can only see the moon and the stars without electricity.

It’s beautiful, something inside me says.

What? Beautiful? Night? I’ve always hated Night. The black sky is scary, not beautiful. It’s the sun that’s beautiful, with its light and warmth. The moon isn’t warm.

I blink and suddenly it’s like I’m seeing the sun instead of the moon. It looks like a reminder of… hope. A perfect round circle, glowing and white against the infinitely dark sky. For the first time, I see light flowing from it. Then I look away and am startled to see a bird hopping along the sidewalk. I can see it only by the moon’s light. Wow. I didn’t know it was possible to see in the dark.

Do I have magical powers? Or are these just some of the things no one’s discovered yet?

It seems weird that nobody’s seen this soft light from the moon. We’re so wrapped up in using electricity to make it as much like Day as possible. We have never seen this side of Night. We’ve never appreciated its own beauty.

“What is my problem?” I whisper. “I like the moon now.”

I would have never imagined this happening.

I watch the neighborhood for a long time, amazed at how it slowly transforms. Now I can make out the houses across the street. I can see more birds, not chirping, but hopping around and flying. What do they do during Switches? Do they also have to sit? Well, clearly not, because these birds are here in this opposite world with me. They are probably in the air during the Switches and they must constantly stay in Night or Day instead of Switching.

They’ve been doing it all along! And people have never noticed. We have been so ignorant of obvious clues to secrets Mr. Chase said were impossible to know. I’m the first person to know this. I am the first! I could report this to the world and be famous!


I’ve spent so long alone in Night, it’s like I’m in a world between Night and Day. I can see. Fully. It’s almost as clear as Day, both inside and outside.

And there’s not much reason to hate this Night. I’ve gotten used to the cold in the past several hours. The Night air feels weirdly good against my arms and face. I marvel at a vast display of black and gray and white, making the familiar houses and trees and sidewalk look totally new and alien.

It’s quite beautiful. I’ve almost stopped worrying about getting back to Day.

I wonder if it’s been 28 hours since school. I still want to go, even if no one’s there. Who knows? My phone doesn’t work, and it won’t buzz when it’s time to go. So I run outside and go to school, not needing the lights anymore.

I didn’t do the homework from last time, so I get my folder from under my seat and start working. It’s math, which is not too hard but takes a long time. I finally finish. Then I glance up at the whiteboard, which is updated for the coming lesson and shows a reading comprehension assignment. I go to the teacher’s desk and sift through the papers to find the one on the board. I take one back to my desk.

Then the ground shakes.

A Switch! A Switch? What do I do? Stand? Sit?

“Stand,” I say out loud. “Everyone is going to Night, so I can meet them by standing.” I’ve developed a habit of talking to myself a lot.

So I stand, remembering the nausea last time and gripping onto my desk. The shaking finally stops, and I don’t feel as bad as before.

Then the light comes. It’s so bright and blinding that I cover my eyes and cry out, “Oh!”

“What—HANNAH!”

My mouth falls open as I look again and see people. My class! Including—

“Hannah! Where did you come from?” Lara exclaims, running to me.

I’m so stunned I just stutter.

“You disappeared! Where did you go?”

I instantly regret something, probably my decision to stand the first time. “I got lost,” I murmur.

“Where?”

I sigh and sink into my chair. “I’ll tell you later.”


I dread meeting Lara after school. She’s likely going to be mad at me. But wait—wasn’t she going to stand during the last Switch? Why is she here in Night?

Oh. Because people were around and they stopped her.

I’m walking away, but Lara catches me. “Hey. Where were you before the Switch?”

I groan. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fine. On the last Night to Day Switch, I made a mistake and I stood.”

Lara blinks at me. “On a Night to Day Switch? You know we want to stay in Day, not Night.”

“Lara, I just said I made a mistake! I stayed in Night on accident!”

“You stayed in Night. Jeez, that’s dumb.”

I groan again, louder, trying to annoy her.

“What was it like?”

“It was just any other Night,” I said, “but I was alone and there was no electricity.”

“No electricity?”

“Yup. At first I couldn’t see, but after a while in pitch-black darkness I could actually see stuff.”

“That’s impossible. You could see in Night?”

“Can you let me talk? Yes, I could see in Night. And I discovered something. The moon actually casts light like the sun.” Lara opens her mouth but closes it, remembering not to interrupt. “And by the end of the Night, I could see fully. Like, every little detail. It was so pretty. We all use electricity at Night and we never see the natural beauty! You should try it sometime.”

Lara stares at me. “Beauty?”

“Yeah. Beauty. You’ve never seen it.”

“I’ve never met anyone who loves Night before.”

I sigh. “No one’s truly seen Night.”

“Shut up, okay, Hannah? We’ve been in Night for half of our lives. We’ve all seen Night.”

“You’ve never—”

It’s useless. I should have known. Nobody will understand anything from my surreal Night alone. I walk away from Lara.

From behind, I hear Addie’s voice. “What happened?” she asks.

“She likes Night. She says you can see without electricity,” Lara says, and I can hear her disdain for me embedded into her voice.

The last time we were together, she was ranting about how annoying Addie was to me. Now the exact opposite is happening.

Addie laughs. “Really?”

“Do you believe that? I think it’s garbage. She said she—” Lara gasps. “Wait, Hannah, what did you do to stay in Night?”

I turn around. Lara is smirking at me. Uh-oh. 

“I stood up during the Switch,” I blurt out.

“Good. Did it hurt?”

“Yes. I blew around in space for hours before finally returning to Earth, and I almost died.”

Lara sees through my sarcasm. “Good,” she says again.

I roll my eyes and walk away. If she doesn’t want to believe it, good for her. I’ll find someone else.


When I walk into class the following Night, I’m startled to discover Lara and Addie missing.

“Where are Lara and Addie?” I ask the boy who sits next to me.

He shrugs. “Didn’t notice they were gone.”

“Night girl!”

One of my classmates is standing on his desk, pointing at me. “What?” I retort. Does he know about what I saw during Night?

“So you like Night, right? You have superpowers, right?”

I stay quiet and look back at him.

“You said it’s possible to see in Night.”

“Would you guys just let this go?” I shout. “If you don’t want to believe me, don’t believe me! Just turn off the lights and go outside and see for yourself!”

“Hannah,” comes Mr. Chase’s warning voice.

I sulk and sit back in my seat.

“Night girl,” the kid teases again.


I walk the outskirts of my town alone, looking at the moon. It feels much colder and darker than the Night I was alone. I’m sure if I did this for hours I would be more comfortable.

The Switch comes, the end to a twelve-hour Night. Reluctantly, I sit on the cool concrete, which will be hot from the sun in a minute. I quickly make a decision to keep my eyes open this time. I focus on the moon. It stays calm as the earth shakes. My eyes really want to close, but I manage to keep them peeled. Then as the chaos reaches maximum, the whole world is suddenly bathed in light. There is no transition, no in-between. The sun is exactly where the moon was.

In the distance, I see two girls walking together. They weren’t there before. I squint at them and see who they are: Lara and Addie! Now I’m sure of what they did. They took my inadvertent suggestion of standing during the Switch and they stayed in Day like I stayed in Night. I hope they enjoyed it.

Nine hours later and I am alone again, on the burning-hot streets, excitedly anticipating the Switch. When it comes, I grin and leap up into the air, my eyes wide open. I float. I do not feel the shaking, but I feel the wind. I fly through the air, laughing, squinting at the sun.

The wind stops, but the adrenaline flow is still there. I breathe hard when I hit the ground. Nothing has changed. That was the funnest Switch I’ve ever had.

And now I have my answer. I know where the sun goes.


I’ve never realized how different Day and Night are. I mean, I know they’re different and so does everyone, but after staying in both Night and Day three times in a row, the two worlds feel so alien to each other.

I still like Night. It’s definitely prettier than Day, I know. That doesn’t mean I have to hate Day. I love sunshine. It’s not one or the other. It’s not a choice. I don’t have to be sulky half of the time. From now on, I will do whatever I want during Switches, regardless of where everyone else is, and stay wherever I want.

I see figures way down the street, near my house, and I run to catch up.


“Nowhere,” I say to the only other people that are in this Day with me.

“What?! How is that possible?”

“Parallel universes,” I explain. “The Switch is Switching us to the opposite universe. We live in two worlds—Night and Day. When we stand we do not Switch universes. Sitting is the only way to Switch.”

Lara gapes at Addie, who looks at me, not understanding.

“A Switch is just an occasional opportunity to go to the opposite world. That’s all it is.”

“Really?” Addie breathes.

“Yeah. We never go anywhere. The wind is a portal.”

“Whoa, Hannah, that’s creepy,” Lara comments, looking a bit freaked.

“What? I can show you at the next Switch.”

“Yeah,” Addie says, “show us.”

So a few hours later, when the ground shakes, we leap into the air and glide. Lara and Addie are shocked speechless at the freedom of flight in the wind. Eventually it dies down and we are softly lowered back to the ground.

“That was amazing,” Lara whispers.

“Yeah, that was really great.” Addie looks up at the sun, which has been there for many hours now. I see a few people in the distance, meaning we’re back in the normal pattern.

“Do you see why?” I say, like I’m a teacher and they’re students.

“Yeah, it makes sense,” Lara says. “Hey! Let’s tell Mr. Chase! We can finally prove him wrong.”

Lara sure shifts trust easily. Just a few Switches ago, she was sneering at me and saying I had stupid ideas. I hope this trust stays, because when she’s a good friend, she’s a really good friend.

“We can report this to the world and be famous,” I say jokingly.

Addie laughs. “Totally.”

So we walk down the street together, arms linked. We see people coming out of their houses, people who just came from Night and are going into the sunlight again. I have been in sunlight for so long it’s hard to remember what my Night alone was like.

And now it’s like my appreciation for Night doesn’t matter anymore, because I’ve made an important discovery and I’m going to be famous. 


The Tail of Turtle Beach

Rose could be the richest girl alive and still be unsatisfied. She was named Rose for the beauty of the name, but her personality is the opposite. She’s thorny and rude and envies everything else anything has that she doesn’t. Feeling the sand between her toes and the breeze on her face, she doesn’t enjoy or appreciate the nature, she just wants the ocean all to herself along with the blue sky and the clouds. Taking whatever she wants, Rose doesn’t like it at all when someone says no. And a lot of the times, like when she is at a specific place and can’t have everything there that is nice, she gets mad. And no one wants to be on the bad side of Rose.

Having been brought up thinking her selfish and jealous attitude was okay, Rose had most of the things she wanted. Whatever she wished for was handed to her. But some things, she just couldn’t have, and those things she either fought about or left it alone. If she believed she could take it, she would. If she knew she couldn’t, she might just look the other way at something better. 

But Rose was brought up in this place, walking by it every day, feeling the breeze and inhaling the salt… she loved this place, but never once was she able to get it. Her peace was always interrupted by giggling girls or tiny children kicking sand all over her. Rose wanted this public place to be hers and only hers. She usually wanted pretty objects, or expensive objects, things that would make people envious of her for once. But this was the only place where Rose felt like her true self, and it tortured her every day that she couldn’t have it. 

Rose was even more tortured when she saw someone walking in a cute bathing suit or in pretty sandals, maybe she was even jealous of a watch or a phone she didn’t have. It could be old torn up shoes that she didn’t have. If she didn’t have it, she wanted it. And when Rose wants something of yours, she usually gets it. And that’s where Rose stands now, walking to the cold ocean and dipping her toe in, envious of even the fish who own the ocean. 

The only thing Rose wanted more than this place was to be the fish that own the ocean. Rose loved oceans, the vast uncertainty of the darkness, one that is only known to the fish that live underneath. Rose wanted more than anything to be swimming among the sharks and the dolphins, to swim in the ocean with a big family by your side. When Rose was in the ocean, it was like she for once, stopped wanting everything in the world. It was like she already had it.

To feel like this every day, Rose wanted this place. She wanted to own it, she wanted to swim with the dolphins and the fish and have a family of her own. This was the one thing that she wanted the most, the one thing that made her happy. The one thing that if she had, she would stop wanting other things. 

Some people wanted Rose to have it, not because she was their friend (because she didn’t have friends) but because if she had it, she would stop stealing their things. Rose was the neighborhood robber, but nobody ever busted her because she was only 8 years old. Other people didn’t want her to have the ocean, because they liked this place too and didn’t believe that any 8-year-old should own the ocean, not even Rose.

Rose’s father had been fighting the law for a very long time to try to get Rose to be the owner of the whole place, but he hadn’t been successful. Or at least not yet. He still tries to fight, trying to get Rose whatever she wanted in exchange for her not bothering him when he was working. That was the unspoken rule. Rose asked for something, he gave it to her, and she would let him work in peace.

Not only did her town know her from her constant small robberies of their things, but they also knew her because of her very successful parents. Rose’s mother was constantly annoyed with her daughter. She never bought into Rose’s acts. If Rose was bothering her when she was trying to work, then Rose would pay the punishment.

Rose’s mother was hoping that his was just a phase, and that soon Rose would just stop being so spoiled and jealous of everything that passed by her. Even Rose’s mother fought for the beach, so that Rose would be quiet and live the normal life of an 8-year-old. But everyone knew that Rose was not normal, and therefore she could not live a normal life.

Rose would go to aquariums and start talking to the starfish and the seahorses, ignoring the odd looks people gave her. Rose honestly thought that she could communicate with the sea animals. And the sea animals really did like her. 

Rose usually broke everything. Her parents refused to get her any kind of animal in fear that soon they would have a dead dog or cat on their hands. But Rose took such good care of the little creatures.

She would even walk the 15 minutes to the town’s Sea World and feed the dolphins that would play in shows. Sometimes the caretakers would let her go in the water like they do, because of how well the show animals responded to her. They thought it was a miracle that when the creatures disobeyed them, the little 8-year-old would hop in the water and immediately do what they couldn’t. They even called her the miracle caretaker, and that made her very happy. 

The thing Rose loved most was when they brought in a new sick animal. The town’s Sea World only brought in sick animals, and when they were all better and revived, they would perform at least three shows and then get released into the ocean. Rose hated to see the animals leave, but occasionally when she was in the ocean, she felt their presence and it made her feel better.

Today, Rose saw a little sea lion being pulled into the room by a net. When Rose tried to come up to it, the owner waved her away.

“Not today, Rose. This is a serious matter. I would suggest going home now,” he mumbled, stepping over her feet and through the door to where the little sea lion was squealing.

“No, I don’t want to go home. I want to see the little sea lion. What happened to it?” Rose asked, standing on her tippy toes to see through the little window on the door.

“We’ll call your father when the sea lion is all better. It’s time to go home now,” he says, leaving her alone in the room. Rose could feel the hairs stand up on her arms as she scrunched up her face in anger, and then stomped out of the room.

Rose stomped all the way home, making it known to people that she was very angry and that they shouldn’t dare address her when she was mad. Just then she saw a boy, her classmate, walking with something she wanted all for herself. The newest and coolest skateboard. Rose had learned to skateboard months ago, and this boy had been bragging and bragging about how he and his sister are getting the new skateboard. She turned around and started following him and his braggy comments to his friends.

She followed him all the way to his house, as each of his friends one by one left to go back to their houses. She ducked behind the bushes and watched as he opened the door and left to go all the way up to his room. She then saw him through the window of his room, putting the skateboard down and leaving for the kitchen. She snuck in through the door quickly, tiptoeing up the stairs. She heard the cling of his glass from the kitchen, and then him pouring the water. She heard footsteps coming from where he was. She quickly popped open the window, and then escaped through where the door was. She safely waited behind the bush until the sky grew dark and the lights of his parents’ cars pulled up in the driveway.

When all the lights were off, she climbed up the tree next to the wall leading to his room, and jumped from the tree to the little ledge. She crawled through the open window, sneakily grabbing the skateboard from next to his nightstand. In the place of his skateboard, she took out the ribbon her mom put in her hair from the morning and left it. She didn’t like those bright red ribbons anyways, except for the fact that it made her stick out. She crawled back through the window and down the tree.

When Rose got home with her new skateboard, she snuck up the stairs, only to see her mother standing there in front of her room.

“And where have you been?” she asked, crossing her arms. 

Rose didn’t answer.

“Your knees are scraped, your ribbon has fallen out of your hair, and you are certainly very dirty. We also got a call from the owner of the town’s Sea World saying that the little sea otter or whatever is done,” she says, leaving out the fact that she has a new skateboard in her arms. 

“It’s a sea LION, and I want to go to bed now,” she lied, slipping behind her mother and into her room.

“Wait! Where did your ribbon fall?” she yelled out to Rose.

“It fell next to Bobby Carson’s night stand when I stole his skateboard.” She giggled, locking her bedroom door so her mother couldn’t get in. She heard her mother huff and then leave down the stairs, probably to call Bobby’s parents. 

She hid her new skateboard in the secret cabinet in her closet hidden by the racks of hideous dresses she never wore. She set it down in the big cabinet, along with a few other expensive things she didn’t want her parents to take back, and also along with the boxes of bright red ribbons she kept to lay down in place of her stolen objects. Just so that the owner could feel her wrath, and just so that they could feel the same jealousy as her.

The next morning, Rose hopped back to the aquarium to see the little sea lion. This time the caretaker did not shoo her away, but instead invited her in with a concerned look on his face.

“Rose, the sea lion seems to have hurt its tail when swimming near the rocks, and now that we have mended the cuts, it has turned into a stubborn little thing. It won’t listen to any of the directions I give her,” he says, rubbing his chin. 

Rose smiles deviously. “Well first, I believe the sea lion is demanding a treat,” she says, pointing to the bucket of tiny fish that gave off the worst smell.

“I’ve tried that, the sea lion still won’t go,” he says, giving the sea lion a little fish and then pointing a certain way.

“Well if the sea lion is anything like me, you have to give the fish after the direction,” she says, hopping in the water and grabbing a little fish.

She holds the fish up over the sea lion, but before it can eat it, she points to a certain direction. The sea lion goes the same way as she points, and then comes back to eat the little fish. 

“It’s all about the bargaining. You can’t just give the food to the sea lion, it has to have some kind of motivation,” she says matter-of-factly, petting the baby sea lion. It wiggles its whiskers, and then wiggles out of her grip to stare intently at the bucket of food.

“When will it be ready to leave?” Rose asks, a bit saddened at the thought of the baby not getting to experience the feel of the ocean.

“Ready to leave? She hasn’t even done her first showing yet! And it will take a while for her to be all healed, we don’t want her stitches to open up,” he says. The baby sea lion swims up next to her and starts barking, happy to have gotten food.

“What’s her name? Can I get her toys? How long can I stay for?” Rose asks.

“Sea lion #3, no, and not that long,” he says. Rose’s shoulders slump.

“Well, that’s a horrible name,” she says, annoyed.

“We don’t name our animals and we definitely don’t get too close to them,” he warns.

“Well, I’m going to name her… Keeva. It means gentle, if you didn’t know,” Rose says, smiling. She pets the sea lion again, not fearing the sharp teeth she has when she opens her mouth. The sea lion flips over on its back, and then again on its stomach.

“I’m going to get Keeva toys. I will be back,” Rose says, stomping triumphantly out of the town’s sea world. 

Rose passes Turtle Beach, the beach she loves so much. The beach where turtles come up on the shore and sit in the sun. The beach Rose hopes Keeva will be let in to someday when she is healed and has done her three showings. 

Rose crosses over the bridge and walks the 10 minutes to the pet store. 

“For the 17th time Rose, your mother has already told me that you cannot get a pet from here, no matter the amount of money you bring in,” the owner, Mr. Burkles, mumbles.

“I’m not here to get a pet. I’m here for toys for Keeva,” Rose says.

“What’s a Keeva?” he asks, uninterested.

“Keeva is my new sea lion they are keeping in the town’s Sea World,” she replies.

“Alright kid, sea lion toys are in the back to the right next to the toys for tigers,” Mr. Burkles says sarcastically. 

“I’ll just get dog toys,” Rose huffs angrily.

She grabs a big, purple plastic ball with plastic spikes on it that squeaks. She also grabs a few plastic ducks, a rubber black ball, a stuffed animal sea lion, and two new buckets for her own fish bucket, and a bucket to hold the toys. She walks right past the cashier and out the door.

“Hey! You have to pay for that!” Mr. Burkles yells.

“Put it on my tab,” Rose says.

“What tab?” he asks, running after her.

“I’ll ask my dad for one later and send it to you,” she says, running away with the stolen dog toys. 

“HEY!” he yells after her, then gives up and returns back to the store, picking up the phone to call her dad and ask about a tab. 

Rose runs all the way back to the SW and to Keeva, throwing in the purple ball. She then jumps into the water with Keeva, playing around with the ball. Keeva jumps really high to catch the ball.

“Wow! How did you get her to do that?” a different caretaker asks her. He walks up talking to the caretaker who cares for show dolphin #15, a girl named Annabelle. 

“How did I do what?” Rose asks.

“How did you get a beginner sea lion to jump after a ball? Especially that high?” Annabelle asks, leaning down to take the ball from Keeva’s mouth.

“I didn’t do anything, Keeva is just special!” Rose says, proud of Keeva’s abilities. Annabelle throws the ball up, and it splats in the water.

“I’m pretty sure Keeva only listens to me right now, since I’m the one who has spent the most time with her,” Rose says smugly.

“Maybe we could teach her some tricks right now, instead of waiting,” the other caretaker, James says.

“I could try. Can I try? PLEAAAAAAAASE?” Rose begs.

“Well, since she only seems to listen to you right now I guess you could,” James says. 

“YAY!!!” Rose yells.

Rose picks up a fish and moves her fingers in a circular motion, the motion for spin.

“No, no, no. She can’t do that yet. It will hurt her tail. Try just a simple jump,” Annabelle says. Rose does a swift movement pointing upward, and Keeva follows.

“That’s just crazy, we’ve never had such a smart sea lion,” James says.

“Yes, I know. And she’s MY sea lion,” Rose brags. Keeva comes up to her and takes the fish out of her hands, then coming up and rubbing against her side.

“Let me play with her a little longer, please?” Rose begs.

 Annabelle nods. “Ok. But we want a chance to teach her a few more things. If this goes right, she might be ready for her first showing in less than a month!” Annabelle says. 

“And then I can take her to Turtle Beach???” Rose asks, excited. 

“Yes, and then you can take her to Turtle Beach,” Annabelle responds. 

Later that night when Rose comes home for dinner, her mother again asks her where she’s been.

“Why is your dress so wet and dirty? Where have you been? Why has your ribbon fallen o-” her mother stops and looks at the bright red ribbon that is still tied in her hair. Her eyes widen.

“Your ribbon hasn’t fallen off. What did you steal?” she asks.

“Nothing. I stole nothing,” Rose says, awed with herself. “Oh well, I still have time for that tomorrow. I can do it after I train Keeva with Annabelle and James!” Rose says, excited. 

“Who is Keeva?” she asks.

“Keeva is my new sea lion,” Rose says.

“Right…” her mother whispers to herself. 

*      * *

Rose hops down to the town’s Sea World once again. It’s been 4 weeks since Keeva came in, and her progress is going very well. They even think she might be able to show soon. For many sea lions, it takes around a full year to train them, show them, and for them to heal properly in the progress. But there is one problem. Keeva only ever listens to Rose.

Since the town’s Sea World has been needing her all this time, she comes back straight from school to hop in the water and play with Keeva. That way she can also help train her. One of the times, the owner actually asked Rose to stop coming, so that Keeva could learn to train with the caretakers, but Keeva just sat there and swam, and listened to none of them. 

Because of this small dilemma, the only way Keeva can train is if Rose comes and does it. And because of this, Rose has stopped stealing everyone’s things. And the only reason why Rose is helping them train Keeva, instead of spending all of her time playing with Keeva, is because once Keeva is done with her showings, Rose can take her to Turtle Beach. And that is what Rose really wants. 

“Rose! You’re here! We have great news! Keeva is going to be doing her very first showing this weekend!” Annabelle says excitedly.

“This weekend??? But she hasn’t learned to listen to you. She only listens to me,” Rose says, concerned. As surprising as it is, she doesn’t want Annabelle to be laughed at.

“Which brings me to my final point… maybe you can do her first showing?” Annabelle offers. Rose’s eyes widen and her smile brightens.

“REALLY??” she asks, excited.

“I asked my boss and he says yes, as long as I’m there to supervise you,” Annabelle says. Rose’s eyes brighten.

“But don’t get too excited, you’re only doing the first showing. After that we’re going to start training Keeva to listen to us instead.” James walks in. He pats Keeva’s head, but she pulls away. 

He sighs. “She just doesn’t seem to like us,” he says, frustrated.

“Maybe you should try and play with her more often. How many times do you play with her compared to training her?” Rose asks, arms crossed.

“We don’t have time to play with her,” James says.

“Get ready, because you might have to go into the water this weekend when she is showing,” Annabelle says.

Rose’s stomach flutters as she walks up to the big pool that holds Keeva. The audience is filling up the benches in front of her, and she realizes that this is way more people than Rose thought there would be. 

“Are you ready?” Annabelle asks from behind her. Rose nods. Everyone is here because of the new baby sea lion who learned quicker than any other sea lion.

“You remember the hand motions, right?” James asks. Rose nods.

“I’m pretty sure, yes,” Rose says, nervous.

“You’ll be fine.” Annabelle comforts her. Rose nods as the audience quiets down. Rose hops in the water, and people lean in, in confusion, as to why 8-year-old Rose is in the water where the caretaker is supposed to be. 

“WE NOW INTRODUCE, KEEVA THE SEA LION AND ROSE, HER TRAINER!” Annabelle yells loudly. People murmur when they hear that Rose is Keeva’s trainer.

Rose takes a deep breath and pats Keeva’s back. She swipes her fingers up in the air, and Keeva follows. Rose feels better now that she knows Keeva will listen. She twists in the air and flips as Rose taught her. Rose then does a few more tricks she was supposed to, and then gets out of the water. People gasp, and Rose turns around to look what they’re looking at. Keeva is hopping out of the water with her, because sea lions can stand up on the ground. 

“Did you train her to do that?” James whispers. Rose shakes her head. She goes back over to push Keeva back in the water, but Keeva just sits there cuddling against her leg.

The audience claps and laughs, thinking it’s all part of the show. Rose picks Keeva up and tries to put her in the water, but Keeva keeps coming out. The audience laughs again, and soon Rose is laughing too. James picks Keeva up and brings her back to her pool. Rose bows and walks away from the clapping audience. 

It’s Rose’s birthday today, but no one seems to notice because of all the buzz going on about Keeva’s third showing. It’s been a year since her first showing, and when Rose led the second showing too, people started calling her the “Animal Whisperer.” Keeva’s second showing had the most audience the town’s Sea World had ever seen. 

For once in her life, Rose doesn’t really care that no one, but Annabelle wished her a happy birthday. Even her parents seemed to forget, now that their daughter is known for something good and not terrible. It even seems like they’re more interested in her now that she’s become a good girl, and not the little robber that she used to be. 

At first, Rose didn’t notice that she had stopped stealing. She didn’t even notice that she had become a nice person. She was just occupied with Keeva because she was happy. Now that Keeva is going to be finished with her third showing, Rose can finally take her to Turtle Beach. Occasionally Rose will find herself wanting something that someone has, but mostly she just wants her parents to pay attention to her.

With all of this, Rose’s parents are definitely paying more attention to her. It may not be because they love her, and it may not be because she’s their daughter, but any attention is better than none. 

On the way to Keeva’s showing, Rose stops by Turtle Beach to smell the salty air and feel the sand between her toes, and for once she starts appreciating it. She can’t wait to bring Keeva here, because as much time as Keeva may have spent near another beach or wherever she came from, Rose wants Keeva to have the best beach experience. 

“Good morning, Mr. Burkles!” Rose yells on her way to the show.

“Good morning, Rose!” he calls out. 

Rose walks into the showing area where the collection of people have formed near the benches. Practically the whole town is here, and even though it’s a small town, there are quite a few people who live here. When Rose walks in, the whole area seems to arrupt in cheer. Rose notices a few men here who she hadn’t met yet. Maybe they are new to town? They are the only ones not cheering. 

Rose hops into the water. Keeva greets her with a bark and snuggling into her hip. Rose giggles, and the audience quiets down as Rose starts doing advanced tricks and Keeva follows. The audience starts to settle in and watch contently. Again, Rose’s eye catches the odd new men standing in the stands. They watch Keeva’s every movement, and Rose feels a sense of pride in Keeva’s skill. Maybe she might invite the new men to watch Rose go in the water of Turtle Beach with Keeva and the whole crew. 

People cheer as the mysterious “animal whisperer” gets out of the water to do the finale. Rose moves along the water and Keeva follows like she was trained, and then before hitting the water, she lifts herself from the surface of the water and moves her tail back and forth, then does a full flip and swims the other way. This is a very advanced move.

When the show is over, Rose goes to greet the mysterious men. She comes across them shaking hands with the owner of the town’s Sea World. I guess the owner beat her to it. When the mysterious men look over to her, they smile wide.

“Well if it isn’t the ‘animal whisperer’ herself. You trained Sea Lion #3 very well. Thank you for allowing me to take her,” one of them says.

“Her name is Keeva, and what do you mean take her? Are we taking her to Turtle Beach now?” Rose asks, hopeful. The man looks over to the owner in confusion.

“You didn’t tell her?” he asks.

“Tell me what?” Rose asks, her old demanding voice coming back.

“Keeva is going to a facility in New Orleans for a few years to be trained by professionals,” the owner says.

“WHAT? A few YEARS? But I thought all she had to do was 3 showings!” Rose exclaims, her blood boiling.

“Well, Keeva is very special, and she is our star sea lion and our main profit. We thought it would be good if we give Keeva over for a little while,” the owner explains very carefully as if Rose were a 3-year-old.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be back in about 9 years,” the man says casually.

“NINE YEARS??? I’ll be gone from here by then! Keeva will be done with half her life. She won’t even remember me!” Rose says, crying now. Her voice gets very demanding.

“Actually, sea lions can remember up to 10 years, so she will remember you fine,” he says.

“Well, Keeva only listens to me. You won’t be able to train her at all, so you should pick a different sea lion, and let me do my work.” Rose stomps the ground.

“We have other ways of training her, and you aren’t even a licensed trainer, so no I cannot ‘just let you do your work,’” the evil man says. 

“Rose, you should say your goodbyes now,” Annabelle says from behind her.

“NO!” Rose refused, running over back to Keeva. A few caretakers picked Keeva up and started hauling her into a truck.

“NO!” Rose protested. Keeva let out a whine, trying to get back to Rose.

“It isn’t your sea lion Rose, it has only been a year,” the owner says from behind her. 

Rose runs up to Keeva. “Then why does she only listen to me?” Rose protested, her arms crossed. 

“She’s just had bad training,” the owner says. 

Rose goes over and pets Keeva’s back. Rose has had many years of practicing when trying to get something, but this time was different. This time, her tears were real and she couldn’t turn away to try to get something better, or different, because nothing came even close to getting better than Keeva. Keeva had changed her because no one ever loved Rose, not even her parents, and Rose was never capable of loving anything before Keeva. And now they were trying to rip the one thing in life that ever loved Rose out of her hands, and they were succeeding. And this time there was nothing she could do to stop it. All she could do was watch as the truck drove away with Keeva in it, whining to get back. 

Rose was never the same after that. The memory haunted her for years, and all she could think of was how it was all her fault. Maybe if Rose had just stayed away from Keeva, they wouldn’t have to send her away for special training. Maybe if Rose had tried hard enough, the truck would stop and let Keeva go. But that never happened. And just like how Keeva came, she was suddenly gone. 

People whispered about Rose, about how she had changed from being a little kid robber to being an “animal whisperer”, and how every time a new sea lion came in, Rose would watch from the gates and remember how Keeva had come, wounded and afraid to then first meet Rose. People whispered about Rose’s sudden change of heart, from a demanding jealous little girl to a genuinely nice person. 

But for a while Rose, lost her voice, her opinion. She didn’t participate in much of anything. She became a good student and a good girl, only to always be rejected by her parents and haunted by the traumatic experience of Keeva’s absence in her life. Rose stayed away from most people, her once confident and demanding personality just gone with one memory.

Rose eventually got over Keeva, never really forgetting her, but instead remembering how Keeva changed and saved her. Eventually Rose moved on from all her fears and found her voice again. She went off to study marine biology and to work with sea animals. 

When 10 years passed by, Rose came back to her small town to see if Keeva had come back to her. Rose walked all the way back to where she was taken away from the one thing she ever brought herself to love. 

“Is Sea Lion #3 back?” Rose asked for the millionth time like she had over the years. The owner’s son, the one who had taken over after the real owner died, didn’t recognize her when she asked him. No one from her town did.

“She is, and she’s still sick,” he mumbled.

“Sick? What happened?” Rose asked, opening the gate. Her heart leaped with the idea that she would get to see Keeva again.

“She caught a disease. Only has a little time left to live,” he says. Rose’s heart sinks, and for the second time, she feels like she’s being ripped away from a part of her.

“I want to see her,” Rose demands. He takes her back to Keeva’s pool.

When Rose sees Keeva, she knows that it’s her. Even in her dying moments, she still has the sparkle and energetic spirit lying in her eyes. When Keeva looks at her, looks up from where she’s slowly swimming, she doesn’t recognize Rose. That is until Rose takes out the purple ball she had taken with her when Keeva went away. Keeva recognized the ball right away, and when she realized who Rose was, she howled with happiness and seemed to get her energy back. Rose got in the pool and pet Keeva’s back.

“Let me take her,” Rose says.

“You can’t do that,” The owner’s son says, looking at her weirdly.

“Why? She’s dying isn’t she? Let me take her. In her last moments,” she says. 

He shakes his head and scoffs, leaving the room. Rose picks Keeva’s heavy and dying body up. I guess it’s time for one more steal.

“Hey, you can’t do that. Hey!” he yells after her as Rose walks through the gate and to her destination. The owner’s son tries to come after her, but seems to give up. Rose should’ve known from the beginning how terrible this town was.

Rose floats in the salty, warm water of Turtle Beach under the rays of the sun with Keeva. She moves her legs and arms in the smooth water, watching Keeva happily swim in the water that should’ve been her home 10 years ago. Rose’s eyes are puffy from the tears that are falling down her cheeks, and her brown hair flies in the wind like it did so long ago. Rose thinks about all the ways Keeva saved her; from the world and herself. She thinks of all the amazing memories she will never forget, and how much she loved and will always love Keeva. In Keeva’s last moments, in Rose’s last moments with Keeva, they live the moments in peace together. 

They won.


Welcome to the Labyrinth

Chapter 1

Basil had only been in town for a few weeks and was told he wasn’t the most observant fellow, but even he knew that the Dagrun Library was something special to the people of Lindita. While most teenagers would be playing on their phones during the breaks between classes, those in Lindita always seemed to have a book in their hands. Crowds moved in and out of the towering library at nearly any time of day, chatting about one thing or another about what they had read or learned there. Which was why Basil was so excited to finally go.

His parents didn’t let him leave the house outside of school while boxes still filled his room, so Basil reluctantly unpacked and finished the job yesterday, finally letting him find out what all the hype was about.

When he asked some of his classmates about the library, their answers were often vague, as if the place itself had some sort of feeling that no one could explain. They had told Basil about the three librarians who lived in the building, each helpful and charming in their own way. Ji apparently knew the location of every book in the library, but would point you to his brother’s, Kalpana, direction when you gave an unclear description. The last one, Ezra, seemed to pop up whenever you needed him, whether for directions to the restroom or a specific section of the library.

Basil’s best friend, Mina, waited for him at the front door of the Dagrun Library, her hazel eyes sparkling with their usual mischievous twinkle. When she learned that Basil hadn’t been to the library yet, Mina told him she couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he walked in. She also said that if he was lying to her, there would be hell to pay. “And hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Mina quoted that day.

“Took you long enough,” Mina said, slapping him a high five after he made his way up to the tall, wooden doors.

“Did there have to be so many stairs?” Basil joked half-heartedly, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. He hadn’t done much exercise during the summer, preferring online and strategy games to repetitive swimming or running that got boring after two seconds. His flushed brown cheeks and resistant lungs were making him regret it.

Mina rolled her eyes and tucked a stray red hair behind her ear. “You got eight minutes on the mile; you’re not fooling anybody.”

“It’s not an A,” Basil muttered.

“It’s better than my D,” Mina retorted, swinging her legs while she sat on an iron railing. She sighed. “Why do I have to be so bad at running?”

“You’ve got A’s in everything else, Mina, don’t sell yourself short,” Basil said, then gestured to the doors. “So, are we going to go in or what?”

Her eyes brightened. “Right!” 

She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him along while Basil stumbled after her. Mina grabbed the brass handle and smiled her slightly off-putting, devious smile at him.

“Ready?” she asked and Basil nodded, pushing stray black hairs from his face.

Mina pulled open the door. “Welcome to the Library!”

When Basil stepped inside, it was as if he had entered another world infused with old pages and polished wood. The floor was made of sleek wooden planks, and Basil’s vision was filled with what seemed to be hundreds of dark wooden bookshelves stocked with books of any size or shape, all arranged like a miniature labyrinth. He could also see two spiraling staircases leading up to another level of the library lined with even more stories.

Mina skipped up to him with a grin. “What d’ya think?”

“It’s big,” Basil said, still staring at the gigantic sight in front of him.

“Well, duh, what else?”

“Really big,” Basil added, just to annoy her.

Mina punched him in the shoulder and scowled. “Shut up!”

“But then you’ll never know what I think…” Basil said in a soft, sing-song voice.

“So help me, there will be a funeral tomorrow,” Mina said.

“It’s really great, Mina,” Basil said finally. “I can see why you like it so much…it’s just it.”

Mina’s face softened as she gazed around the room, people weaving in and out of the maze of shelves. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, where do you want to go first?” Mina asked. “This starting area is mostly nonfiction texts, but there’s a kids’ room, teen fantasy, teen sci-fi-”

“Teen fantasy sounds nice. I’ve been looking for the third book in the Goldfyre series, but couldn’t find it in my old library.”

“You probably will here, then, but before we go, I should probably show you the directory,” Mina said. “Wouldn’t want you getting lost now, would we?”

Mina led Basil down the central aisle to a low wooden table that went up to Basil’s waist. However, atop the table was an assembled building mirroring the outside of the Dagrun Library.

Mina lifted off the roof of the building as well as the top two floors, putting them to the side. She pointed to where they were now on the first floor.

“We’re here,” Mina said, then traced her finger through the bookcases to the left side, where a set of wooden steps were placed on the 3-D map. Her other hand picked up the second floor while her finger went into it and directly to the right, where two tiny words were burned into the wood. Mina picked up a magnifying glass tied to the table and put it over the words.

Mina read them aloud, “Teen Fantasy. You got the route?”

“Yeah,” Basil replied, though he still felt unsure.

“Okay, I’m going to head to the bathroom, then,” Mina said, waving goodbye as she disappeared into the maze of bookcases.

Basil looked down at the map once more. “So through here, then a right, forward, then left, and then you reach the staircase,” Basil muttered as he traced the path. “Right, forward, left, staircase, right,” Basil repeated, before an odd pattern caught his eye. On each of the floors, there were certain alcoves in the maze where the bookcases formed a spiraling circle.

On the first floor, there was one alcove where Basil currently stood by the map, but on the second there were two: teen fantasy and teen science fiction on opposite sides of the floor. The third floor had three: kid’s fiction, kid’s nonfiction, and the event room. “That’s cool,” Basil said as he admired the architecture.

After repeating the directions one more time aloud, Basil headed into the maze. He reached the stairs with little effort and made his way to the Teen Fantasy alcove, surprised when he saw Mina already there, reading the third Goldfyre book: Bluemyst.

Mina looked up from the book and grinned. “Did you really remember the directions?”

“Did you really go to the bathroom?” Basil retorted.

“Touché, but you’re deflecting, which means no, you didn’t.”

“I did, I just confirmed it with the map again. Also, did you realize the cool design of this place?”

“You mean the spirals? Yeah, pretty much everyone does. It adds a cool kind of flair to the library and makes a great reading nook.”

She gestured around to the four others reading novels in the alcove.

“Also, I found the book,” Mina said and held out the Bluemyst novel. “We can check it out at the desk, but first I really do need to use the restroom.”

They both made their way down the stairs and Basil realized something, but Mina was already skipping away. He jogged after her, but she seemed to have disappeared.

“Mina…I don’t know where the check-out desk is,” Basil grumbled. He turned around and nearly slammed into another bookcase.

Basil looked around at the corridor he was in and gritted his teeth.

“Great! Now, I’m lost,” Basil muttered, still clutching the Bluemyst book in his right arm and holding Mina’s library card in his left.

“Do you need some help?” another voice said, making Basil flinch.

He turned around and saw the face of a friendly young man. He had red hair, left long and wild, as well as kind green eyes.

“My name is Ezra,” the man greeted. “I’m a librarian here.”

“Oh!” Basil said. “Yes, I would like some help. Do you know where the check-out desk is?”

“Of course, I’ll take you there.” Ezra began walking away and Basil was quick to move after him, not wanting to lose the man like he had Mina.

“Here we are,” Ezra said after a few moments. Basil stepped into an open row filled with self-checkout desks and a lone, well-kept counter manned by a person who looked like Ezra’s twin.

Ezra led Basil up to the counter, and while Basil would still call the man Ezra’s twin, it was very apparent that they were different in nature.

The man at the counter had his red hair cut short and gelled back and his emerald eyes were more calculating than kind. He wore a blue necktie and a black polo shirt, as opposed to the simple white t-shirt and jeans of Ezra.

“Ji!” Ezra said, “We have a newcomer looking to check out a book.”

“How does he have a library card, then?” Ji asked, narrowing his eyes. “You need to find the desk to get one.”

Basil flushed. “Uh, it’s my best friend, Mina’s, sir.”

“Oh! Mina!” Ezra said excitedly and even Ji’s stern mask seemed to soften at the name.

“You guys know her?” Basil asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“She has been a long patron of this library, and we tend to know most of the people in Lindita anyways,” Ji explained, taking the book and library card.

“Are you guys twins?” Basil asked as Ji scanned both of the items.

Ji and Ezra both glanced at each other. The former had a hint of a smirk, while Ezra shook his head.

“Triplets, actually,” Ji said, returning the book and card to Basil. “Our brother, Kalpana, is another librarian, but he usually sticks to the top two floors.”

“I knew you guys were all librarians, but I didn’t think you were related,” Basil said.

“Looks like you found them,” Mina said with a smile as she walked up to Basil. “Hey, guys.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mina,” Ji said, inclining his head respectfully.

“Hi, Mina,” Ezra said with a casual wave.

Mina returned Ezra’s gesture before turning to Basil. “You finished checking out the book, but I’m guessing you got lost because Ezra’s here.”

Basil sighed. “You really enjoy embarrassing me, don’t you?”

“Best friend privileges. You could do the same if you ever manage to find anything on me.”

“Can I check your trash bin for bodies?”

“They’ve already been shipped to the dump, you’ll never find them now!”

“Both of you, keep your voices down,” Ji chastised.

“Sorry,” the kids whispered.

“Anyways, I think we need to head home,” Mina said.

“Have a good afternoon, you two,” Ezra said as they both headed for the exit.

When they both were outside, Basil asked, “When did you meet them? They seem to be good friends with you.”

Mina grimaced. “It’s a long story, and not a fun one either. They helped me in a rough spot, that’s it.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mina said with a small smile, heading to her own home a few houses down. “I’m fine, Basil.”

… 

Basil kicked his shoes under the bench in the doorway and rolled onto the couch, reading the blurb on the back of the Bluemyst book:

“Quara and her dragon, Euranta, have discovered the location of the fourth jewel within the Grootvapor Swamp, home to the mysterious Bluemyst tribe. Some of the tribe welcomes them, but others don’t seem so agreeable. When the duo and their friends find a hidden tunnel network deep below the Bluemyst camp filled with captive dragons, they learn that the tribe may not be all that they seem…”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Basil groaned and got up from the couch.

“I’m coming!” Basil said as he unlocked the door. Mina stared back at him, fidgeting with her clothes.

“What’s got you so nervous?” Basil asked.

“The library’s closing!” Mina blurted out, her arms splayed out as if to emphasize the point.

“Yeah? Isn’t that normal?” Sure, the lights had always been on when Basil looked, but he doubted that the library closing was a sign of alarm.

“No, it’s not! The library only closes once a year, and that happened over a month ago!” Mina looked seriously distressed. “Even then, the doors were never locked!”

“If they’re never locked, then that means we can ask the librarians what all the fuss is about,” Basil said.

Mina winced and rubbed her arm. “Yeah, but nobody goes in when the lights are off.”

“What? Some kind of ghost story?” Basil joked.

“Let me just show you,” Mina said and pulled Basil towards her house.

Within a few minutes, they entered her room. It was moderately tidy with some books and papers spread out haphazardly over her desk along with a few candy wrappers and an empty water bottle. The walls were painted a pale blue, and a dark brown shelf sat in the corner next to her dresser. The shelf had all sorts of small knick knacks on the front and top, but behind those items were a collection of books.

Mina pulled out three novels in the middle shelf, revealing a thin, peeling paperback with the faded title, “Unknown History of the Dagrun Library”.

“It was hidden behind the staff desk and wasn’t registered in the catalogue,” Mina said.

“So you stole it?”

“Shh, no, I borrowed it. I’m going to give it back. I just wanted to copy it at school first.”

“Doesn’t that damage the book?”

Mina waved it off. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is the stories in here.”

She fingered through the book before showing it to Basil. There was a picture of a kid, maybe nine years old, with a dark blue baseball cap and an orange shirt.

“Uther Mayson,” Mina said, “went missing fifty years ago here in Lindita on a night the Dagrun Library was closed. Several of his friends said that he ‘wanted to go read a book’.”

She flipped to another page, this time depicting a middle-aged woman wearing a polka-dotted dress and white gloves like you would see in an old movie.

“Erica Blaise was a newcomer in town meeting with her sister, Jessamine Blaise. She checked out a book and returned it when the library had its lights off, then she was found mauled in the forest.”

“Okay, this is getting creepy now,” Basil said.

“One more thing!” Mina seemed to be getting more excited the more she shared, her hazel eyes gleaming and a wide grin on her face.

Finally, Mina flipped to the back of the book. The photo was in black and white with a yellowish tint. A small signature at the bottom read, “Dagrun Library, 1887.” In the photo were three figures, each in different clothes but all identical.

“You’re kidding,” Basil whispered.

Mina nodded. “That’s the librarians, also known as the Dagrard family.”

“Okay, maybe we shouldn’t go into the creepy disappearance library with an immortal host of librarians,” Basil said nervously.

“No! This means we have to go!” Mina exclaimed. “We could find out what happened to the others. Besides, the librarians wouldn’t hurt us, I promise!”

“Maybe not, but still a woman got mauled to death! What kind of stuff is even in there?”

“Books!” Mina said, then froze. “Oh my goodness, books.”

“What do you mean books?” Basil asked.

“Stories, characters, books! The Library can make them come to life, like in Night at the Museum!”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no,” Basil said, wagging his finger at her. “That’s crazy talk. Awesome talk,” Basil admitted, “but crazy talk.”

“You mean like immortal librarians or magically mauled women?” Mina retorted.

“The photo’s kind of fuzzy, maybe they are just related to the current librarians. And the woman could have been attacked; she was found in the woods, for goodness sake!” Basil said.

“Then there’s nothing to fear. It was your idea, Basil,” Mina said, crossing her arms.

Basil threw his hands up. “Ugh! You’re so stubborn. Can’t you see this is a bad idea? I was an idiot because I didn’t know about any of this, but you did!”

“I’m going to go, no matter what,” Mina declared, then focused her gaze on Basil. “What I want to know is if you are going to help so we have twice the chance, or you are going to leave me to die.”

Basil stayed silent for a few moments.

“I’ll go,” Basil said.

What neither of them noticed were the hazel eyes watching them from outside the room.


Antimatter

My invention was complete. After seven years, my work had paid off. I walked around the lab, admiring the beautiful machine I had created. It was a proton collider. The first invention I had ever succeeded in making. 

“Chloe, Richard, Dylan. Come down and look at my latest project!”

 My lab was the basement of our house, and my wife always warned me not to blow anything up here. She and my two kids ran down the stairs, ecstatic to see my new invention. As soon as they laid their eyes upon the collider, their eyes brightened. 

“WHOA!” my kids shouted as my wife hugged me with tears in her eyes. 

“You’ve done it Daniel!” she said. “For seven years, everybody mocked you. Laughed about you. Now you can laugh at them. Mock them.” I smiled at this. The thought of laughing at everyone who laughed at me was enough to make me laugh.

“Well, let’s see how it works Daddy!” Dylan shouted impatiently. I smiled at him. 

“Of course.” I walked over to the collider and turned it on. It immediately began to hum as thin balls of energy began to form at the two endpieces. They grew and a thin beam shot out, connecting them. As I marveled at my invention, something odd began to happen. It seemed as if something was stuck within the beam. In the middle, there was a bulge that grew at an exponential rate. When it reached the size of a basketball, it stopped growing. I looked at it curiously. Then I realized what it was. It was too late. 

“RUN!” I shouted at my family as the bulge exploded, opening up a black hole the size of a car. 

I grabbed onto the table and shouted again, “RUN!” My wife grabbed my kids and ran to the back of the lab, frantically looking for something to help me. The black hole grew bigger and stronger as the table I was grabbing onto began to slide. 

“DANIEL!” my wife shouted as I let go of the table and grabbed onto the steel pipe. Hot water moved through the pipe, scalding my hand but I held on tight. As I looked at my wife, she stared back at me with determination. She moved closer to me, making sure she didn’t get sucked in by the black hole and reached out her hand. The pipe groaned as the black hole now grew to the size of the room. I looked at her and closed my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I let go of the pipe, just as it exploded and leapt towards my wife’s hand. She looked at me and reached out even further as my fingertips met hers. Then the black hole grew once again as my fingers slid off hers, and I flew through the air towards the blackhole. I stared right at her and shouted over the howling wind, “I love you Chloe!” as everything went black.

I woke up in a field, surrounded by all sorts of miscellaneous items from my lab. I tried to recall what  had just happened. Memories started to flow back into me as I grew more and more frustrated. Yet again, I had failed to create something that worked. As I looked around me, something caught my eye. It was the garden gnome that Dylan had made. That could only mean… Yes. I was in my yard. My house was right in front of me. Perhaps it had all been a dream. Perhaps I had fallen asleep and… 

“DANIEL!” a familiar voice shouted. I turned my head to the voice. It was my wife Chloe. As I stood up to tell her what I had dreamed, I realized she was glaring at me. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

“I told you to never show your face to me or my kids ever again and you have the gall to just show up in my yard and make a mess!”

 I was shocked. Chloe had never spoken so harshly to me before. 

“GET OUT OF MY YARD! NOW!” She shouted as I stared at her. 

“Chloe I just…” 

“GET OUT BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!” 

I looked at her one last time and walked away from the house.

I just kept walking. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. As I passed a supermarket on my right, a man walked out and I immediately recognized who it was. 

“Ryan.” I said through gritted teeth.

 He had been the person who had mocked me for trying to make a proton collider and even sabotaged my attempts in the process of creating it. “Oh Daniel. How are you doing?” 

I was surprised to see he was being so nice to me. Normally, he would be such a jerk but he seemed so different. “Umm.. I’m great.” I turned to walk away but he stopped me. 

“Hey, we’re still on for today’s dinner right. 5:30 at John’s?” 

“Umm.. Yeah I’ll be there” I replied and walked away. I was so confused. Why was everyone so different from how I remembered them?

At 5:30 that night, I walked up to John’s and looked for Ryan. He was sitting at the booth at the far left corner so I headed towards him. He smiled at me and I sat across from him. The waiter came with some bread, so I ripped a piece off the loaf and started to eat. Then, something caught my eye as I choked. The man walking through the door was me.

I stared at him and he stared at me. We just looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then he looked at Ryan and back at me. He dropped his cup and it shattered on the floor. 

“Umm.. Ryan?” he asked.

 Ryan stopped mid-chew and turned around. When he saw my doppelganger, he too choked on his bread. I tried to piece everything together. Why had everybody seem so different from who they were and why was there a clone of me?

 Then I remembered how I ended up here. Everything started to fit together like a puzzle. 

“Ryan. Other Me. When I tell you this, do not freak out. It might sound crazy but it’s true. Ryan, before when I met you outside the supermarket, I was with my family. I had created a proton collider that opened up a black hole that brought me here. When I got here, my wife acted like she hated me and you acted like we were friends. However, in my ordinary universe, my wife and I love each other and you are my worst enemy. This led me to believe that I was in an alternate universe. One that is the exact opposite of what I live in. That means you are my antimatter.”

Ryan and Other Me stared at me like I was crazy. Then they laughed. “Daniel. I’m sure that you’ve had a long day. Maybe you should just go home and rest for today.” Ryan said. 

Other me looked at him and back to me. “Well, it may be possible. Although proton colliders aren’t supposed to create black holes. If you make a mistake with the wires, it may malfunction to create one. But what kind of universe have you ended up in?” 

I looked at him. “Let’s find out. Other Me. Shake my hand.” I extended my hand to him. As soon as our hands met, pain seared from my hand. Almost like a burning feeling from acid. I quickly retracted my hand and looked at it. The entire layer of skin on my hand had burnt off. “This is what happens when antimatter meets matter.” I said to them.

“Well if this is true, we have to find a way for you to get home,” Ryan said to me. 

“Well let’s establish something. If I have any more physical contact with Other Me, we will both be completely destroyed. No more touching alright?” I looked at Other Me and he nodded. “Okay. I think I have a way for me to get back to my universe. I need to make another proton collider in order to get back home. It’s an extremely risky move and I could theoretically end up in any other universe or possibly even get stuck in the time-space continuum, but it’s the only way. Do any of you have a lab lying around anywhere that I can use?”

Ryan just shook his head but Other Me’s face brightened as he looked at me and asked, “Did you say proton collider? I have a lab with one already made. The problem is where it is…” 

I looked at him excitedly. “Where is it?” 

He hung his head low. “It’s in the basement of Chloe’s house.” 

I looked at him. Just why. Of all places, WHY?! “Oh yeah. What happened with Chloe?” I asked. 

He sat down. “It’s a long story. Let me tell you.”

“When Chloe and I got married, we each had different aspirations. I wanted to be an inventor who created inventions that changed the world. I wanted to travel around the world and enter competitions and constantly keep learning. Chloe wanted to start a family and raise them to do great things. I decided that my dreams could wait and I would help Chloe raise a family. After we had our second kid Dylan, I decided that I would enter a small competition in our state and invent something. When I won first prize, I realized that I had so much talent and I could be an amazing inventor if I had the chance. I decided to go big. Without telling my wife, I bought a plane ticket to Australia to go and compete in the international competition. Surprisingly, I won and although my wife was upset with me for not telling her about it, she was proud. After winning the international competition, my wife thought that was the end of my journey and I should come home to be with my kids, but I wanted to become even greater at inventing. I wanted to solve the world’s greatest mysteries. When my wife heard about this, she and I had an argument. I decided to go my own path while she followed hers. For the next three years, I learned many things about the world and even managed to solve three of the world’s greatest mysteries. Then I found out my son Richard had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. I automatically headed home only to find out that he had already died. Heartbroken and clueless what to do next, I tried to go back home, but she closed the doors on me.”

I looked at Other Me. He had gone through so much. “I’m so sorry.” I managed to get out. He looked at me and said 

“We have to find a way to get inside the lab with or without her permission.” 

I nodded my head. “When should we try?”

That night, we all met in front of Chloe’s house. The mess from before had been cleaned up, and all the lights in the house were off. We walked to the front door and Other Me took a key out of his pocket. 

“Don’t tell her I have this,” he told us. “She hasn’t changed the locks on the door since I moved out so I still have access to the house.” He slid the key into the keyhole and turned. With a small click, the door was unlocked. He slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Ryan and I followed, careful not to make any sounds. We walked towards the basement stairs but as we opened the door, Someone turned the corner and stopped in their tracks. It was Dylan. 

He looked at me and then Other Me, and then Ryan and back to me. I could tell he was confused, so I whispered to him, “Dylan, don’t tell your mom we were here. Just go back to sleep and forget any of this happened.” 

He stared at us as if we were crazy so we just closed the door to the basement and walked down the stairs. I looked at Other Me and he looked at me, smiling, with tears in his eyes. “He’s grown so much,” he said to me. “I haven’t seen him in seven years.” 

I smiled at him. ‘Hopefully you can see him again someday,” I said. 

The three of us walked down the stairs, and I looked around the lab. It looked exactly like my old lab. I asked Other Me, “Where’s the proton collider?” He pointed over to the machine covered in a blue sheet. I walked over to the machine and took the sheet off. Then I unscrewed the screws that held a steel plate on. After the steel plate was off, I looked through the wires. Everything was the same as the one I had made except for the ones right on top. They were twisted together, but when I did it, I had tied them together. As I untwisted the wires, I thought about my wife. My kids. I thought about how Other Me had it so hard. Wife hating him, dead child. I almost wanted to give him my place and let him live in my universe. 

After the wires were “fixed”, I walked over to the other side and turned it on. The energy began to flow just as it had before. Then, I heard a loud harsh voice. 

“DAAAAAANIEEEEEL!!! HOW DARE YOU COME INTO MY HOUSE WITH YOUR FRIENDS AFTER WHAT YOU DID BEFORE! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!” Chloe was at the back of the lab glaring at me. 

Other Me came out of the shadows. “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said. “I’m sorry, Chloe. For everything. But we need the lab just for another minute.” 

“No” she replied curtly. “Get out.” 

“Please Chloe,” he pleaded. 

“Well first, why are there two of you?” she asked. 

“Let me explain,” he said. 

I looked back. The bulge had already started to grow. “Guys, I think this is my cue to exit.” I walked over to Ryan and gave him a big hug. I turned to Other Me, and I nodded my head. “Thanks for everything” I said to them as I turned back. The bulge exploded once again as it dragged me in. But this time I was prepared. I closed my eyes and let the blackness overwhelm me. 

I woke up for the third time that day. I looked around and saw the garden gnome. I hoped it wasn’t foreboding as I walked up the steps. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. After a couple seconds, the door opened and I saw the love of my life standing in front of me. With tears in her eyes, she threw her arms around me and I wrapped my arms around her, patting her back. I saw Richard and Dylan in the back, so I invited them into our embrace. We hugged for what seemed like forever. Once we had released from our embrace, I smiled at them. “Let me tell you everything.” 

As I walked inside, I heard a crash outside. I turned around and looked out the window. Other Me and Other Chloe were back.


In a Crowded Train

WHAT’S GOING ON

“Maria Jane Wodson, there is a friend I would like you to meet!” Father yelled from downstairs.

As I made my way down the white marble stairs, I saw him. He wore the Nazi uniform, with the red arm band on his left arm, showing off his muscular arms. He looked like he was in his 30s.

Looking at his cold blue eyes caused my hands to tremble on the wood banister. Scared. I was scared, that’s the word. Scared.

Father saw that I had finally got out of my room and exclaimed, “This is my coworker, Kurt. He will be your math tutor for the next month.”

I said a quick, “Hi.”

I made my way past Kurt. Then I felt a cold hand on my shirt. It was Kurt.

Then he whispered in a low voice, “I know people like you, up to no good.”

What did he mean, “people like you.” He let me go, but I still felt his cold hand on my shoulder.

Making my way to my car, I noticed these kids playing around the street playing tag. And they each wore a necklace with the Jewish star. Then I continued observing the kids’ clothing, noticing the same star sewn on their spring vests, their jeans, and shirts. 

But I got in my car, driving to a cafe to meet up with a friend. I saw in front of me that Betty had already found seats. I made my way across the pink tiled floors, past the bar. But I could not stop thinking about why all Jews were sewing the star. I knew Betty was Jewish, but why didn’t she have the star sewn on? We had just started drinking coffee when these Nazis barged in. Grabbed Betty by the arm. And I just stood there in shock. Betty was thrashing and screaming in fear. No, I couldn’t lose her. She has been my best friend since, like, the beginning of time. Now she was gone. My head was spinning in confusion. What was happening. And why. 

FINDING OUT THE TRUTH

After I left the cafe, the only thing I could think about all day were the Nazis. Then all of a sudden, I fell to the floor. Looking below me I saw a yellow rubber duck staring at me with black beady eyes.

“What the heck!!” I said to myself. Why was there a rubber duck. Oh well, never thought that would happen. 

Making my way up the old brick stairs to my home, I felt like a melting marshmallow in the hot sun. I didn’t know if Father was home. So I went upstairs to check his office, but as I made my way closer to the office, I heard men yelling.

You know all Jews must be sent to the camps. Not one can slip past you!”

 What camps? I thought. And why target Jews? 

But then I heard more. “We finally got that stupid Betty. The troops just got her at the coffee shop when she was with my daughter. Get the rest of them. Hitler’s orders!”

It was Father!!! Father was the reason Betty was taken away. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. Was this why the kids were wearing the stars, the Nazis needed to know who were Jews. But what camps.

The Nazis stormed out of the house. I was in the kitchen snacking on some potato chips when one of the men caught my eye.

He had cold emerald eyes, then he said in a loud booming voice, “Alright, men, hurry up. Let’s go.”

I recognized that voice. It was the voice of the first man in the conversation. I must stay away from that man.

One week later… 

THE TRAIN

I found myself in a crowded train, filled with Jews. Babies crying, kids crying, women and men crying. Why had I gone snooping? Why did I ever start to have feelings for Kurt? Kurt did this to me. I felt the train stop. The Nazis opened up the doors. Then they started pushing people off the train. One Nazi pushed me so hard that I fell.

I looked behind myself and saw Kurt. Kurt, the one who started this whole mess. But he looked at me like I was no one, kicked me, and said, “You stupid girl, get up.”

I wondered if he even noticed me, but then a loud scream interrupted that thought. A Jewish mama was being taken away from her daughter. I ran over to help the child.

I yelled back at the mama, “I will take care of her!!”

The girl yelled back at the mama screaming, “No!!! I need her. I need my mama.”

The girls eyes looked scared, so I said to the girl, “It’s okay. I will take care of you.”

“No, you are not my mama. You will turn me into them, then they will kill me!!”

“Come with me, so we don’t get in trouble and end up like your mama. We must follow the rest of the group.”

“Fine, but promise me they won’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t make any promises, but I will try my best.”

“Are you scared?” the girl asked, shivering.

“Yes, but you must stay strong. Please stay strong.”

The girl and I followed the Nazis through the concentration camp, past lines of Jews heading into dark tunnels. Then all of a sudden I heard bang, bang. I looked over my shoulder and found four dead bodies on the cold brick floor. Then I thought to myself what will become of me.


Darkthorn

I was awoken by the sun’s soft, early morning rays. I’ve always been a light sleeper, which is always a good thing for waking up early to work like I do. With a quick yawn and a stretch, I slid out of bed and laced up my boots again. By the looks of things when I got downstairs, Mother and Father were still asleep. Hunting takes up most of my day if I’m to catch anything, so I grabbed a decent chunk of bread from the kitchen and filled up a waterskin at the well. Lastly, I headed to the shed just outside of the house and retrieved the bow and quiver of arrows from the shelf. The early morning air was cool and the breeze was slight, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, leaving the land covered in a golden haze. Today should be a good hunt for me. That is, if I didn’t get too frustrated first. With a last glance at the house, I silently made my way to the nearby woods, bow gripped tightly in my hand. 

Surprisingly, within minutes, I found myself hiding behind some bushes while a deer grazed a few paces away from me. I slowly pulled an arrow from my quiver and nocked it on the bowstring. Before I could pull it back and ready my shot, a twig snapped behind me and scared off the deer. I whirled around to look for the source of the noise, only to be faced with trees, shrubs, and nothing more. I let out a low growl of frustration and stood up. Another twig snapped, this time seemingly closer. Eyes narrowed, I pulled the bowstring taught and aimed towards the sound. I still didn’t see anything, but a feeling of unease had begun to creep into my body.

“Who’s there?” I called, a slight shake to my voice.

I got no answer, which only deepened the sense of dread that had begun to weigh me down. I waited for a few more moments, and lowered my bow. I bit my lip, and quickly moved on, scanning the forest floor for any more tracks. I spent a few more hours following what appeared to be deer tracks, but after a while I realized that I had gotten completely lost.

“Of course… of course I get lost…” I grumbled, kicking a few rocks out of my way. The forest had gotten dark, even though I knew that it couldn’t be any later than noon. I had never been in this part of the woods, and every shape in the undergrowth seemed foreign or threatening. I found myself drawing my bow at the slightest noise. Eventually, I saw the beginnings of a pathway and my hopes shot up. I followed the path like an excited puppy, eager to get out of this wretched forest. The path led to an open mouthed cave, and I could faintly hear voices coming from within. As I made my way to the entrance, I tripped on a rock and fell flat on my face with a small cry. The voices stopped and I scrambled to my feet. 

When I looked up, a tall, thin man was leaning over me. I like to think of myself as rather tall, but this man was a good head higher than I was. His greasy, shoulder-length hair was dark, his eyes even darker, a glimmer of something otherworldly lurking behind his irises. His skin was like ivory, so much so that it seemed nearly translucent. His lips were the only colorful part of him, as if they were stained with wine, or something of the like.

“Well well well. What have we here? A little lost pup?” The man purred. His voice was smooth and slick, dark amusement oozing from every word.

“I won’t deny I’m lost, but I’m not a pup.” I glared and dusted off my trousers. 

The man laughed and turned back towards the cave, where two more men were standing with their arms crossed.

“Well how about we play a little game then?” The man stepped back a few paces, joining the other two at the cave’s mouth.  “Think of it as… a game of hide and seek.”

The three men grinned, in near-perfect unison. The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and I gripped the handle of my bow even tighter.

“I don’t have time for this. If you won’t tell me how to get back to the village of Farnworth, then I’ll be on my way.” My tone grew sharp, masking the fear I felt deep in my core. There was something off about these men. That much was clear.

“Oh but if you win, we’ll even take you right there!” A second man piped up. This man was burlier than the first, muscular even. His golden, curly hair was cropped at his ears, and his blue eyes glittered with the same sick amusement as the first man.

“Yeah, thanks for the offer but I’ll make my way out.” I turned to leave, but suddenly the third man rushed forward with unnatural speed and gripped my shoulder tightly, his sharp nails digging into my flesh. 

“Have it your way then.” The third man was the smallest, but also the most terrifying. His eyes were almost colorless, a dead sort of grey. His hair seemed to be falling out, despite his rather young appearance. If he weren’t standing in front of me and talking, I would have said that he was dead, or close to being in such a state. I swatted his hand away and nocked an arrow.

“I think I will.” I aimed the arrow at the man’s chest with shaking hands.

The three of them burst into laughter.

“You see that Lucien?” The first man called to the third. “He’s shaking!”

Lucien, the man in front of me, merely smiled, revealing a row of rotting teeth with several of the front ones missing. I barely held back a cry as two of those empty holes began to fill in front of my very eyes with long, wickedly sharp fangs.

Those fangs sent a chill down my spine. They belonged to some… creature. A wicked monster my sheltered mind couldn’t begin to comprehend. My eyes grew wide and a wave of cold fear crashed over me, making me shake even more. Even though my legs felt like lead, I turned around as fast as I could and began to run in the opposite direction. I could hear the three men howling with laughter as I bolted, weaving in and out between trees and fallen logs. My heart hammered in my chest, uneven breaths forcing themselves out into the now-frigid air. 

“You really are a curious one.” I yelped as the first man murmured in my ear. He was barely breathing hard, yet he had run up to me quicker than any creature I had ever seen. I screamed and tried to whack him with my bow, but he caught the end of it effortlessly. “What a pathetic little toy.” He grinned, exposing sharp fangs so white and polished I could swear I saw my own reflection within them. 

The man wrenched the bow out of my hand as if he were taking candy from a child. I whimpered and stumbled back, now thrown off balance. I fell to the ground with a grunt, hitting my head on a tree trunk. Pain blossomed at the base of my neck, a pain I’d never really experienced before. Black spots danced almost mockingly at the edges of my vision, teasing and calling me to fall into the world of the unconscious. 

“Well gentlemen, I know we just ate, but we never say no to a free meal, do we?” Lucien snickered, kneeling down in front of me, fangs bared.

“M…meal?!” I stammered out weakly, blinking several times to clear my vision.

“Oh come on, little pup!” The first man giggled. “Judging by your reaction I assume you know what we are!”

“I don’t have a damn clue! Whatever you are, you can’t be real!” I cried, clenching my eyes shut.

A cold hand grabbed my chin, nails digging into my cheeks. 

“I can assure you, we are very real.” 

I grit my teeth and kicked out my leg, hitting one of the men in the chest. My eyes flew open and the other two seemed startled by my kick, so I turned and began running again. My muscles screamed in pain, begging for me to slow down, but the adrenaline coursing through my body pushed me forward. My head throbbed, pounding with each step I took.

Then, I was suddenly tackled from behind and found myself pinned down on the forest floor, my face pressed into the dirt. 

“Rather persistent aren’t you?” The man dug his nails into my back, nails so sharp that they easily tore through my shirt, leaving a line of gouge marks oozing with warm, sticky blood. A strangled cry leapt out of my mouth, muffled by the dirt and leaves. “I usually don’t play with my food but this has been… delightful!”

I could hear the other men approach as well, and I squirmed under the man’s hand. 

“Ah ah! Stay still! It won’t hurt as much if you do, I promise.” One of the men cackled.

Tears were streaming down my face, hot tears born out of a cold fear. I whined as the man pinning me down pulled me upright and tossed me violently into a thorny bush with little effort. I opened my mouth to cry out as the thorns wedged themselves into my skin, but no sound came out. It struck me then and there that this was how I was going to die. At the hands of some strange monsters that I never stood a chance against. 

I wasn’t even able to —

My thoughts were cut short as a firm hand pulled me out of the thorn bush, and a fist smashed into my face. Once, then twice. Then a few times more. I scratched and clawed at whoever was holding me, my eyes swollen shut from the relentless blows. 

My my. This is rather pathetic, a voice chuckled. But this voice was not one of the men beating the life out of me. This voice seemed different, and seemed to come from all around me, not in one specific location. The pain seemed to fade away for a moment, as did the rest of the world. I felt like I was floating in some strange, endless void.

I can help you, you know, the voice thundered again, still without a definite source.

“How? Who are you?” I tried to speak, but my words fell flat against the darkness.

The voice laughed, a heavy boom that resonated throughout my entire body. 

“Hey! Answer me!” I yelled, looking around to find the voice. I felt as if I were on the brink of tears, but my eyes were strangely dry.

Just look at yourself, the voice purred, and the void around me exploded into a vivid scene, and a familiar one at that. I was back in the woods, watching the three strange men hitting and beating a slumped-over figure, seemingly enjoying themselves. But that figure was… me. Yet somehow I was observing this from outside my own body. Poor little thing. How could you ever survive such a ruthless attack?

A shiver ran through my body. I whirled around to see a raven perched on a low-hanging branch, its small, black, beady eyes glittering with amusement.

“What are you!?” I reached out to grab the bird, as if catching it would release me from this strange hallucination. The raven vanished as soon as I touched it.

Rather touchy, aren’t we?

“Stop it! Stop!” I squeezed my eyes shut and cradled my head in my hands. I was overwhelmed, fear and confusion running rampant through my mind, wild and untamed.

I could help you, Jamie.

I choked out a sob, opening one eye to peer at my savagely beaten body. I was covered in blood, blood which the men seemed to be scooping up with their hands and… and drinking. My arms hung at strange angles, bruises covering nearly every inch of exposed skin. There were undoubtedly more under my shredded shirt and pants.

You could destroy them, dear boy. Just say the word. 

Those words seemed to strike a spark, igniting some strange, otherworldly anger that I never imagined that I was capable of. I stood up and opened my eyes. What gave these monsters the right to do such things? To me? To anyone? Could I really destroy them? Punish them with the justice they deserve?

Yes Jamie, you can. The raven was perched on another branch, staring intently into my eyes. I can give you the power to wreak havoc on any of those who stand in your way. Scorch a path of justice, just for you to walk upon.

Well… how could I refuse with my broken body?

How admirable. I am yours to command, Jamie Darkthorn. The raven shot up into the air and dove straight down towards me. I raised my arms to block the bird, but as soon as it just touched my arm, a wave of powerful force exploded out from within me. I was back in my body, but it was no longer broken. The three men were blown back, landing on the ground with sickening crunches. I opened my eyes, only to find my vision changed. The three men, who were scrambling to their feet, now looked dead in every sense of the word. Skin and flesh was just barely holding on to their time-withered bones, eyes hollow and empty. A word bubbled at my lips, forcing itself free.

Vampire.” I growled, my voice laced with some cruel, ancient power. The three vampires hissed and backed away from me. 

“The hell are you?” One of them snarled, fangs slick with blood. My blood. I didn’t respond. I was too busy looking at my hands and arms, which were swathed in a swirling violet light. “Hey we’re talkin’ to you!”

The vampire ran up to me, ready to lunge, but I instinctively grabbed his arm and, with some urging from the raven, I snapped it. Like snapping a twig. My veins felt as if they were on fire, burning with savage rage. 

Rip off their heads. Break their necks, the raven ordered. Otherwise they won’t die.

If I weren’t drunk on this strange, newfound power, I wouldn’t have even considered doing what the raven instructed. But my fingers twitched and itched, begging me to do it. 

A second vampire rushed at me, and I clamped my hands firmly around his neck. My body was moving without my input, guided by the raven. A flash of doubt flickered in the back of my mind and for a second, my grip weakened. I can’t do this. This… this isn’t right!

You want them punished, don’t you? The raven chided.

“I-I do,” I growled, tightening my grip again. The raven pushed and shoved, and I felt bone snap under my fingers. A sickening jolt of nausea lurched in my stomach and I pushed the vampire away. He reeled back, coughing and grasping at his neck. He then fell back onto the forest floor, gasping and panting. After a few moments, the vampire’s movements stilled. His two companions glanced at me with fearful eyes and bolted back towards their cave. I let them go, a cold mixture of guilt and fear crashing like waves on a stormy sea.

What are you doing? The raven didn’t seem angry, but rather puzzled.

“Not like this. I-I’m not a killer.” 

You aren’t. That vampire was dead. As all before it have been. You did not kill it, you just made its death more permanent.

Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and painful. The thrum of power began to fade, and my hands began to shake. A rustling of leaves made me whirl around to find the raven perched on a nearby bush, its head cocked to the side.

“Why… why did you make me do that?” I choked out, backing away from the bird.

It was not what you wanted? The raven ruffled its wings. I apologize.

“Of course it wasn’t what I bloody wanted!” I took a few more steps back, tripping over the vampire’s body. I yelped and scrambled away from it.

You wanted to serve them justice. I assumed that meant by ending their miserable existence.

I shook my head vigorously.

“No! You… you.. Leave me alone!” I screamed, running and stumbling away from the raven and the body. I didn’t know where I was running, or what path I was taking, but I eventually stumbled across a river, nearly falling in. I stopped at the bank, and looked down at my reflection in the water. My eyes were no longer their usual shade of green, but a brilliant violet, shimmering with power and some otherworldly magic. My hair was still tied up, except for a few odd strands. A thick chunk of my bangs had been stripped of all of its color, leaving it pale and silvery. With a startled cry, I splashed the surface of the water, shattering the reflection. 

I am truly sorry if I had alarmed you, Jamie. The raven was on the other side of the riverbank, nonchalant as ever.

I screamed and scrambled back.

“What did you do to me?!”

Nothing. I simply awakened the power you already harboured. The raven flew swiftly over the river’s water and landed in front of me. I will explain all in due time, but I implore that you calm down before I do so.

“Awakened? Power? You’re talking nonsense!” I kicked at the raven, who squawked and flew off a few paces. 

You have just proved my point. You are shaken up, so I will wait until you are calm enough to listen to me.

“I-I’ve gone crazy!” I whimpered, scrambling to my feet and running off in the other direction. My eyes itched and burned, so I reached up to rub them. When my hands fell back to my sides, my vision had changed again. My surroundings were clouded in a violet haze, leaving only a clear path that snaked between the trees and plant life. I shook my head and ignored the chiseled path, as it had to be my mind playing tricks on me. Yet the farther I wandered from the path, the more lost and confused I found myself. I stopped for a moment and glanced at the path. It was illuminated by small wisps of light, almost inviting me to follow them.

I gritted my teeth, debating whether or not I should give in. I eventually did, for I was exhausted and desperate for any way out of this hellish maze. As soon as I stepped foot onto this path, it flickered and glowed softly. I took a second step, then a third. After a few more paces, I broke into a run. The forest became a blur, my eyes clouded with tears once again. Finally, I caught a glimpse of the forest edge. I couldn’t help but let out a sigh and a smile of relief, dragging myself out of the densely wooded hell that I had just spent hours in. 

I had made it out. I could even see our farmhouse just a few yards from where I was standing. Yet I couldn’t find the energy to pull myself over there. I was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, and collapsed into the grass.


Timeless

I’ve found myself wishing for simple things recently. Like wishing for rainy but warm days. Or wishing for time to laugh at nothing with a few good friends. Or wishing to find a shortcut home through the park. Or wishing to sit down and enjoy a good chicken sandwich. Or to find a good song to listen to. Or to write something meaningful. Or to tell the girl that I like that I like her. Or to just be happier.

Senior year is coming to an end. I feel like I’ve done nothing, gone nowhere, been nobody. I’ve gotta do something more with my life than just wait for something exciting to happen. I should be road tripping across the United States or something. My mom says that the US isn’t worth road tripping across. She says that it’s just 7-11s and narrow-minded people. I disagree, and so does my grandfather, Jawahar. Or Jawa, for short. And sure, there are tons of 7-11s and tons of narrow-minded people, but there is a lot more. Jawa and I both believe that we’ve spent too much time in our lives looking at what’s outside our country. We’ve gone to Europe, Asia, Australia, and South America together, but not Antarctica. I would aim to go to Antarctica with him, but neither of us really want to. We want to go on an adventure in the US. 

But that’s a distant dream.

I think a lot of the US smells good. A lot of it smells bad, but a lot of it smells like fresh air and hotel soap. All that good stuff. Or at least it all smells better than the social studies classroom that I was cooped up in while all of these thoughts ran through my brain. Like mice running away from the siren of a fire truck, into their dark nooks and crannies where they wouldn’t be found. Mr. Whitaker had microwaved his fish lunch in the classroom again. It wasn’t pleasant. I was looking out the window and trying to not be reminded of the horrid smell. There were all these crystal-clear raindrops trickling down the windows. They left their imprints for just a minute and then went away like they were never there. And, sure, it was a rainy day like I had wished for. But it wasn’t warm.

The one part that I really enjoyed about social studies was that sitting at the next table over, to my left, was Malaika Melrose. I only knew a few select things about her. I knew that she likes to travel. That she loves the color orange. I knew that she’s Tanzanian because she’s very proud of the fact that her name is from the Tanzanian song, “Malaika.” It means Angel. And that’s a pretty accurate description. I knew that she recently got a scholarship to Pomona for volleyball, because she wore the sweater they sent her like it’s a part of her. Which was hard for her, because her co-captain passed away in a car accident. That’s why she has a tattoo on her arm that says ‘Olivia.’ Except the O is a volleyball. I knew that Daniel Vettel called the tattoo tacky, and Malaika wasn’t having it, so she punched him right across the face. That was probably the highlight of my February. After Olivia died, Malaika had to be strong for the rest of her team, which was exactly what she did. Then they won the championship, which was probably the highlight of my April. And I’m really happy that she got the scholarship because you can walk to Pomona from Pitzer, which is where I’m headed next year.  

When Mr. Whitaker makes the abrupt decision of teaching on the other side of the classroom, I get the chance to look at her without seeming like a creep. Today happened to be one of those days. She tried taking notes for a little while, but then gave up and started doodling in her notebook. Since I wasn’t listening, I thought I might as well have been doing something productive, like she was. Besides, looking at someone like that and pining after them the way I was is a self-destructive tendency. So, I drew an array of half-hearted ghosts on the top of the page. 

I guess Mr. Whitaker noticed this, because he enunciated across the room, “Levi, you ok?” And just like that, with one word, this cloud of silent pensiveness I had surrounded myself with vanished. He said my name with a disappointed tone that I usually only heard from my parents. It hit me like a shard of glass right to my chest. I nodded stiffly in response. He stared for a moment and then returned to his lesson as I opened up to a new page of notes.

As the class came to an end, you could hear the crunch of papers and the stuffing of book bags as people hustled to get out the door. Mr. Whitaker was still droning on about something or the other. Malaika bolted out of the door so quickly that I couldn’t have said anything to her if I wanted to. Not that I would’ve.

I trudged out of the building, into the fading grey light that was splitting through the storm clouds. I made my way through the crowds of bustling children. I could see Malaika just a few crowds ahead of me. She was laughing really hard at something that her friend had said. It was a true and genuine laugh. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while.

I darted away from the crowds and towards the park. As I approached the entrance, I found myself paused in time. I was looking down the winding path into all this greenery. Cherry blossom season had just come to an end, so pink petals were littered along the pavement. I was wavering in between weaving a way through the trees, as a shortcut, or just going right along the main path the way I usually did. If I started a new adventure, where would it take me? In my mind, a memory unfolded of a story Jawa likes to tell. 

“When I came here from India, I was lost. I had no friends and very little money. All hope had been drained from my heart. That’s when I met your grandmother. She was the kindest girl at Columbia. Actually, she was the kindest girl I’d ever met. She introduced me to her friends, who soon became my friends. She and I and our friends would go on adventures. We loved to wander and would often find ourselves lost in the unknown together. Now here’s something to keep in mind, Levi. Wherever we went, we would find a brick wall and put a little something behind it. A little part of ourselves, or a part of our adventure. That’s how we left our mark. Levi, you have to figure out how you will leave your mark.” 

I stood still for a while and thought about this story that Jawa tells whenever he gets the chance. The anthem of the remaining water droplets scurrying off of the leaves and falling to the floor sounded in my ears. How was I going to leave my mark? Eventually, I turned left on the sidewalk, heading towards the subway station, straying away from all previous plans and all previous paths. When I had made my way down into the dingy station, I came to a stop near the wall and pulled out my phone to dial my aunt, Gigi. It rang three times before she picked it up.

“Hi, Levi!” she shouted, “How are you today?”

“Hi, Auntie,” I said, less enthusiastically, “I’m alright.” There was a pause because Gigi doesn’t know what to do when people don’t reciprocate her enthusiasm. I would normally be just as happy to talk to her as she was to me, but today I just wasn’t feeling it. I broke the silence and asked, “Are you at work?”

“Um, yeah, why do you ask?” She was typing something out on her computer as she talked.

“Can I go to your house for a little while? I want to talk to Jawa.” She stopped typing when I said this, focusing entirely on me. The lights in the station flickered a little. The world went ghost-quiet, just for a split second. 

“I mean… yeah, of course. You ok?” 

I replied, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It’s just been a while.” 

“Right. You got your key?”

“Yep.”

“Alright. See you later.”

“See ya.”  

I didn’t feel like texting my parents and telling them where I was going (they would ask too many questions). When I got down to the platform, I sat on a bench and passed the time by sketching more half-hearted ghosts on a scrap of paper. I was thinking of nothing, which was nice because I rarely get the chance to do that. But this nothingness went away with the whip of wind that came by with the train. As I rose out of my seat and onto the train, I was reminded of how much I dislike the subway. Everyone on the subway is burdened by where they need to be, except for a few who don’t have a place to go. We’re all swallowed in darkness, making it seem like we’ll never see the light again. Plus, it often smells like old cheese and burning garbage, which doesn’t help either. Luckily, Gigi’s house is just two stops away. 

Gigi’s house is the coffee-colored one at the end of the street. It used to be a fire station, so it has a big pole running through the middle of it. She thought it would be fun to keep for her nieces and nephews to play on. Unfortunately, most of us are afraid of heights, including me. 

I came to the corner and unlocked the door with the clack of a rusted keyhole. I entered the building and climbed up the steps towards the top. The draftiness and the sunshine flooded from all different areas, creating an eerie mix of temperature. Nevertheless, I love Gigi’s house. It always smells of its sun-soaked pine floors and basmati rice. 

As I reached the top floor, I saw Jawa for the first time in a long time. There he was, upon the mantelpiece stored away in a shiny silver urn. I constantly avoid going to the top floor when we come to Gigi’s house for dinner, just in fear of seeing him. Seeing him without a smile and a pleasant greeting. Seeing him lifeless. But I had to confront him because I could feel how much I missed him in my bones, and this was all I had. 

So, I closed my eyes, leaned against the mantelpiece, and forced myself to talk: “Hi, Jawa. I know it’s been a while. A long while. And I’m sorry I haven’t come and visited sooner. The family wanted me to, but it’s just that talking to you without you responding is difficult. It’s mainly because I know you’re still here. I just know it, in my gut. But it makes me really mad that you can’t respond.” My voice was breaking a little bit. I felt this sour lump of sadness swelling in my throat. “And I kind of really need a response right now. There’s so much that I need to do. And if you would just respond, you would bring me to do it. You always knew what was right for me.” I paused and opened my eyes, looking up at the urn. “But I know that you can’t give me a response. And I know that I have to do things on my own now.” 

That was when my eyes, blurred with tears, happened to notice something in the reflection of the urn. Gigi kept it so well polished that I could see the brick wall on the roof of the 7-11 across the street. I crouched down by the window, fixating my eyes on the wall. Jawa and his friends, always putting memories behind walls. I wiped away the tears and looked back at the urn. With a smile, I quickly ran into the kitchen and found a ziplock bag. I hurried back to the urn and opened it up. There was already a trowel inside, so I carefully scooped up a bit of his ashes into the bag. I closed the bag, then the urn, and headed straight for the pole, leaving my bag on the upstairs floor. I didn’t care how afraid of heights I was; I spiraled through the air on that pole, all the way down to the first floor. It was like I was afraid the brick wall might be gone in a matter of minutes or something. 

I dashed out the door and across the street and was about to head into the 7-11 when I realized that it’s kind of odd to go into a convenience store with a bag of your grandfather’s ashes in hand. So, I pocketed the bag and opened the door. I was relieved to find that Bayani, a long-time friend of Gigi’s, was working that day.

“Hi, Baya!” I shouted, running past the countertop. He looked startled.

“Hey, Levi, how are you?”

“I’m great. Do-ya-mind-if-I-go-up-to-the-roof-for-a-minute?” I asked the question as if it was one word and didn’t give him the chance to respond. “Thank you!” I called, rushing towards the stockroom.

As I climbed up the first step, I could hear him in the background saying, “You’re welcome?” I made it to the top and climbed through the bulkhead door. The sunlight was immense compared to the fragments from earlier in the day. It washed the red tear imprints right off of my face and it guided me towards the wall. I ran my fingers along the bricks, trying to find a loose one. There was one that shook a little bit to the left as I ran my hand across it. I pulled it out and was about to place the bag of ashes inside when I noticed something. I dropped the brick on the floor at the sight of it. I guess Jawa had already found this wall because there was already something behind the brick. It was two pieces of paper. I pulled out one, in awe, and read it aloud to myself:

I moved to this city out of spontaneity. I knew I wanted to get out of India and that my parents wanted that for me as well. So, my father found me a map of the U.S. at a small souvenir shop in the heart of Delhi. We hung it up against our wall, and I threw a dart at it. It was the luckiest shot in the world, landing right on New York City. So, I went. I got a scholarship to go to Columbia University and met some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Although, I try not to tell them that because their heads are big enough as it is. On this map that my father gave to me, my friends and I have marked all the places in the U.S where we have left treasures like this one. I miss India, but I made enough money in the three years after graduation to get my parents and brother settled in Brooklyn. As I sit on this rooftop, I am reminded of the fact that spontaneity saved my life. A lot of it was hard work and dedication, but it all spawned off of the spontaneity of throwing a dart at a map. So if someone finds this someday, I would like to remind them to bring spontaneity into their lives. You never know where you might end up.

— Jawahar Kadakia

This was it. This was the response Jawa had given me. As my eyes traveled back and forth from the map to the note, everything was clearer. This treasure that he had left was timeless. Jawa’s legacy is timeless. Our family is timeless. I am timeless.

And that’s when I heard a familiar voice. The door of the 7-11 opened below me. I looked downwards at who was entering. There was Malaika, talking to her mom on the phone. Suddenly, I had the best idea. Or the worst idea. I would only know if I went for it. 

I pocketed the map and note and placed the ziplock bag of ashes behind the wall. I slid the brick back in and pressed my forehead against the wall for just a moment. Then, I slipped back through the bulkhead door, into the darkness of the steps. I practically fell down them, back into the 7-11. I hurried along the rubbery floors in search of her and my feet skidded as I came to a halt in front of the Twinkies aisle. There she was, choosing between strawberry and chocolate peanut butter Twinkies. I tried my best to center myself and calmly walked over to her. 

“I would suggest the strawberry,” I said, pointing to the box to her left. She laughed a little.

“Nice,” she said, picking one up. “We have social studies together, right?” I nodded. She continued, “I’m Malaika.”

“Levi,” I said, shaking her hand. I was smiling really obviously, which would’ve been weird if she wasn’t too. “This might weird you out, but can I ask you something sort of spontaneous and probably really impulsive?”

“Go for it,” she replied.

“Over the summer, I’m planning to go on this road trip. You see, my grandfather left this treasure map, and I’m supposed to go to each location and find the stuff he left there.” I unfolded the map and handed it to her. She ran her eyes over it a few times before saying:

“Wow. You must have a pretty cool grandfather.”

“Yeah, I did.” She smiled and handed it back to me.

“Now here’s the weird part,” I said, “How would you feel if I asked you to come with me?” Her jaw practically dropped to the floor. This felt like the perfect example of an awkward silence.

I rambled on, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I just thought I should ask somebody, and y’know you were the first person I saw so–”

“I’ll do it,” she said, cutting me off. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Come. Let’s talk.” And with that, I was no longer a half-hearted ghost, lost in a pensive silence.


Sketches

The empty grey walls and glaring fluorescent lights seemed to soak up time as it passed, slowing down the world. At the front of the room, the teacher clicked through a presentation about the parts of a cell. In the farthest row of desks from the front, a student sat, blatantly ignoring the “take notes” portion of the slide. 

Instead of a long paragraph about the lesson, the page was filled with a series of sketches. The desk next to him began to move steadily closer, and with very little subtlety. 

“What’cha drawing, Fin?” asked the occupant of the desk, trying to get a look at the notebook. 

“Nothing, Roman,” replied Fin, refusing to even look up at the other boy. 

“Come on,” groaned Roman loudly. Fin sighed and held up the notebook. The page was filled with a few drawings. The largest one was of the teacher, Mr. Stuart, and his mind-numbing presentation. 

“You’d better be taking notes!” yelled Mr. Stuart. For a moment, it seemed as though he might begin a lecture about the importance of notes, but then he noticed the time and continued with his slides. “Don’t blame me when you fail the test,” he muttered before beginning again. 

“Why don’t you ever draw anything cool?” asked Roman, dropping back into his seat, somewhat dejected. Fin didn’t even give it a response. 

“Remember, homework is due tomorrow!” screamed Mr. Stuart, finally closing down his computer. Even the blank whiteboard was more interesting and educational than whatever Mr. Stuart crammed into his presentations. 

Then it happened. It finally happened. The blaring, harsh sound of the bell. Fin gently placed his notebook into his open backpack and slung it onto his shoulders. Even though he was in the back of the room, he crossed it and reached the door with incredible speed and ducked out into the hallway. He sprinted down the hall as other students began to file out of their rooms. Fin knew he only had a few moments before everything in the hall was packed with people. He leapt toward his locker, preparing to wait out the crowd. Fin quickly opened the door and stuffed his textbook into the small space. He glanced over his shoulder, checking if he could get out. The main door was completely clogged with students, pushing each other trying to get through the surprisingly narrow door. Fin glanced over at the side door, which was empty. He got up and ran to it. 

Fin stepped out into the cool, fresh air. The sky was filled with clouds and looked like it was going to rain again. The smell of the morning’s rain still hung over everything. It seemed as though it was always raining. 

Fin walked with purpose, expertly navigating through groups of students toward his destination. He walked past several courtyards, flanked by massive buildings. Finally, he passed by the last one and walked behind it. Behind the row of classrooms was a fairly large area. It was covered with grass but had several low walls for seating. It was protected by the shade of the neighboring building and a dense canopy of trees. 

“Hey Fin,” exclaimed a voice. One other person was already relaxing on the benches. Fin tossed his backpack down on the ground next to a spot of wall and sat down. 

“Hey, Cooper,” replied Fin. “How was English?” he asked sarcastically. Cooper laughed. 

“Obviously terrible,” he said, walking over. “How about science?” Fin shook his head sadly. 

“Mr. Stuart tried his hand at a slideshow again,” stated Fin. Cooper placed his hand on Fin’s shoulder.

“I’m truly sorry that happened,” replied Cooper.

“Yeah, hasn’t he figured out technology isn’t his strong suit?” asked a newcomer. They both turned to look. 

“Hey Alex,” said Fin. Alex nodded and walked over. She sat down across from them. “It does seem problematic that the science teacher can barely use a computer.” 

“None of them can use a computer, have you seen Ms. Philips try to send an email?” laughed Alex. “Oh, Fin, you have a sub in English today.”

“Is he any good?” asked Fin. Alex nodded. 

“Yeah. First time that’s ever happened.” She laughed. “He actually understands what he’s teaching, unlike the real teachers.” 

“Hey, where’s Huge?” asked Cooper, interjecting. Alex and Fin looked around, surprised he wasn’t there. 

“Maybe the lunch line is longer than usual?” suggested Fin. 

“Or he had to stay after class,” added Alex. Cooper nodded. After some time, Huge finally did arrive. 

“Stupid lines,” he muttered, taking a seat. “It takes forever to get any food!” The others nodded. “Even on a good day, you don’t have enough time to-” Huge was cut off by the bell. He groaned loudly. 

“See you guys tomorrow,” said Alex, pulling on her backpack. 

“Bye,” replied Cooper, packing up his own bag. They hurried off. Huge begrudgingly placed his lunch in his pack and walked off, still muttering angrily. Fin was the last to leave, and he walked slowly. He was mostly contemplating what to draw in fifth period, but also this substitute teacher who somehow knew what he was talking about. It sounded a little far-fetched, but Alex was never one to exaggerate. 

He strolled down the small hill and yanked open the door to his class. It was about half-full. The teacher was nowhere to be found. Fin sat down in a seat near the back of the room and pulled out his notebook. Students filtered in and took their seats slowly. Once everyone was seated, the teacher appeared. 

The teacher wore a bright, almost lime green dress shirt and a shiny black bow tie. A few students laughed under their breath at his burgundy suit. 

“I am Mr. G,” he said. Instantly, a dozen hands shot up with the same question. Mr. G pointed to one student. 

“What does the G stand for?” she asked. Mr. G sighed.

“Germaine,” he said. A few more snickering laughs could be heard across the room. Mr. Germaine ignored them and began his lesson. He pushed the button, turning on the projector. Loud groans of despair echoed across the room — a slideshow was beginning. Everyone gasped in shock as the first slide appeared. It was well-organized, had pictures, and real information! No one knew how to react to this. The pictures appeared to have been hand-drawn as well. All the students were confused. 

Although impressed, Fin continued to sketch instead of paying attention. The grey lines of his pencil began to form something. It started to take shape into a room with two windows. Then a hardwood table. Chairs. Decorations and food, with incredible detail appearing all over the page. 

Fin looked down at it and nodded with satisfaction and flipped the page. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Fin decided he had just enough time for another drawing. He didn’t plan this one. He let his hand and the lead create. They created first a rough sketch. Detail slowly crawled into the drawing and the outline quickly became a distinct depiction of a person. It was from behind, preventing the person’s face from being seen. Mr. Germaine took notice of Fin not paying attention and walked over to him. Fin nervously ripped the page of his notebook and stuffed it hastily into his pocket. He flipped to a blank page and swiftly covered it with words somewhat resembling notes. 

Mr. Germaine looked down at Fin, busily scribbling his attempt at notes. Mr. Germaine saw through Fin right away but walked past him anyway. Instead, he grabbed a crumpled piece of paper off the floor and returned to his place at the front of the room. Fin realized there wasn’t enough time for anything else so he turned eyes toward the lesson. He would finish the sketch the next day. 

Again the shrill sound of the bell rang out and the halls were packed. Fin forced his way through toward his next class. It was the only one he was remotely interested in. Fin’s last class of the day, was art class. Unfortunately, his teacher insisted on only using paints. The teacher referred to pencils as “only for tests,” a statement Fin fervently disagreed with. He never used color in any of his drawing, a style the teacher simply couldn’t accept. Fin also preferred a more natural way of drawing, another reason for conflict with art teacher. “Art requires rigid structure!” Fin remembered being told on many occasions. He didn’t, couldn’t understand how anyone could think that. 

Fin forced his hand to cover the canvas in color, first in blue, then red. The teacher always marched around the room while they painted, offering entirely unhelpful criticisms. 

“I see you are finally applying yourself to real art,” the teacher declared, passing by Fin’s desk. Fin suppressed a laugh as he looked at the random pattern of color in front of him.

“Whatever you say,” he muttered once the teacher was safely out of earshot. Fin continued to ‘enhance’ his painting as the clock ticked away, far too slow. At long last, the class ended and Fin sprinted out the door. 

He hurried out the gate and set off toward his house. Fin walked calmly down the grey sidewalk. His eyes swept across the familiar scene. Houses lined the street on both sides. He could describe them from memory. Fin decided to try.

“First the two-story blue, one-story red,” he continued all the way up the street without even opening his eyes. He must’ve walked this route a thousand times. But just because it was familiar didn’t make it boring. Fin found comfort in the same walk, day after day. The routine grounded him. 

The walk wasn’t long and Fin soon found himself at his own front door. It was painted a crisp white. Fin fumbled for the key and inserted it into the lock. 

“Hello!” he shouted, stepping inside. There was no response. Fin glanced out into the driveway and noticed no car. He walked inside and dropped his backpack on the floor. 

Fin dragged the bag up the stairs and tossed it into his room. The room, like the rest of the house, was mostly some shade of blue. The walls were a light, cheerful blue, the ceiling a darker, calm navy. Fin sat down at his desk and his reached into his pocket for the sketch he had started earlier. 

Fin’s eyes widened in surprise as he found his pocket was empty. He quickly searched his other pocket. Then those of his jacket. Finding nothing, he dropped to his knees and ripped his backpack apart in search of the paper. All his looking turned up no results. Fin slumped back down into his chair. 

He wondered why he was so concerned about this sketch. After all, he had lost drawings before. Fin grabbed a new sheet of paper and started to draw. He tried to make his hands recreate the simple elegance of the previous drawing. The attempt failed dramatically. The lines became jagged and hard. Fin angrily forced the paper into a ball and tried one more time. This too, was unable to replicate the initial artwork. 

Fin gave up, tossing both crumpled papers into the trash. He stood up and walked down the stairs. He paced back and forth a few times in the hallway, lost in thought. Eventually he made his way into the kitchen and searched for something to eat. Fin hastily slapped a sandwich together and carried it back up to his room. 

The sandwich dropped onto his desk as Fin sat down again. He stared down at the sandwich. It was made of white bread, and filled with ham and cheese. Fin’s hand grabbed his notebook and he flipped to a new page. Filled with boredom, he began to sketch the square lines that made up the sandwich. Quickly, the lines turned from a square into a perfect likeness of bread. In between, the thinly sliced meat was just larger that the bread, exposing its edges. 

Fin glanced down at the completed drawing with a contented look in his eye. He pushed the notebook to the side and slide the sandwich toward him, taking a large bite. A few moments later, the sandwich had vanished. Fin felt much better after eating. 

“I’ll find it tomorrow,” he decided. Fin rolled his desk chair over to the window and gazed out. The last traces of sunlight vanished before his eyes. Far in the distance, the bottoms of clouds were lit up in a brilliant gold, a final farewell from the sun as it passed to night. Fin dropped the blinds he was holding up and turned on his cell phone. 

The sudden flash was blinding after the calm dusk outside. Fin looked down at the three numbers at the top of the screen. Six forty-two. Fin stared at the number. The screen stared back like a flashlight. Twenty more minutes, thought Fin, clicking the button to put the phone back to sleep. Fin was not excited for the twenty minutes to end. He wished they would pass as slow as the minutes did at school. Instead, they seemed to fly by. After what seemed like only a few seconds, a new light appeared outside. Fin peaked out the window, hoping. 

In the driveway, his father’s car had just pulled to a halt. Its headlights were still illuminating the garage door with shaky beams. The vehicle was incredibly old. Not old in the cool, vintage sense. Old as in old. The engine churned loudly and the paint was not in good condition. The door creaked open and then closed with a metallic clang. A figure walked up to the door and stepped inside. 

“Finley?” a voice called out from downstairs. Fin got up and walked down the stairs. He was greeted by a tall man with a long, light brown overcoat. He pulled the overcoat off and hung it carefully in a hall closet. Underneath, he wore a light grey suit and blue tie. An orange pocket square added a much-needed splash of color.

“Yeah, Dad?” asked Fin, stepping off the stairs. His father looked at him and gestured for him to follow. Fin followed him into the kitchen. His father had removed his suit coat and hung it on a chair. 

“How was school?” he asked, walking over to the fridge. Fin took a seat across from the coat. 

“Good,” he replied. Fin hated talking about his day. Nothing eventful had happened and, if it had, it would be too hard to explain. 

“Good.” Fin’s father stood up and placed a carton of eggs on the counter. Fin looked at it, confused. 

“Eggs,” he asked. His father nodded. “For dinner.” His father nodded again. 

“Son, there is never, and I mean never, a wrong time to eat breakfast food,” stated his father. The look on Fin’s face disagreed. His father tossed the eggs into a pan and put bread in the toaster. Fin shook his head, at a loss for words. 

Once everything was cooking, his father grabbed his own cell phone. A moment later, the sound of violins and cellos erupted from the speakers and filled the room. His father quickly scrambled the eggs and dropped them onto a plate. Seconds later, the sound of toast popping up from the heat interrupted the classical music. 

His father happily hummed along to the music as he assembled the dinner/breakfast. He placed a plate in front of Fin, heaped with eggs and toast. Fin looked at it skeptically. Fin’s father sat down across from him, with his own large plate. 

“So, draw anything today?” he asked. Fin nodded. “Can I see it?” 

“I lost it,” replied Fin. 

“Too bad. I hope you have something by the time I get back next weekend,” his father stated. 

“Yeah, where are you going again?” asked Fin. 

“San Francisco, for work,” he replied. “I wish I wasn’t, but not my call.” His father sighed loudly. 

“This is actually pretty good,” said Fin, staring, shocked, at his eggs. 

“Of course it is, it’s breakfast. Well, I’d better get some sleep before the flight tomorrow. Good night, Finley,” his father said, standing up and carrying his plate to the sink. 

“Night,” replied Fin. His father paused the song and walked out of the kitchen. Fin remained for a while longer, slowly eating his dinner/breakfast. As Fin finished, the house was silent. He glanced at the time again. It was almost eight as he heard the sound of another car outside. 

Fin was in the kitchen, washing his plate when the door opened and his mother walked in. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hi, Finley,” she replied, placing her computer bag on the counter. She too wore a long, heavy overcoat. It could easily be mistaken for pure black, but in the light, the shades of green revealed themselves. “How was school?” 

“Good,” Fin replied, in the same disinterested tone as when his father asked. He began making his way toward the stairs.

“Where’s Jerome?” she asked. Fin gestured with his head toward the stairs.

“Dad went to bed,” he replied, walking up the stairs himself. Fin hurried up and into his room. He couldn’t tell if he was tired, or fully awake. He sat down and thought for some time. He quickly decided that he did feel tired and, a few minutes later, was peacefully dreaming in the calm darkness.

***

Fin awoke to find the sun just beginning to rise. He quickly turned off his alarm, which would have gone off any minute. He struggled out of bed and got dressed. Fin made his way down to the kitchen and poured some milk into a bowl of cereal. He sat quietly eating it and staring at the clock. He finished just in time to grab his backpack and run out the door. 

“Bye!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him. Fin had no time to savor the walk this morning. He ran down the sidewalk as fast as he could. He just managed to slide into his desk as the bell rang. 

“Today we will be continuing our study of the Roman conquest of Gaul!” shouted Ms. Stevens, the history teacher. Fin sighed quietly and began to doodle a few Roman soldiers into his notebook. Although a little rushed, the small warriors were covered in intricate detail. Each of their faces, full of expression. Each of their shields, reflecting the sun. Fin continued to elaborate on the small drawing as the lecture dragged on. He added a few Gallic fighters on the opposite side of the page. Then some forests and woodland. By the end of the class, the entire page was covered in a vast battle among the densely packed trees. 

Fin was forced to pay attention to his math lesson. He couldn’t think of anything to put down on the page. He waited patiently for inspiration as the teacher went on and on about trigonometric functions and their vast importance to everyday life. Finally, the bell rang again and Fin hurried out to where his friends gathered. 

Alex and Cooper were deep in conversation when he arrived. Huge was also there, with food. 

“Short lines today?” Fin asked. Huge laughed and shook his head. 

“No such thing as a short line. I decided to bring food today,” he replied, taking a large bite out of his sandwich. 

“There has to be a way to shorten the lines,” Fin muttered, trying to think of one himself. Huge laughed even louder.

“They try something every year, but it never works. Remember last year, they tried opening a second cafeteria. They both just had giant lines!” declared Huge. “There’s just no way around it.” 

“Plus, the garbage they sell doesn’t even taste good,” added Fin. Huge nodded his agreement. 

“Of course it doesn’t taste good. If it did, the lines would be even longer!” shouted Huge. He was very passionate about lunch lines. 

The short break ended all too quickly and Fin and the others headed off to third period. For Fin, that meant Spanish. Spanish was one of the only classes he enjoyed. Learning a language was fun, even if he wasn’t any good at it. It was the one part of the day that passed too quickly. He wished he could stay there instead of heading off to learn about something boring about biology. 

Fin sat through science, still lacking in inspiration. Tragically, he actually learned something human cells. Strangely, this class also seemed to slip by quickly. 

Even lunch vanished in what seemed like seconds, and Fin found himself once again sitting in his English class. At the front of the room, Mr. Germaine prepared for class. He had replaced yesterday’s outfit with a bright blue suit, purple shirt, and solid red bow tie. 

Another of Mr. Germaine’s flawless slideshows occupied the entirety of the class period. As Fin got up to leave, the teacher was suddenly next to his desk. 

“Finley, stay after class,” Mr. Germaine said. Fin finished packing up his stuff and, as everyone left, walked up to the teacher.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Mr. Germaine reached into a drawer in his desk and withdrew a piece of paper.

“Nothing’s wrong. Just wondering, is this yours?” asked Mr. Germaine. He unfolded the paper, revealing Fin’s sketch from the day before. 

“Of course not, I would never-” Fin began to protest but Mr. Germaine held up his hand. 

“You aren’t in trouble, in fact, quite the opposite. This drawing is incredible,” stated Mr. Germaine. “It’s some of the best art I’ve ever seen, and my sister owns a gallery.” 

“Really?” asked Fin, surprised. 

“Yeah, I’d like to show it to her if that’s alright, try and get it into the gallery.” added Mr. Germaine. 

“Really?” asked Fin again, even more surprised. Mr. Germaine nodded. “Awesome.”

“You should go though, you’ll be late for your next class,” said Mr. Germaine, pointing at the clock. Fin saw the time and sprinted out. 

As he sat in art class, painting some disgusting colors, he couldn’t take his mind off what had just happened. His art might actually be in a gallery! He walked a little in shock, and couldn’t care less when his art teacher called painting “uninspired” and “boring.” 

Fin raced home after school. As he walked, he stared down at his phone. He quickly typed, “Might get my art into a gallery!!!!!” and sent it into their group’s text chain. Fin got home sat in his room, just thinking. Thinking about what it would be like to get his art into a gallery. About what it would be like to be an artist. A loud buzz broke his daydreaming. “Nice,” Huge had replied. Sometime later, an “Awesome” was received from both Cooper and Alex. 

Fin went to sleep contented and excited for tomorrow. The next day’s classes lasted for the blink of an eye until, once again, he was in English. Fin arrived early to talk to Mr. Germaine, who was waiting for him.

“Ok, so, she loved the drawing but… there were a few problems,” said Mr. Germaine as Fin approached.

“What happened?” he asked, concerned. 

“For one thing, it’s pretty small. Also, it’s on notebook paper,” stated Mr. Germaine. Fin groaned, he hadn’t thought of that. “If you can recreate it, or something close, on better paper, you’re in. Obviously not during my class but… whenever.” 

Fin was completely lost in thought during art class. He never even started painting. Fin made a quick smudge on the canvas as the teacher walked past, but other than that, he was completely disengaged. 

Once again, he sprinted home and searched for some better paper. He could find only one sheet. One chance. He set the paper on his desk and sharpened his best pencil. 

Fin decided he needed to practice first. He grabbed his notebook and pictured that first sketch in his mind. He started to draw. Fin looked down in dismay. The hard lines didn’t even approximate a person. It was a disaster. Fin tried again. Then again. Time after time, the copies fell apart before his eyes. None of them looked at all like the original. Angrily, Fin ripped the papers apart, tossing the tattered scraps into the trash. He took a long, deep breath and grabbed his sheet of paper. This was it. He put the pencil to the page and gave his hand control.

Slowly, the first lines molded long, flowing hair. Then a tiny corner of face. Then a neck and shoulders. Finally, a body appeared and they drawing came together. Gradually, Fin added depth and shadow. It turned from a drawing into a person. He took a step back looking at the finished drawing. It was perfect, yet nothing like the original. Its differences only made it better. 

Fin gently rolled the paper up and wrapped two rubber bands around to hold it in place. Then he set it down by the door, ready for tomorrow. Fin checked the clock and was stunned. He hadn’t realized just how long he had working on the drawings. The clock displayed twelve fifty-two. 

He lay awake, bubbling with excitement, for quite some time. After what could have been an hour, he slipped into dreams about the future. These dreams carried him peacefully till morning. 

Fin could barely stay in his seat the next day. Not a single word said by a teacher stuck in his mind. It was filled with thoughts about his drawing. The classes barely registered in Fin’s mind as they flew past. He couldn’t wait to show Mr. Germaine the drawing. 

He sprinted into the room the moment the bell rang for class. He ran up and rolled the drawing out onto Mr. Germaine’s desk. Mr. Germaine picked it up and looked at it. 

“This is magnificent!” exclaimed Mr. Germaine. “I’m glad you didn’t try to copy the original, this is much better.” Fin laughed a little ruefully, remembering the numerous attempts to do just that.  

“Thank you,” he replied. Mr. Germaine rolled it back up and placed it next to his desk. 

“I’ll take this over after school,” he said. Fin nodded and walked back to his seat. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. His art might hang in a gallery. 

As the class began, Fin began to absently doodle on in his notebook. The seemingly random lines came together and an image appeared. It was a clean, plain, white wall. Hanging on this wall was a rectangular object. On it was a drawing just like the one Fin had given to Mr. Germaine. Fin scribbled a few people around it. Two, both in suits, appeared to be discussing the drawing. Another person was simply marvelling at it in the corner. Fin continued the drawing onto the next page during his next classes. He added more wall and some of his other sketches. Soon, an entire room was covered in his artwork. It was packed with people of all kinds. Some seemed like wealthy collectors. Others were just normal people. The thing they all had in common was their fascinated gaze as they stared at Fin’s drawings. 

Fin spent the next day searching for inspiration for his next gallery-worthy drawing. It wasn’t easy. He was still thinking when he entered Mr. Germaine’s class once again. 

“Good news!” exclaimed Mr. Germaine, walking up to Fin’s desk. Fin looked up in surprise and excitement. “It’s in! It will be hanging tomorrow. Come by sometime in the evening,” said Mr. Germaine, handing Fin a business card for the gallery. It was covered in color and the words were printed over it in black ink. A large, intricate compass was located in the bottom left corner. 

“The Compass,” Fin muttered, reading the words on the card. “By Claudia Germaine.” Beneath the names was a phone number and address. Fin placed the business card in his pocket and, once he got home, typed the name into his computer. He wanted to see what this gallery was like, and what sort of other art it had. 

It had a rustic front and large windows. Its name was in large gold letters. On the website, a large banner heralded the arrival of a new piece in the evening the next day. 

Fin grabbed his phone and sent a message inviting his friends to go with him to the gallery. Within only a few minutes, everyone was in. Fin could barely contain his excitement. 

Fin received hearty congratulations from each of his friends and, later that day, Mr. Germaine. Fin waited at the front gate of the school for his friends to arrive. They came slowly because Alex had to cross the entire campus. 

“How are we going to get there? This address is downtown,” asked Alex. Fin had already thought of this.

“My mom’s gonna take us,” he said, leading the way toward his house. Fin walked with purpose, not engaging the chatter and jokes of the others. 

“Hey, so what’s your drawing of?” asked Cooper as they piled into the car. They could just barely fit. 

“You’ll see,” replied Fin, not wanting to spoil anything. The ride was loud and fun, but also shorter than expected. No traffic blocked the streets and tied up hours of everyone’s time. Fin savored the moment as he climbed out of the car and looked at the gallery. It looked just like the picture. Giant windows and a long, elegant entrance. Fin took a deep breath and pulled the door open. 

It was not all what he expected inside. It didn’t have stainless white walls and fancy people. The walls were a charming exposed brick. Two glass cases with eighteenth century antiques greeted him as he entered. Inside, the gallery didn’t appear to have any sort of theme. Something that looked like a medieval tapestry was next to a piece of modern art. A stained glass chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting confusing, colorful shadows across the room. The building was supposed to be two stories but, instead, the first floor just continued all the way up. A wooden set of stairs and balconies allowed access to the art located higher up on the walls. As he approached, Fin noticed that the simple structure, that seemed to be made mostly of plywood, had a tiny flower carved into each step. The flower on each step was completely unique. 

“You must be Finley!” exclaimed a voice from the back of the room. The voice, and its owner, were like the gallery — not what Fin had expected, but somehow exactly what it should be. The speaker, Claudia, stepped out from behind a desk in the back. Claudia wore glasses the shape of water droplets that were tinted blue. She wore compass earrings made of some sort of crystal. Her dress was painted perfectly and looked just like a sunrise. “It’s so good to meet you!” she added, extending her hand to each of them. 

“Nice to meet you too,” said Fin. He was full of questions about the gallery, but his first was stolen by Alex.

“Why is it called The Compass?” she asked. Claudia smiled.

“Because art helps you navigate the world, just like a compass,” she replied. “Please excuse me for a moment, I have to finish setting up your drawing. But feel free to take a look around, there are some fascinating pieces in here.” Claudia began to climb up the nearest staircase and ascend to the highest level. The four spread out to different corners of the gallery, inspecting the artwork. 

Fin headed towards a pencil drawing similar to something he might draw. It was nothing like his, however. Fin’s drawing was like a photograph in its realism. This was only straight, hard lines and didn’t look much like anything. Even so, you could tell exactly what it was. Where Fin’s drawing was realistic, this drawing seemed like a pile of cubes. But they were both equally recognizable as their subjects, they were both a human. 

Alex found herself in front of the tapestry. It was clearly handmade. Instead of depicting the sort of thing tapestries did, namely knights and battles, it had been woven into a tank and other modern weapons of war. 

Cooper walked up to a row of statues. Each was carved out of marble and was in Roman and Greek style, yet they didn’t show some ancient god or hero. Instead of ancient characters, the statues showed people of history who had been enshrined into American mythology. 

Huge was the only one to climb the stairs and investigate the art high up on the cavernous walls. He came upon a canvas. The background was painted a light, sky blue. Small, puffy clouds dotted the painting. In the center was an airplane, but it was no ordinary airplane. Where the long, rigid wings of an airplane should have been, a pair of soft, light, feather-covered wings were attached. Huge raised an eyebrow, not sure what to make of this. 

“It’s ready!” shouted Claudia from the top of the stairs. All four of them rushed up and climbed up the spiralling stairs until they reached her at the top. They passed by even stranger piece of artwork, but had no time to stop. They ran up and saw Fin’s drawing was positioned at the very top. From the top balcony rose up toward the ceiling. At the point where the straight wall became the diagonal ceiling, Fin’s drawing sat. The small staircase led directly to it. “What do you think?” asked Claudia. 

“It’s… It’s…” Fin stammered. “It’s perfect!” Claudia smiled. Fin stood there for a moment and when he finally descended, found himself in a dreamlike state. Nothing felt quite real, and everything was fuzzy. 

“Goodbye!” yelled Claudia as the four left.

Fin stepped out onto the sidewalk, followed by his friends. The sun was low and the air was growing colder by the second. Fin set a quick pace for them as they walked towards the car. It was cold now, and they all regretted not bringing jackets. Fin couldn’t stop smiling. He radiated joy and excitement. It still hadn’t fully sunk in that his art was in a real gallery. He turned around and glanced back at the open doors of the gallery. A crowd was gathering outside. Gathering to see something he had created. 


Adeline

Chapter One: A Vision

Sometimes, Adeline wished she could die.

She contemplated this often, wondering how or when it would finally happen. Now, she wasn’t about to take her own life, having been raised with the idea that it was immoral and she’d plummet straight to hell immediately. She just wished that it would happen naturally or someone would finally take notice of her anguish and pierce an arrow straight through her heart. 

She was thinking about this one day as she sat by the windowsill holding a thick, worn out book in her hands. She had read this book a hundred times before and now only held it for its comfort and security. The sound of children’s laughter and shouts filled her ears as she gazed out the window. She had never before laughed as those children did almost daily. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when an angry-looking woman entered the room. Her red, burnt skin was peeling, her tangled hair was nested on top of her head, and smoke was practically fuming from both her nose and ears. Her bloodshot eyes found Adeline, and she opened her mouth, revealing a set of yellow, rotting teeth. 

“Adeline! You good-for-nothing scum! What are you doing sitting around, you lazy pig? The stairs need to be washed and the toilets need to be scrubbed! Come on, get up and get to work!” 

Adeline was used to her shrill screeches and only sighed and replaced her book with a bucket of water and soap. She went out to the stairs and began to scrub. She had almost completed this task when a pair of muddy girls ran up the stairs, the mud on their boots erasing Adeline’s hours of hard work. 

“BEATRICE! THERESA! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT RUNNING UP THE STAIRS WITH YOUR BOOTS ON?” Adeline called up to the girls.

The 4 and 6 year-old girls sheepishly walked out of their room, each trying to cower behind the other. 

“We’re sorry, Addy,” Beatrice said softly. “We just forgot.”

Theresa, being the older one, tried to take most of the responsibility. “It’s my fault, Addy, I made her too excited.”

Adeline only sighed and gave them a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, girls, just try not to do it again. Now go take those boots off before Madame Lestrange catches you.” 

The girls gave her wide, toothless grins and rushed off to their room. 

After Adeline finished her chores, Madame Lestrange walked up to her and shoved a brown basket and coins in her face. “Go buy me five loaves of bread. Hurry up, before all the good ones are sold. You either come back with good bread or don’t bother washing up for supper at all.”

Adeline only rolled her eyes and walked towards the market. 

She often enjoyed going to the market and greeting people. It was a very busy place, filled with different and exciting tastes and smells. She knew most of the vendors and they often sneakily gave her samples or extra loaves of bread. She went most days due to being sent by the orphanage. She lived in an orphanage called ‘Lestrange Home for Girls’ in a small town called Fauxburg. 

“Bonjour, Adeline!” The baker exclaimed when she walked into the bakery. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur Gavroche! Can I have five loaves of bread, please?” She handed him three bronze coins. 

“You got it!” He filled a bag with the five loaves of bread, along with a small, pink pastry for her. 

“Thank you, kind sir!” She waved her goodbye and was just about to exit the shop when a familiar aroma filled her nose. It was a sweet but sticky smell and had a resemblance to the cookies Madame Lestrange ‘secretly’ ate in her room. 

This was different, though. This was different because along with this smell came a vision. Adeline suddenly pictured something in her brain. It was a… woman. A woman with long, brown, wavy hair just like hers. Her eyes were a crystal blue and her teeth were perfectly white and straight. She held a small, brown book in her hands and seemed to be laughing about something. Freckles faintly dotted her face and her dimples creased as her smile widened. This woman was beautiful. Suddenly, the woman’s mouth shaped like an O and she ran to another room. She came back holding a tray of pink and white cookies and set them on the table. That’s where the vision ended.

Adeline had no idea who this woman was.

She spent the rest of the walk to the orphanage thinking about it. Surely, it must be a memory if it’s in my brain, she thought to herself. But how? I have no idea who this woman is. I’ve never seen her before in my life. Could it have been… my mother?

Truth be told, Adeline had no idea who her family was. Madame Lestrange told her she was left at the doorstep of the orphanage by a hooded woman when she was 18 months old. She never wondered what her parents were like or fantasized them coming back into her life. She decided a long time ago that it was a waste of time to think back on the people who had abandoned her and clearly didn’t want her in their lives. 

But still, this vision brought out her curiosity and she wondered if she had any more of these visions stored inside her brain. The woman seemed so free, so happy. So then why’d she give me away? 

She was brought back to reality when she opened the orphanage door only to see Madame Lestrange shouting at a very frightened Beatrice. 

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT HAVING THIS DOLL?” She held up a small and dirty doll that had very little hair and was missing an eye. 

“Y-you told me t-throw it a-away.” Beatrice whimpered. 

“That’s right! And what did you do? You held onto it! So now, it has to go into the flames!” She was about to toss the doll into the fireplace when a small, skinny hand grabbed her big, meaty arm. 

“DON’T BURN IT!” Adeline tugged at the doll and tried to pull it from the woman’s hands. “GIVE! IT! BACK!”

“Let go of me, you little wench!” Madame Lestrange flung Adeline to the floor and tossed the doll into the burning flames. “No supper for the both of you! Now go to your room and stay silent!”

Adeline carried Beatrice up the stairs as she sobbed into her shoulder. She laid her down in her bed and stroked her hair as she continued to weep. Theresa noticed what was going on and laid down next to Beatrice and cradled her in her arms.

“She… she b-burned Lally!” She cried. “She burned her!” 

“Shh, shh,” Addy whispered, “She’ll get what she deserves.”
She pulled out the pink cookie the baker gave her from her pocket and the little girls’ eyes widened. She pulled it apart and shared the pieces with the girls. 

“Don’t make any noise or you’ll wake everyone up.” She motioned towards the rest of the orphan girls sleeping in their little cots. 

Beatrice sniffled and finished the rest of her cookie piece. “Night, night Addy,” Both of the girls said. 

“Good night, Betty. Good night, Tessie.” 

Beatrice and Theresa fell asleep at once, their faces peaceful and innocent. Adeline, on the other hand, could not fall asleep. She lay awake all night thinking of a better life. An actual life. Her thoughts kept on coming back to the woman in her vision. Who are you? 

. . . 

One month later, Adeline sat against the windowsill and gazed at the laughing children once again. She was all alone now. Just a week ago, a loving and wonderful couple came to adopt children and fell in love with Beatrice and Theresa immediately. They were adopted and taken into their home. She looked down at the paper dolls they had given her as a farewell gift. Her heart ached, but she was glad the girls had a better future ahead of them. She didn’t cry. She never did. 

Her eyes tore away from the children and rested on the library right next door. Madame Lestrange was away at another town for some errands and wouldn’t be back until nightfall. She decided to go for it.

Five minutes later, she took a step into the quiet and cool library. It was empty, except for a man scribbling furiously behind a desk and the librarian putting a set of books in their places. She inhaled deeply and sighed. She loved the way books smelled. Old, but full of life.

Adeline loved to read. An old librarian, Monsieur Friar, had taught her how to read when she would sneak into the library as a little girl. Monsieur Friar had been like a father figure to her, but died of a stroke three years ago,

Madame Lestrange forbade them from reading, but Adeline secretly taught the girls in the orphanage how to read. They all loved to read and often gushed over how rebellious they felt doing it. Adeline would only laugh and flip the page of her book. Reading was precious to her. It sucked her out of her reality and took her to entirely different worlds. She battled with dragons, saved the princess, bested the knight, built a treehouse, etc. She felt free when she read. She felt alive and like a completely different person. She could pretend that she had a completely different life and was actually beautiful, unlike the raggedy orphan she was, with boring, long brown hair and terrifying grey eyes. She pretended she had beautiful ball gowns instead of the rags she actually wore. 

She walked down the long aisles filled with more books than she could ever count and gazed at them in wonder. She was walking through an old abandoned aisle when she saw a book from the corner of her eye. It looked brand-new and shiny, unlike the rest of the old and dusty books that filled up the library. It had strange, intricate designs on it, like vine branches intertwining and trying to beat each other to the top. She couldn’t help but open it and smell it. It smelled brand-new and fresh. She flipped the pages. This book was a factual one and contained the stories and facts of royal families from all over the world. Addy usually stayed away from nonfiction and factual books and would rather spend her time on fictional, adventurous books. A little disappointed, she was about to put the book back in its place when it flipped to a page and Addy stopped cold. 

It was the woman from her vision. 

She stared at the picture of the woman in her satin robes and the jeweled crown above her head. Same wavy hair. Same wide, lopsided smile. Same crystal blue eyes. 

Adeline gaped at it like a fish and scanned the page for more facts on this woman.

Queen Eponine of Northreign:

Queen Eponine was born in a small village in poverty and lived with her parents and 8 other siblings. When she was 15, Prince Arren stopped by her village and the two of them instantly fell in love. He took her to live with him in his palace at Northreign as his queen. The two continue to reign happily. There were rumours of a child, but nothing is known about their offspring. They keep to themselves when it comes to that matter. 

Adeline dropped the book and the echo resounded with a large thud. 

“SHH!” The librarian popped out of nowhere and put a finger to his lips. He was an old short man with a bald spot on his head and white hair puffed out on either side of it. His nose was sharp and pointy and his skin was wrinkly and spotted. He frowned at Adeline and shushed her once more.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur LeFray, pardon me.” Adeline hastily picked up the book.

“Quiet, girl, people are trying to focus.” He motioned towards the empty library. Not a single soul could be seen. 

“Uh, right. Sorry.” 

Monsieur LeFray began to walk away before he turned around and gave Addy a large smirk. “You know, Northreign is only miles west of here if you’re interested in going, Princess.” 

Adeline’s head snapped towards the man. “What?”

He winked at her and walked away.

“What? Hey! Wait!” She shoved the book into her sack and rushed to catch up with the man, but he was suddenly nowhere to be found. Abigail stared off into the direction he came from. An idea began to form inside her head. 


La Historia de Blaze y Rainstorm

“I don’t want to go!” Rainstorm whined. “Why do I have to go with you to the unknown?! I want to stay home!”

“Rainstorm, shut up and quit crying,” Blaze growled. “This rain is also quite annoying!”

My healing rain, Rainstorm thought in agony, trying to act right. It can heal any kind of wound I want it to.

Blaze led his adoptive brother away from their home. “Listen, Rainy, I’m sorry if I was a jerk in the past…”

“It’s fine,” Rainstorm growled. “I just really want to meet a friend! A true one!”

“I’m your friend,” Blaze murmured comfortingly.

Rainstorm began crying again. “You’re my adoptive brother!”

“Who says we can’t be friends?”

“I meant like a different friend.” Rainstorm walked away to calm himself down. He felt his special healing rain sink into his fur.

“Man!” Blaze followed him. “You cry up a storm when you’re unhappy! No wonder your name is Rainstorm.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rainstorm grunted. “Tease me all you want. I’ve been teased enough in my life to care less.”

All throughout Rainstorm’s life, he had been bullied. No one liked him because of how useless he was. He couldn’t control his unusual powers, either. Blaze, on the other paw, was a respected cat. He was technically Prince Blaze, but he preferred Blaze.

“Maybe we should check upon Skyline, don’t you think?” Blaze asked. “You were babbling about him shortly after we left. You said he can’t control his grief or something along the lines of that.”

Rainstorm nodded in agreement. “Where do you think we should look for him at?”

“Maybe the river.” Blaze led him over to the nearby river. “Look. Is that him?”

“Yes,” Rainstorm answered.

He peered at the cat in the river. The cat was sinking his claws into something Rainstorm didn’t see.

“Skyline?” Blaze called.

He ran over to meet him, followed swiftly by Rainstorm.

Skyline, well, King Skyline, was the cat who ruled Eastern Rome. He had lost his mother many months ago, and a few months after that had lost his father. He had lost both of his parents due to a sickness. Rainstorm and Blaze were cats who used to live by the river but got kicked out by the ruler Queen Periwinkle because of Rainstorm’s dangerous magic.

“Ugh!” Rainstorm moaned. “Skyline!!!

Skyline looked at them warily. “Yes?”

“You okay?” Rainstorm came to sit beside him.

Skyline shook his head. “Too much has been going on in my life.”

“Like what?” Rainstorm asked curiously.

Skyline flinched. “Oh, by the way, you can call me King Skyline as well if you want… You don’t have to. I’m trying not to think about being a king in this stance…”

“Why?”

“I caught a cold a month ago, and it’s getting worse…” King Skyline burst into a fit of coughing. “I let my daughter Sofia take over as queen until I can get better. My daughters, Sofia and Shadow, look almost exactly the same…”

“Woah, you just changed the topic!” Rainstorm exclaimed. “You never used to do that!”
King Skyline looked away. “I know! I can’t think straight with this cold!” He coughed more.

“Should I heal it?” Rainstorm asked. “I think my healing rain can do the trick.”

Skyline looked at him with watery eyes. “Could you try it then?”

“Sure.” Rainstorm got himself into a meditating position, which was a sitting position with his tail over his paws. He closed his eyes and felt himself calm down. Healing rain oh healing rain, come down to sprinkle us with rain. Terrible summoning job! Great going, Rainy!

Rainstorm felt rain sink into his fur. It worked? But how?

Skyline was still coughing himself off even as the rain sank into his fur.

Blaze nodded at him. “Should I keep the little one warm?”

“I’m not that little!” King Skyline rasped.

“I never said you were little!” Blaze spat.

Rainstorm flattened his ears as Blaze began hurling insults at Skyline and Skyline began talking quickly… 

Rainstorm glared at the sky as the rain stopped coming down. He tried to summon his healing rain again, but nothing came from the sky. He tried again and again until he began feeling frustrated. Work already!

Blaze!!!” Rainstorm bellowed. “Stop it!”

King Skyline was on the ground. His chest was heaving with the effort of talking.

“He’s dead,” Blaze grunted. “Well done, Rainstorm! You killed him.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m being sarcastic, you murderer!”

Rainstorm flinched. “B-but he’s not dead yet…”

“Just because he isn’t dead ‘yet’ doesn’t mean he won’t die five minutes from now!” Blaze shot back.

Rainstorm knelt beside Skyline and tried to not lose control of his growing emotions. Am I slowly killing him?

“Y-you’re fine!” King Skyline gasped. “Don’t worry… about me.”

Rainstorm itched to give him a hug and hopefully make him feel better, but he knew he’d have to have his permission. “Sky, may I hug you?”

“Ugh, stop!” Skyline wheezed. “Talking to me…”

“Can I hug you or not?”

The sick king nodded. He didn’t say anything else really as Rainstorm hugged him.

“Aww, a couple. I like that.” Blaze took a phone from off the ground and snapped a photo.

“Hey!” King Skyline glared at him. “That’s my device!” He began coughing again.

“Did the rain heal you at all?” Rainstorm asked.

King Skyline nodded. “Slightly. I still feel awful.”

Rainstorm decided to give him a few reassuring licks on the back. “How does that feel?”

“Terrible,” King Skyline moaned in distress.

“Try feeding some of the rain to him,” Blaze suggested out of the blue. “Oh, here’s your device thing.” He gave it back to Skyline, who sniffed it.

“Such an animal,” Rainstorm said to himself. “Animals sniff everything!”

“Yeah,” Blaze agreed. He turned to glare at Skyline. “Animal!!!

King Skyline sighed. “What?!”

“I thought ‘animal’ was sick,” Blaze grunted. “Why are you even responding if you’re sick?”

“Well, I’m not deaf,” King Skyline wheezed.

Rainstorm decided to use his dangerous magic to try to heal Skyline. He reached forward and dug his claws into the king’s fur.

King Skyline looked at him fearfully. “What are you doing?”

“Something,” Rainstorm answered, feeling the magic sinking into the king’s fur. Please work! Please work!

King Skyline let out a scream of surprise. “What…” He suddenly went limp.

“That’s a good thing,” Rainstorm murmured, looking into Blaze’s shocked face. “He’s unconscious, meaning that he’s healing.”

“I’ll carry him home then,” Blaze murmured back. “But the problem is I don’t know where he lives.”

“Just keep him here for now,” Rainstorm said breezily. “And we’ll check in on him in a day.”

“What about his kingdom?” Blaze demanded. “He needs to go back! He’s a king, you dummy!”

“Yeah I know, but what’s more important: sending a sick, unwell king to his kingdom, or waiting until the sick king heals to send him back to his kingdom?”

“I guess the second one,” Blaze said reluctantly.

“Exactly, so let’s just wait here,” Rainstorm growled.

***

“Where am I?!” a cat who sounded like Skyline wailed.

“Huh?” Rainstorm woke up immediately and found King Skyline whining near a bush. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a nightmare about my kingdom!” King Skyline moaned. “They were all dying, and it was my fault!”

“Okay first off, calm down and second… there’s no such thing as an entire kingdom dying at once.”

“Thanks.” King Skyline curled up in a ball again. “Say, what happened while I was dead or out or whatever you call it?”

“Unconscious. Nothing really happened except for Blaze and I discussing when you’ll go home. We don’t know where you live, so we can’t walk you there.”

“It’s okay. I can go home now.” King Skyline gave Rainstorm a few licks on the face. “Thanks for saving me. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, but I’m still walking you home to make sure nothing happens to you. Blaze is coming, too. Sky, show us the way.”

Skyline shut his eyes. “They won’t like it. But sure, let’s get this over with.”

***

“You guys are going to get me in trouble,” King Skyline moaned. “I already got in trouble with my father for losing my crown about half a year ago!”

“Your father is dead,” Rainstorm reminded him. “I know it’s still kind of new to you… and I’m sorry that you had to lose your parents at such a young age.”

King Skyline shut his eyes angrily. “Yeah I know…” He flexed his claws in the grass unhappily.

“Sorry for your loss.” Blaze gave the king a few licks on the cheek. “Rainstorm lost his parents in a dog fight I think.”

Rainstorm glared at him. “Yeah, and them dying ruined my life forever!” he barely managed to keep himself from bawling out loud.

“Wait, what?” King Skyline flickered his ears up in surprise and opened his eyes. “You did? And Blaze, stop kissing me!”

“Sorry, sir. I’m trying to cool you down,” Blaze apologized.

“Nope, you’re embarrassing me.” King Skyline looked at the camp entrance. “There should be a line of soldiers on their way to scout the entrance for intruders.”

“Would you allow your crush to kiss you?” Blaze teased.

King Skyline looked at the ground and shuffled his paws awkwardly. “Depends on who it is.”

Just then, a patrol walked right up to them. They had hostility in their eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?! Catnapping Skyline?!”

Skyline looked the other way. Rainstorm wondered why he was so embarrassed at looking at his own soldiers.

One of them strolled out. Her black fur was rippling along her spine. “Sky, what’s wrong?” She rested her tail on his back.

“N-nothing.” Skyline shook her off. “Go away, Alanna.”

“Who’s Alanna?!” Rainstorm blurted. “Your love?”

Skyline didn’t answer. “This is my goodbye. Thanks, Rainy.” He hugged him tightly, and Rainstorm noticed that he was bawling yet again and was trying to hide it.

Yeah, I don’t blame him. As soon as I found out Queen Periwinkle wasn’t my mom, I was bawling for hours. I didn’t even know my parents were long dead. Queen Periwinkle was his adoptive mother, and where he used to live, she was a ruler. She had one or two kittens. One of their names was Blaze, and for some reason Blaze ran away from his mom along with Rainstorm. Rainstorm found himself still twitchy from that experience.

“What about me?!” Blaze demanded. “I helped you, Skylight.”

“Skyline,” Skyline corrected. “Yeah sure.” Blaze hugged him anyway. “Bye, Blaze, nice being around you.” Skyline went to join the others. “Bye!”

“Bye!” Blaze and Rainstorm chorused, going back home the way they came.

I hope King Skyline feels better at home, Rainstorm prayed. Maybe one day he’ll decide to visit us again when he’s settled back in his home.


Glitch

Chapter 1

RUN FASTER! I tell myself. My legs are throbbing in pain because of the arrow that’s stuck in them. I hear yelling in the back and another arrow flies past me, just missing my head. I look behind me and see a whole tribe of Indians racing behind me with knives and all sorts of dangerous weapons. I see it! The doorway to the next level. Almost there. I jump for the door and make it. I look behind me and everything fades away. I put the golden Idol in the treasure slot and wait for the next level to load.

 I have been in this game for at least five hours. I press the menu button and take off the VR headset (Virtual Reality). I look at my leg to see where I was shot by the arrow, there was a big bruise there. I take off the RE suit (Real Effect), I turn on the newest AI assistant AIA (Artificial Intelligence), and ask for the time.

“It is 5 AM Mr. Lucas. You should start to get ready for school, sir,” she said in her robotic monotone.

I go into my closet and pick up some clothes on the floor. I tell AIA to get my bag and schedule ready. I go to the restroom and set the shower and sink to the right temperature and get ready for school. I get my bag and get onto the bus that has been waiting outside for me. 

I hop on the bus and find my friend Erin. I start telling him all about the game. I show him the bruise and how when I got shot it felt like I was really getting shot. He says it must be a glitch because that only happens in the VR competitions where people compete for money. 

“How do you win the competition?” I ask.

“You have to be the first to complete all 500 levels. It takes a whole week for the competition to finish.”

We get to school and go to our classes. School was slow. I had the usual classes math, English, history, and EI class (electronic intelligence). I get home and get straight back into the game when my mom calls me to come downstairs. I go down and see a man on the couch drinking some wine.

“Lucas, this is Mr. Oscar, he is here to talk to you about your VR gaming.”

“Hello, Lucas. Me and my colleagues have been watching you play and we want to ask you to represent America in the international VR competition with a few other kids.”

I was so shocked I could not talk at all.

“What do I get if I compete?”

“You will have the chance to win 500,000,000 dollars and will also receive an RSVR headset for participating (Razor Speed Virtually Reality).” He must have seen that my mom did not want me to go so he said that I will be monitored by professional doctors so I will be in safe hands. He looked at his watch and he said it was time for him to go. He gave his card and said if I want to compete, call him. 

Chapter 2

Saturday morning was slow, I lay on my bed trying to figure out what had just happened yesterday.

Maybe a bath would help me.

“AIA turn on the bath and set the water to warm.”

“Yes Mr. Lucas setting the bath to warm, would you like bubbles?”

“No thanks AIA.”

I stripped off my clothes and dipped my body in. I sat there for an hour thinking about all of the possibilities of what would happen if I went on the trip. Like if I won it could help me and my mom with rent and I would be able to have the best gear for gaming. I get out of the bathtub, put on my headset, and continue the game that I was playing. I finish the level and lay back down on my bed.

“AIA.”

“Yes, Mr. Lucas.”

“Call Mr. Oscar, and tell him I’m going.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Lucas? Your mom will not approve of this.”

“I am sure, AIA.”

I am still packing my bag trying to figure out what to wear. 

“AIA, order new Nike clothes and have them shipped in now!”

“Yes, Mr. Lucas.”

I go over to the PTD (Portable Transporter Device) that I got for Christmas and grab the clothes that I ordered. I finished packing and put on the headset. I had to get ahead of the other people that I am competing against. I put the mode on EC (Extreme Challenge) and started to game. I played all the way until I could no longer stand. I had bruises all over my body and one cut that was dripping with dark red blood.

“AIA, give me the first aid kit.”

I grab the sewing needle inside and sew it back together. 

Three days till I fly out. Mr. Oscar says that he will check in with me tomorrow to go over who I will be competing against and who will be on my team.

The next day, Mr. Oscar came over to pick me up. I grabbed my bag and hopped

in the car. I said bye to my mom as the car pulled away.

“So can you show me the people on my team?”

“Sure, here are some photos.”

I analyzed the photos, two other boys one had a military haircut and had a devilish look on his face. The other one had brown curly hair and freckles all over his face. We stopped at a big building with the words V.R. Corps in big bold letters. 

“Put this on,” Oscar said.

He gave me a silver suit that said AVR team (American Virtual Reality), then we went into the elevator and went up into a big room.

“Stay in here, I will be right back.”

He left the room and came back with the two boys that were on my team.

“These are your teammates, Lucas.”

The boy with the military haircut said that he was Romelo. The boy with the freckles was Lee.

“You have all been chosen to compete and you must work together in order to win, so get to know each other. When you guys are ready, you may start to practice in the hub. 

He points to a room behind us.

“Well, I will leave you boys to it. If you need me, just call me using your suit. I have put a personal AIA in each of your suits.” And after, he left the room.

“Listen up, dweebs, I am going to make this nice and easy. Mess with me and I will make sure that you don’t make it to the competition,” Romelo says with a nasty tone. 

“Now get to practice!”

We enter the hub and put on the RSVR headsets. 

Chapter 3

We complete each level with ease. We finished all of the puzzle challenges with the help of Lee. We finished all of the shooting and physical levels with the help of Romelo. But I was not much help at all. I could tell that they were starting to get annoyed with me because I am not as experienced in VR like them.

“Do you understand how to complete maze levels?” Lee would ask me. 

“Do you know how to aim for the head?” Romelo would ask me.

I could not take this anymore so I left the hub and take a break. I grabbed a cup of coffee, a bag of chips, and turned the TV on.

“AIA, how much time do I have until we fly to Montana for the competition?”

“You have 22 hours and 28 minutes left.”

I put my headset back on and practiced more and more. We are all so tired. Well, with the exception of Lee, who is never hungry or tired. We go to bed and fall into a deep sleep. 

“Hey, loser.” I get out of bed to see Romelo waving me over.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Dude, look at Lee. What a weirdo, he is still in the hub playing and I have been watching him for 9 hours.” 

“What the, is he like some sort of robot or what?”

“Whatever dweeb, I’m going to sleep now. We fly out first thing in the morning.”

On the airplane, Mr. Oscar tells us all about our competition and who to watch out for. He tells us that we will not be able to leave the game so use the restroom before the game starts. We all look at him with a bored face because this is the ninth time he has told us. 

I play some music and fall asleep. I get awoken to the sound of yelling. I see Mr. Oscar yelling at Lee and then clicking his neck with something. I had no idea what it was, but it must have been a comms device cause he started to talk about random stuff. 

“Hey Lee, what was Mr. Oscar yelling to you about?”

“None of your business!”

“Ok, sorry.”

Chapter 4

I looked outside the window to see what Montana looked like because I had heard stories that it was mountains and big lakes and all sorts of wildlife. But it was just buildings, workhouses. We landed and went directly into a limo!

“Damn this is my kind of ride,” Romelo said with an amazed tone.

The limo took us to this warehouse. It was all white inside and the AC (Air Conditioning) was on high, so it was so cold inside. Mr. Oscar took us to a room where he said he would get the other groups. Five minutes later, he came back with two other groups. 

“These are the people you will be competing against. I want to see nice and good sportsmanship, ok. No fighting. I will be back in three hours, I have to get the course set up.”

“You guys are going down, we going to win this and none of you losers will get in my way.”

“Romelo take it easy, this is just a friendly competition, ok?”

We get to our own hub and put on our headset. A voice comes up.

“Game starting in 3, 2, 1…”

The pixels start to form into a jungle. We start the game. We blow through the first 250 levels with ease. As we went through the levels, Romelo and I couldn’t walk anymore. Our legs were full of bruises and cuts and we needed to rest for a little while.

“Lee, stop moving please, we need a break.”

I get up and touch his shoulder. He grabs my arm and throws me to the ground. 

“The weak will die.” 

Just as he says that, he pulls out a gun and shoots Romelo in the head. His particles go away and that was it. Romelo was out of the competition. 

“What the hell, you are such an idiot!!!” 

Lee pointed his gun at me but the game paused and the locks on our headsets released. I took it off and went looking for Romelo. 

“Romelo, where are you?!”

I saw Mr. Oscar and asked him where Romelo was.

“Romelo said that he did not want to compete anymore so we had Lee kill him in the game and we sent him back home.”

Chapter 5

There is no way that Romelo wanted to go home. There has to be more than the eye could see. At night, I will follow Mr. Oscar through the vent to see what is up.

1:30, time to shine. I got out of bed and unscrewed the vent. I hopped in and saw

Mr. Oscar walking towards a room. The vent was so dusty and smelled of decay. I followed the sound of Mr. Oscar’s voice to a room where there were scientists everywhere with clipboards and typing on computers. What is this place?

“Sir, Group 47 is not doing so well, they are all still on level 100 to 110. Only one group has reached the average. And why did you give them an extra day of rest, now the data won’t be fair! Ohh and just to mention, you killed a test subject!” 

“I don’t care! You asked me for test subjects, I give you test subjects. One sees the lab or anything else, they get eliminated. Plus they’re all gonna die either way and we have more test subjects so take a chill pill.”

 What? How is this happening? There’s no way. This can’t be true. How could they kill innocent kids just for some dumb stupid experiment? I have to get out of here.

“Lee (Logitec Experiment Executioner), please come over here. I think that Lucas is onto us. On the next level, kill him and then eliminate the rest. We will bring in the next batch of kids after this is done.”

“Yes, Mr. Oscar.”

“Now go and charge yourself. I can’t have you run out of batteries during the competition.”

“Yes, Mr. Oscar.” 

I started to make my way back to my bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. I always knew that something was up, but they were killing kids! I jumped back onto the bed. 

All of a sudden, I heard footsteps in the front of the door. I quickly pretended to be sleeping.

“I told you he’s fine, he was just sleeping the whole time.”

I peek out from under my pillow to see Mr. Oscar and a scientist at the door.

“Alright, let’s get the game ready for tomorrow. Oh and make the levels for Lucas extra hard. We need to make his death look like an accident.”

“Yes sir.”

Chapter 6

I get out of bed and get ready for the game. I am met by Mr. Oscar and Lee.

“How did you sleep, Lucas?”

“Fine.”

“Ok well just want to wish you good luck, you only have 3 levels left.”

“Thanks, I really wish that Romelo was here.”

“I know it’s a shame that he wanted to leave.”

“Yeah, it’s like he was killed.”

“Haha, your sense of humor always seems to get me, Lucas.”

We walk into the hub and put on the headsets. Again, the voice comes up.

“Game starting in 3, 2, 1.”

The pixels load and we are on top of a huge building. We go on to complete the level. We have to get a key that is hanging from a pole that is high up in the sky.

“You climb the pole, I will hold it so you don’t fall,” Lee says with a smirk on his face.

“No it’s fine I think you should climb.” 

“Ok be sure to hold the pole tight.”

He gets onto the pole and grabs the key. I sigh because he wasn’t going to kill me.

We unlock the door to the next level. 

This level is about aim, again someone had to climb up high and hold a board where the teammate has to shoot. I grab the gun and he gets the board. Success! We continue to the next level. 

Last level, we spawn on top of a bridge. We need to get down from the bridge without falling. In order to get down we either climb down a rope that is slippery, or we walk down the rail of the bridge with the wind blowing at us.

“I think that we should go down the rail,” I shout.

The wind is so loud that we can not hear each other. I turn to look at the rail when I see Lee running at me and kick me in the stomach. I stumble back and lose my footing. I grab onto the rail just in time and get back up. He comes running at me again and I dodge him. He almost falls off the bridge but stays on.

“That’s it. I have had enough of this nonsense.”

He pulls out a gun and points it at me. 

“Please, Lee, don’t do this, you don’t have to.”

“I am programmed this way.”

I grab the rope and wrap it around my waist and a metal pole. He shoots but I dodge it. I run at him and we both go plummeting down the bridge. The rope catches me Lee is holding on from my hand.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“You don’t have to.”

He lets go and his pixels go away. I get off the bridge and leave the game. My locks release and I run out of the hub. Mr. Oscar is waiting for me outside. 

“Congrats, kid. You win.”

“Where are the other competitors?”

“All went home after you won.”

“How could you kill them? You are such a monster.”

“What are you talking about?”

“BS, don’t lie to me. Tell me, why did you kill them!”

“That’s classified, and now that you know, it’s your time as well.”

He pulls out a gun and shoots me in the chest. Blood drips from my chest and mouth.

“I’m sorry, Lucas but this is the only way,” he says with tears and walks away.

I sit there waiting to die, staring at the blank white ceiling, thinking about all the people who died. Then I fall to the ground.

***

One day later in an airplane

“Hello, sir this is Oscar, postpone the mission.” 

“For what reason?” 

“All test subjects have failed the test. None of them were able to complete the levels.”

“Don’t lie to me, Oscar. I have the data, it’s already been sent to me.”

“Yes, sir… what are you going to do with this data?”

“I can’t tell you that, Oscar.”

“Five years of studying human instincts and killing people and you won’t tell me what you are using it for?”

“This concludes our call. We will talk when we meet when you get home.”


The Crevice

The Shenandoah mountains are the perfect place to hike, especially in the fall. The leaves are my favorite part. They’re wet to the touch today. It rained this morning. My parents didn’t feel like hiking, so I convinced my sister to take me. She only takes me so she can take photos for her Instagram, I think. I don’t mind, though. I just like being here.

The trail is pretty empty today, so I can do my favorite thing without being judged. I think I get judged a lot, picking up rocks like that. My sister tells me to stop; I’m a fifteen-year-old girl, she says. And people give me this funny face, like they feel bad for me. That’s the worst part. The pity. 

I don’t like pity. It’s a way to look down on people by looking nice. It’s just another way to mask the nasty thoughts that are floating around in people’s brains. I have nasty thoughts too. I think that my older sister is a follower and my younger sister is flirty and my mother is too tall and my father is too fat. But I don’t pity them. Nobody deserves that. 

When people see me squatting in the mud like that, digging around for rocks, they sometimes say I’m on “the spectrum”, all loud and stuff, as if I don’t know what it means. I’m not, I don’t think. It’s not like I check.

It’s harder to find rocks today, probably because of all the fallen leaves. I wonder if it’s fun or scary to fall like this. Like a leaf. My older sister, Janet, says I shouldn’t say stuff like this, but I still think it. Thinking is a hobby of mine. Every rock that I pick up makes me think. I spot one in the middle of the trail. It kind of looks like a lowercase “B”. It makes me think about my name.

Benny is a stupid name. I would understand it if my parents had named me Benjamin, but my mother says that it is “simply unsuitable” for a girl. So why is Benny any better? Benny, that’s it. The whole package. 

I remember the first time the name’s irregularity dawned on me. It was the summer before first grade, and we were moving into our new house. The house seemed nice. My parents painted it butter yellow, which I hated, but it had big windows and a cool old attic, so the weird color didn’t bother me so much. The first day we drove into that driveway was just to show us kids the new house. The first thing I noticed was the dog poop right outside the car, but my sister seemed to notice something more interesting. A small apartment building loomed across the alley from the new house, and who should be on the lawn but two boys. While my older sister chattered about the older one and my younger sister whined about having boys for next door neighbors, I focused my attention on the little surprise outside of the door. There was no way I was stepping in it. After we made it into the house without any mishaps, I finally turned my attention to the minor situation at hand: the neighbor boys. There they were, on our front porch. Nobody would dare answer the door. My younger sister, Vienna, three at the time, held her stuffed elephant close. Janet, nine at the time, stuck her nose up and said that they probably had cooties. So there they went, my two sisters, clambering up the stairs to pick out their rooms. 

Gingerly, I opened the door. The boys looked smaller in person, and pretty clean. I couldn’t see any cooties from the doorstep. The younger one was tilting his head so much I thought it might pop off. The older one looked nervous, clutching the container in his hand for dear life. He was, it seems, because he dropped the container on the floor and ran off. 

That left me and the younger one.

His head was still tilted a lot, and he had a curious expression on his face. 

“Careful,” I said matter-of-factly, like my doctor, Dr. Kneeler. “I’m afraid it might pop off.” The idiot didn’t change one thing! 

“What?” He drew out the word. He sounded pretty whiny. I decided to do what needed to be done. His neck still cracks a lot. I guess I shoved it a little hard. 

Mitchell, that’s his name, but I call him Mitch and he calls me Ben and we’re still good friends, despite the whole neck thing. Usually he would collect rocks with me, but he has to go to church today and I don’t. You could say I’m not religious. 

The hunt for rocks is getting tricky, so I decide to just run ahead to the best part of the hike: the summit. The summit is a challenge every time I reach it. I’m not the biggest fan of heights, and rock climbing isn’t my thing. But Mitch and I found a loophole: the pit. In the brown rocks that form the tippy top of the mountain lies a crevice. If you get nice and flexible like Mitch and I did from our circus classes, you can wiggle your way into it. And voila! The perfect hideout. Janet usually stays behind, because she doesn’t like what the big gusts of wind does to her hair, so I run ahead, usually, just like today. Once I reach the rocky surface, I climb towards the crevice nice and slow, because the rain makes the smoother rocks pretty slick. I almost fall off anyway when I see what’s scattered all over the crevice. It glints in the sun. I shriek.

And that’s what starts it all. I like the word ruckus; I’ll use that. That’s what starts all the ruckus. There’s always that something that someone finds that causes all the ruckus. I’ve seen enough movies to know that. But I’m not running away from the ruckus, not today. I always do that, and look where it got me. Today, I’m taking my sister’s LuluLemon tote bag and taking ruckus. A lot of it. 


hi, i’m jojo

CHAPTER II

On the inside of the house, there’s a huge sectional couch with a couple big chairs across from it. A large chandelier is shining bright light onto the elaborate fabrics on the couch and chairs and reflecting off of the glass coffee table in the middle. In the back of this room is a big, carpeted staircase.

We walk through a hallway into the dining room. Inside is a long table with 14 chairs: six on each side and one on each end. The huge vase of flowers in the middle of the table sits atop a runner.

“It’s awfully well furnished and maintained for an abandoned house,” notices Eriphili. Raphael and Clarice nod in agreement.

The kitchen is adjacent to the dining room and is filled with all sorts of cutlery, plates, glasses, and some lemons hanging out in a bowl by the stove.

“There’s even fresh food,” adds Clarice. “I wonder why it’s so… well… different from the outside.”

“I’m outta here,” decides Loki, running to the door. He tries to pull the door open. 

“Hey, Clarice?” he shouts, his voice slightly quivering.

“Yes?” Clarice yells back.

“You didn’t lock this door, right?”

“No! Why would I be that stupid?”

“Well… I guess we have an issue.” We all run over to the door.

“What’s our issue?” asks Raphael, his face crinkled up with worry.

“Um… see for yourself.” Raphael grabs the door knob and pulls. Nothing happens. I grab onto the doorknob and we both pull. Nothing.

Soon, everyone is pulling on the doorknob as if our lives depended on it, and right now they actually might.

The door still doesn’t open.

Suddenly, a huge voice echoes through the house.

“Ha ha ha! I see you have entered my house!” The voice has a thick German accent and is very high and squeaky.

“Hello? Who are you?” yells Eriphili.

“Oh, just a passing ghost, not much to be concerned about. Endivay, you have 24 hours to find a vay out. If you don’t, vell… let’s just put it zis vay. Sometimes you try your best but you don’t succeed, and zen crazy animatronic killer monkeys come and kill you!”

Chills run up and down my spine and neck, munching away at my bones like animatronic monkeys as I realize what this means: if we don’t find a way out in the next 24 hours, we’ll be killed. Loki grabs Clarice and I can see Raphael and Eriphili tense up.

Raphael seems to be imagining what death is like because his face is turning the color of porcelain and he’s holding a hand at his mouth. His eyes are wide open and I can see the fear glazing them like they’re donuts.

“So… how exactly do we get out?” Eriphili asks, but she gets no response.

“Well, I guess we should go look around,” I suggest. Loki and Clarice start heading towards another room opposite from the dining room and kitchen. The rest of us follow them.

The room seems pretty normal. At least until I notice a small door in the back of the room.

“Hey, people, maybe this door leads to something helpful!” Clarice, Eriphili, Raphael, and Loki run over to where I’m standing and I pry open the door. Inside, there’s a narrow wooden staircase.

I step onto the first stair to check if it’s solid. It is, so I continue up the stairs. Once I reach the top, I am greeted by a wall. I groan. 

Then there’s a random and short flicker of light, revealing a keyhole.

“Hey, people!” I yell down the stairs. “I found some sort of keyhole!” I hear the pounding of feet as everyone runs up the stairs, meeting me at the top.

“Let me see!” whines Eriphili. “I know how to pick locks!” 

“I know how to pick locks,” mocks Loki, being his normal rude self. 

“Shut up,” says Eriphili, pushing past Clarice to the door. Loki kicks her. “Hey! If you touch me one more time, I will slaughter you. Got it?” Eriphili pulls a dagger out of her backpack to prove it.

“Eriphili!” I yell. “Why do you have a dagger?”

“Oh, you never know when you’ll need it.”

“But people don’t just carry around daggers!” protests Raphael.

“I do. Ah… I see. An HYT Chain Key lock… it’s unpickable.”

“Even with your dagger?” scoffs Loki. Eriphili rolls her eyes.

Raphael moans and starts jumping back down the stairs.

“What if we look around the house for the key?” suggests Eriphili. I nod.

“Alright. Let’s split up. Loki and I will go upstairs, Raphael will search this floor, and Kingsley and Eriphili will search the basement,” decides Clarice.

Eriphili and I walk towards the stairs, hoping that they have an opposing stairway that leads to the basement.

I search all around the stairs, but don’t see anything that could potentially lead to a third floor.

“Hey, Kingsley!” yells Clarice from the second floor. “I think I see something that could lead to the basement!”

I run up the stairs to where Clarice is standing, Eriphili right behind me. The second floor is made of a huge carpeted hallway with numerous rooms spread randomly among the floor.

“What is it?” I ask Clarice. She points to a little square outlined with thin black Sharpie. However, the square is on the ceiling. “Well, how are we supposed to reach that?”

“I don’t know,” Clarice replies. 

“What if we try walking up the wall?” suggests Eriphili.

“Do you seriously think that would work?” Clarice snaps back.

“I think it’ll work better than you and your annoying boyfriend sitting around doing nothing this entire time!”

“Don’t say that to her,” yells Loki.

“Hey! People!” I yell.

“It’s not like you or Loki have done anything!” says Eriphili, her voice rising.

“Oh, really? We’re the ones that found the trap door!” protests Clarice.

“You’re also the one who can’t survive a creepy bus driver without crying into Loki’s shoulder!” Loki runs up to Eriphili and prepares to punch her.

“Hey! Loki! Stop! None of you are helping us get anywhere! You’re just wasting time that we need! All your bickering is completely pointless! So shut up and do something! All of you!” I shout. Loki’s face looks sheepish as he wanders away from Eriphili, who is crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. Clarice puts her hands on her hips and I can see her nostrils flaring. 

Eriphili walks over to the wall and presses her hand on it. Then she presses her foot on. She lifts her other foot off the ground and, amazingly, she stays on the wall.

“Woah!” I say, doing the same on a different part of the wall. However, I fall down and land on the hard ground with a THUMP! “Ow!”

“I guess it only works on this part of the wall,” concludes Eriphili. So, once she’s up on the ceiling, I climb up after her. “Now, how do we open up this door?”

“Maybe just try to pull it,” says Clarice. Eriphili rubs her hand along the edge of the square, searching for any sort of notch that she could pull.

“Here,” she says, and then she grabs a little dip in the ceiling and pulls it. The squeaky door flies open. “You first.”

I crawl over to the hole in the ceiling and hoist myself up. It’s like a vent: square and metal. Every movement creates an echo that runs all the way down to the end of the crawl space and back. I start crawling down it and Eriphili tails behind me. Suddenly, I hear a switch flip, and then drop down a hole in the crawl space and keep falling, falling, falling.

I land on a huge pillow-like thing. Lights turn on, going all the way up to the top of the hole where I see Eriphili’s round face. She’s holding her dagger.

“I hope you’re not scared of clowns!” she yells, her mouth in a huge grin that reveals her teeth. They almost look like fangs. Then she cackles and the roof of the hole closes up.

All the walls around me pull backwards, creating a small pit with tunnels going out in every direction. The lights turn multicolored and start shining all around the room. Creepy carnival music starts blasting throughout the room.

“Wait! Eriphili!” I yell, but it’s no use. She’s gone.

The room is about seven feet by seven feet. The crazy-colored lights are making my head hurt a little bit, and the music is not helping. 

This is probably just a joke, I think. I really hope it is, because the aesthetic in this room is really creeping me out.

All of a sudden, I see a figure coming into the room. It has a white cloak, and I can’t really see what else it looks like. Is it an angel?

No, not at all.

The thing that is coming towards me wears a huge white robe and its face looks like Pennywise. It’s clutching a huge dagger in its right hand–no, its left hand. And the dagger is the same as Eriphili’s.

“Hello, Kingsley Caligari! Would you like to play with me? Forever and ever and ever and ever?” I recognize the voice. While the clown is still far away from me, I scan my mind for who it could be. Then I land on someone: Eriphili.

“Um… not really…” I answer.

“Too bad!” yells Eriphili. She leaps towards me and I jump to the side. The knife slices my right pinky finger off. I yelp in pain and dash off to one of the tunnels. Eriphili follows me. Suddenly there’s a clang on one of the other sides of the pit. Eriphili turns and starts walking towards it; I think she thinks that I’m over there.

Then I have a revelation: since the clown is Eriphili, she must be wearing a mask. Therefore, she can’t see, and only relies on her hearing to capture me.

I slowly tiptoe backward into one of the tunnels and Eriphili doesn’t notice.

When I get into the tunnel, I rip off my sweater to try to staunch the bleeding from my finger.

I almost reach the end of the tunnel when I hear clanging like cymbals. I look all around me and see nothing except a figure in the distance.

As it gets closer to me, I see a monkey figure. In its mouth it has huge sharp teeth and blood splattered around its mouth. The eyes are different sizes and the larger one is rolling around in its socket. 

“Oh, no,” I mutter as I notice that the sweater didn’t help, and that the blood is draining out of my finger like a storm drain during a hurricane. I start becoming dizzy and I can’t see straight. I think the monkey is close to me… or is it far? Now there are two. Or maybe I’m just seeing double. 

A white border starts creeping into my vision. It slowly takes over everything except the bloody, satanic face of the monkey.

Then everything goes black. And it stays that way for a while.


The Golden City

Chapter One

“In San Francisco, you’re going to love San Francisco,” my mom said excitedly. “The city is so pretty at night. We’ll be surrounded by water on three sides and a mountain on the fourth. There won’t be snow there, though. I know you’ll miss the snowstorms we have here!”

Pictures swirled across my mind as I imagined bright billboards and flashing lights. The city would be nothing like the small Pennsylvania neighborhood onlooking the Susquehanna in my little corner of the world.

“We’ll make up for it with some of the things you love. Applecrest has a great drama program. And if I do recall, a science program as well! You’ll be thriving,” my mom added cheerfully while making dinner.

“But what about Dad?” I glanced up at her as I sat curled up on the couch. I bundled the edge of a blanket and tucked it close to my chin. I was going to miss my dad, who lived all the way in Lancaster. I’d been visiting him on the weekends since I was nine.

“We’ve already arranged things, Rosie. You’ll spend the fall and a bit of summer break down here with him. We can even schedule activities for you and Chrissie down here. Things will be so perfect.”

But things are already perfect as they are, I thought to myself, pondering everything that would never be the same.

“You know I’m never forgiving you for this, right?” Chrissie huffed, arms crossed as she stared at me sadly. “You’re basically my only friend, Rosie. It’s sad but true. I’ll miss you so much…” Chrissie grabbed my hand and walked sulkily along the sidewalk like a wilting flower. 

I couldn’t console my friend when I needed consoling myself. “I’ll email you. I promise. It’s not like I’ll be making any friends at Applecrest, anyways.”

“Maybe someday, I can come visit you there. The Golden City,” Chrissie exclaimed, saying the name of my new home with pizzazz. “You know what they say. There’s gold in the hills! And the sunsets are warm and golden. And people say that the hills shimmer golden in the summers, too!”

“That’s just a silly nickname. There’s more fog than sun in the city. The water might be pretty, but not prettier than the Susquehanna. There’s a drama program, but I don’t think anyone will like me…”

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. Think on the bright side. You’ll get away from this boring place. Wish I was in your shoes.” Chrissie flashed me a smile that seemed pained but hopeful.

I rolled my eyes. Chrissie, of all people, didn’t understand how I was feeling. 

“One of Pennsylvania’s nicknames is Oil State. How pathetic is that? Compare The Golden City to Oil State!”

“Whatever, Chrissie. Since obviously you don’t get it, I’ll go wallow in self-pity by myself.” I stormed off annoyedly in the direction of my house.

“Geez! Well, I’m sad too! I was just trying to make you feel better!” she yelled after me, and I could tell by the quivering of her voice that she was about to cry. 

I ignored her, although my inner conscience was telling me not to keep stalking away. I turned back after a few seconds and saw Chrissie walking home to her neighborhood in the other direction, hanging her head like a gloomy scarecrow.

Chapter Two

Chrissie seemed so miserable and upset that I knew I couldn’t just walk away. I was almost home now, under the canopy of the huge willow tree by the playground connecting our neighborhoods. Chrissie always knew the right thing to say in every situation — maybe I was the problem. Maybe I misinterpreted her because I was so busy feeling bad for myself.

I turned around, speeding up my pace a little to catch up with Chrissie. She was passing through the cul-de-sac leading to her house.

 “Chrissie! Wait up!” I called, running toward her and sliding into the spot on the sidewalk next to her.

Chrissie didn’t seem surprised by me; she just hugged her arms to her chest and continued walking. “What is it, Rosie? Do you want me to talk about how awful San Francisco is? Make you feel better by talking about how amazing Pennsylvania is?”

“Look, Chrissie. I was really mean… I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to help. I’m really going to miss you,” I said, and after a few seconds we both went in for a hug. 

“I’ll miss you too. Too bad you’re leaving tomorrow… I’ll have to cancel the party. I’m not even nearly done decorating quite yet.”

“What party?” I giggled.

“Your going away party, silly,” Chrissie laughed, shoving me playfully in the shoulder. “I’ve been planning it since you told me a week ago.”

I froze, jaw open like a cod fish. Chrissie had planned a party for me? She was the best friend I could ever ask for.

“No way we’re cancelling this party! Let’s get decorating!” I exclaimed as the two of us grinned and headed in the direction of Chrissie’s house.

It was moving day. We had packed up the entire house — all that was left were dust bunnies and yearly height marks on the walls. I had spent some of the morning jumping from box to box, which had resulted in some bent cardboard and my very angry mother.

I sat here at Chrissie’s house, admiring everything we had done — the golden confetti and streamers, the giant map of Pennsylvania, the ice cream cake that read Bon Voyage, Rosie! in shimmering golden letters covered in edible glitter.

Maya, Isabel, Carly, and a few other girls in our grade were here, gathered around the kitchen table as my mom, my dad, and Chrissie’s parents poured sparkling cider into our cups.

After my mom had poured cider into Chrissie’s, she grinned and held her plastic red cup high in the air. “I’d like to propose a toast in honor of my forever best friend, Rosie. Of course I’ll miss her, but I hope she likes San Francisco. And I can’t wait to see her in the fall and the summer.”

“Cheers to The Golden City!” she cheered, then knocked her cup against mine.

“Cheers to The Golden City!” we all shouted, laughing, as we raised our cups in happiness.


Midnight Hour

My mind wanders as I stare out at the constellations on the top deck of The Midnight Hour.

“Leina.” I spin around, half expecting a ghost to be whispering my name through the cool breeze. My mom stands at the edge of the deck beckoning me to go downstairs to my room. Her cool, light brown eyes watch over me closely as I pretend to ignore her. Never once does she use the world sleep. My family doesn’t believe the night ends day, and bedtime has never been an issue for their only daughter. She trusts me to know when my body needs to rest and plans the rest of my day around it, only on nights like this one does she actually care what time my body falls asleep. The calendar has already been laid out for tomorrow. 

I turn to look at my mom. Xandra Morrigan has always been gorgeous, dark black hair, soft tan skin, and curvy hips, as well as being the perfect owner and manager of the large ship I call my home. My mom has never told me where the ship came from or how it came to be hers, though I never viewed it as my place to ask.

“Magdalena,” my mom says, her smile faltering into a slight frown as I rise from my leaning position on the fence guarding the drop into the ocean. I roll my eyes, kissing her cheek before running down the stairs to go to bed. My parents are planning on hosting a masquerade tomorrow, to celebrate my father’s 51st birthday. Even though it is well past midnight, the crew of The Midnight Hour will be preparing and decorating the ship the entire day right up until we dock at Celestia Cove tomorrow evening. We have just over 100 staff with us at the moment, their sleeping quarters are located on the second level of the ship, only above the cargo area, and next to the kitchen. They are usually only with us for a month or so to earn a little extra before returning to their normal residences, though some use their appointment as a free method of travel to get to a particular destination to see relatives, or spend vacation. The third level of the ship is our ballrooms and dining areas. Our small family area is located in the back of this floor, with my parents’ grand master suite right next store. This is where my family and I spend most of our time. Other guest rooms and guest access is on the fourth floor with the main deck right above. 

The outside of our ship is largely uninteresting, with metal covering most of the outside and concrete holding up the decks. No one knows how the ship can support this giant concrete flooring, though no one questions it since this is the way it’s always been. Our ship seems quite large compared to other ships we pass. Our ship is currently around 650 square feet, with additions happening around every 5-10 years. I have had two renovations in my lifetime. Our current capacity is around 1,500 guests depending on the amount of staff staying with us at the moment. This usually allows us to entertain every adult in the island or coastal town we have decided to dock at for the festivities.

The halls are deserted as I make my way through the ship. My room is currently located at the back end in one of our smaller guest rooms, so I can stay away from current festivities, and so I have easy access to both my dress and changing rooms. Fatigue overtakes my body, though not my mind, as I stumble my way through the halls, tripping over my own feet as I run. Despite what I may look like, bloodshot eyes, rumpled hair, ragged fingernails that I am scolded on for chewing everyday, I don’t feel the slightest bit tired because I know I need to do one more thing before climbing into bed. 

Once I reach my door, I creep into my room and flick on the lights. My room illuminates with a pale, white glow dancing off of the sandy-colored walls. My bed sits in the middle of the room right up against the wall to the left of me as I walk in. Its bright, blue-colored bedsheets stand out as virtually the only color besides the starlight casting my light blue rug into what reminds me of Marena’s city lights, my favorite island off of the mainland. As I spin around to face my closet, I catch my reflection in the mirror which hangs over my brown, wooden dresser. I always liked the way I looked at night better, my gray, green-gray eyes are squinted into slits from minimal light, making me feel powerful and deceptive. My short-cut black hair hangs over my eyes jaggedly, wavering as the fan above my head attempts to push it out of my now black-looking eyes. The rest of my face I rarely notice in the frenzy of various maids trying to match dresses with my already complex complexion. I have bright rosy cheeks that stand out against my harsh olive skin tone, with a long, tipped-up, pointy nose to finish. I grin wickedly at the thought of the maids trying to dress me tomorrow now that I have cut off most of my wild hair with a sharp butcher’s knife. I have always preferred the look of shorter hair and I thought it would require less maintenance when either climbing or getting ready for a party. My pointy lips fade into a smirk as I turn to look at my dress selections for the rest of the night.

“White, black, blue, purple,” I mutter the colors of each dress I look at that is currently in my closet. “Red,” I say at last. “That’s what I want.”

The night is cold and windy, though during the summer, the stars that shine off of The Midnight Hour look as brilliant as ever reflected in the midnight blue water below. I find sneaking out onto the lower deck off the side of the kitchen is a good way to calm my anxious spirits before going to bed. Red, I think again as I watch my flowy silk red dress sail over the water, allowing the rest of my body to breathe in the night sky. Red goes well with midnight blue. I laugh as my fingers brush the edge of the water, illuminated only by the moon and the stars. The lower deck is my favorite one to sneak out onto because of its lack of a railing. This gives me the ability to literally hang onto the handrails and allow my feet to dangle above the starlit waters. I yell as loud as I can muster into the wind whipping my face, telling it to carry me away.

“Take me to the place of wind and weeping willows.” I choke my powerful calls into a delicate whisper. “To the places where stars are places I can visit and the moon is the light I use to read and write.” I pause, gasping as though I have said too much, and maybe I have.

Magic has always been a part of this greater world that I have never gotten the chance to be a part of, wishing it were there. I have always known I have it, and it runs through me like a sheepdog would herd its cattle. I feel it now, boiling under my skin, caressing my head and my body until I can’t feel anything else. The wind starts to gush around me, making my hair fly out from my neck. This is my magic, who I am. This is it, I think. I know the wind will carry me to somewhere I want to be, somewhere, where I can live my life. And, it does.


The Tournament

It was August 31st again.

But this year, what seemed like a normal day became the most important one of the year. It was the final day of the Tournament– a day both held up in honor, yet dreaded by all. 

Nobody knew how the competition had been created, but it was a tradition of the community. Every other year, ten random teenagers were selected to compete. Every other year, the competitors tried their hardest. Some years, one participant would make it to the final task. But still, every time, nobody was able to claim the Grand Prize and take over the role of the Magistrate.

Why, you ask?

Nobody made it out alive from the final task.

Every year, the monster-like bird countered each challenger with success. 

It was a horrible tradition, really, forcing adolescents into a nearly impossible tournament in which they would likely suffer a gruesome death. And for as long as the people knew, nobody had ever been able enough to take the crown from the monster’s head to deliver it to the Magistrate.

But tradition was tradition. The people respected tradition, perhaps even more than morality. And so, the cycle repeated, and every year, ten innocent children were killed. 

This year was no different.

———————————————————————————————————————

Dressed in ceremonial robes, the boy stared out at the vast crowd that lay in front of him, a massive sea of people that seemed impossibly large. How had he gotten here? He was one of thousands of teenagers in the community, yet he had been selected to die. 

Of course, he had been reminded that this was not a selection for death, but rather a selection for eternal glory and honor. Yeah, sure. It wasn’t as if you were being selected for a competition in which none of the participants made it out alive. 

He scanned the audience, looking for a familiar face. Perhaps his mother and father were watching. But he doubted it, remembering how his mother had fallen into hysteria after he had been chosen. His father would not look him in the eye. 

He had not seen his family since. 

Neither had he seen his friends. They’d simply gave him a pitying look, and moved on with their lives. As if he had never even existed. 

And so, estranged from his family, he’d left his small village for the capital. 

Isn’t it cruel, he’d thought. That this is the first and last time I will ever see something else than my tiny village? 

At the orientation, the competition’s judges had told the Ten that they might be the first to succeed, but they all knew better. Faced with death, they solemnly told their tearful families goodbye, and faced their challenges.

One by one, their lives were taken, until one was left. The boy. He wasn’t even sure how he escaped himself. Perhaps it was luck? Maybe the judges had decided to create easier tasks for him. But a small, hopeful part of him thought that he was more skilled than the rest, that he took a different approach than the others, one that was better. 

Yet he told himself that this wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to hope. It would just make his demise even worse.

The assembly was nearly over. He looked down as the Head Judge finished his speech, the people cheering him on. The sea of faces disappeared into the stadium as he watched, flanked by armed guards. There was no point in trying to escape. It would only prolong his suffering.

The judges said a few words to him, but he didn’t bother listening. What was the point, anyway? Death was only a few moments away. Mere words of encouragement made no difference. 

Now, there was no more time to ponder. Death was coming, and there was no point avoiding it. 

The boy knew what would happen. He was no fool. He had watched the task unfold seven times in his sixteen years. He had been chosen. He had faced countless tasks. He had come within an inch of death. He had watched all the others die before his eyes. 

And now, it all came down to this. 

It was all so simple and obvious. He was to be mauled to death by the monster, just as the many who had struggled before him. Yet a desperate glimmer of hope remained in him. He tried to push the feeling down, tears coming to his eyes for the very first time since the Tournament began. 

He was brought to the side entrance of the arena as the Magistrate spoke to her people and listened quietly.

“Residents of our glorious nation, we are here to witness the final task of the Tournament!”

The crowd’s cheering was overwhelming.

“This last task is the most difficult, and it only sees fit that our last remaining competitor will see it finished!”

Again, tumultuous applause erupted from the audience.

“Our champion will face his foe, a great monster that has served as our obstacle for many centuries. Today, he will take the crown from its head and deliver it to me. Only then will he become the Champion of the Tournament. He will win our eternal respect!” 

The people screamed their agreement.

“Now, we welcome our final competitor!”

The boy’s stomach dropped. 

The doors opened.

And he stepped into the dry dirt of the arena.

In that moment, he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t smell. He couldn’t see. His senses seemed to be numbed, and his mind wandered in a panic. 

I know that death is coming. I can see it. Taste it. Feel it. Smell it. I can even hear it. From the moment my feet touched the dirt of the arena, I knew it was the end. I guess I had it coming. I’m nothing but a useless teenager, ready to be fed to the monster.

Nobody has ever made it past the final task. Why did I ever think I was different? Why did I ever think I might be the only one to escape the grasps of death? I was always normal, at least I was until I was chosen to participate in this sadistic tournament. 

I was so stupid. Stupid for not realizing how cruel this tournament is. Stupid for being proud of being selected. Stupid for only seeing the flaws of our tradition now, when I am about to die. For fifteen years I watched innocent children die in front of my eyes, and not once did I question the Tournament. Not even after I watched my fellow competitors die in front of my own eyes. 

But I know it’s all too late now. Too late to turn back, to do what is right. To run away from this. Now, it’s only me and death. 

It’s a strangely funny thing, death. What comes after? What does it feel like? Is it really the end? Hah. I used to wonder about these things, but I never imagined I would be in the situation I am in now. 

I never thought I would say this, but…

I am ready to die. 

Wait, what?

Disbelief flooded his body as he realized what he had accepted.

But it was true, wasn’t it? He knew there was no turning back. He knew there was no way he could defeat the monster. And so, he’d accepted what was surely coming. 

Suddenly, he could hear again. Smell, see, even taste the dirt that had swirled up in the air. 

He was suddenly aware of the Magistrate speaking to him. 

“Our champion– are you ready to face your enemy?”

He looked up, at the thousands of people who knew nothing.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered.

They didn’t realize how wrong the Tournament was.

They didn’t realize that the Magistrate’s rule was cruel, and wrong.

They couldn’t, and they would never.

The crowd held its breath.

He looked at the Magistrate, and nodded silently.

“Then let the final task commence.”

With the grinding of gears, the doors facing him opened. 

At first, there was nothing. But then, a terrible, otherworldly scream came from the tunnel, and the monster hurtled into the arena.

It was a disturbing sight, to say the least. The monster stood forty feet tall, an unrealistic height for what looked like a normal black raven you might see on the streets. 

But it wasn’t just an oversized raven. The boy could see the differences. It had talons and a beak of steel, as sharp as knives. Its eyes were alight in fiery rage. Its feathers were enough to slice a human’s skin. 

And upon its head was a crown, made of gold and encrusted in jewels. It sparkled in the sunlight, entrancing everyone in the silent arena. 

The boy did not move, but simply stared at the monster. 

The monster stared back and slowly made its way over to the boy, towering over his figure, tiny in comparison. 

The boy stared into the monster’s eyes, and saw more than fury. He saw pain. He could only imagine the cruelty it must have faced. 

And he did something that no other finalist had ever done. He kneeled to the monster. 

The audience were frozen in expressions of shock. 

Surprised, it tracked back a few yards, and stared even harder at the boy. 

The boy bowed its head in return.

The monster returned, as if interested to see what the boy would do next. 

He raised his head, and spoke to the monster.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

The bird tilted its head. The boy wondered if it understood what he was saying. 

“I just need that thing on your head,” he whispered, still unmoving. He didn’t know what was making him stay still, but the monster had not yet tried to hurt him. He hoped his plan was working. He might have been ready to die, but he wasn’t going down without at least one try.

The monster seemed to be considering the situation.

“Neither of us want this. If you let me take your crown, you will never have to kill another creature again. You won’t have to spend your whole life trapped inside the dungeons. 

But if you refuse, I won’t resist. I’m ready to die.”

He gazed up, into the monster’s face, and looked it directly in the eye. It simply stared back. Neither could look away.

Abruptly, after what seemed like hours of breathless anticipation, the bird broke its gaze and stepped away. The audience groaned in disappointment– it had been very long since someone had come this close to becoming a champion– and the boy’s head dropped. Everyone was confident they knew what was coming next– surely, the boy would die.

Nobody expected the monster to do what it did. It lowered its head to the ground, as if beckoning the boy to take the crown. 

At first, he did not move. Had it really been that easy to finish the task? He doubted that this would be the end of the Tournament. But, tentatively, he stood up, and slowly walked towards the monster. And so he lifted the crown from its head. 

The audience roared in applause. The boy glanced up at the top box, where the Magistrate sat. She, too, was clapping, but seemed to be straining a smile. She stood.

“Now, if you succeed in delivering the crown to me,” she paused, struggling. “You will become… the Magistrate and the first known champion of the Tournament.” She gave a sour smile again and sat down.

The boy looked back at the monster– no, the bird. It seemed wrong to call it a monster now. It had understood his words and helped him– in many ways, it was no less a monster than the Magistrate…

Suddenly compelled to speak, the boy looked up at the audience. Little by little, the applause and shouting died down, leaving the stadium silent for him to speak.

“Brothers and sisters, the time is now. For so many centuries we have lived under the cruel rule of tradition. Our own Magistrate, who claims to only want the best for us, allows for these traditions to continue. Open your eyes. Every other year, ten innocent teenagers are killed for tradition. But what good is tradition if it only causes suffering and pain?”

Clearly, nobody had been expecting this. The people began to mumble and whisper amongst themselves. Many shook their heads in disapproval and some rose from their seats.

The Magistrate stood, clearly outraged. “You dare to criticize my rule? You are not fit to be our Magistrate.”

All around him, people shouted their agreement.

The boy took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. “Yes, I dare to criticize your rule. What proof do we have that you have helped our nation thrive or made it better in any way? Yes, you have stuck to tradition. But by doing so, you have permitted the deaths of innocent children.”

Fueled by anger, the Magistrate ran to the banister of her balcony box and began to shout down at the boy. 

“Nobody can dare say that I have done anything wrong for as long as I have ruled. I have held up the rules of our ancestors. I have respected tradition– so much that I have let children die for it. I have fed the wants of our people. 

“I have only done what they need. 

“So here, in front of my very eyes, stands a boy who dares to take my place. He dares to steal my power. Who is he, to take this away from me? I can see the thirst in his eyes. I can see that he is another one– a revolutionary– who will dare to change our traditions. Dare to defy the rules of our ancestors. He will destroy our people. He will destroy our nation. 

“I have respected tradition.

“But he values what his own ideals say are better above tradition.

“Maybe I killed a man destined for glory.

“But I did it for a greater cause –”

She stopped unexpectedly, as if suddenly realizing what she had said. A dark red flush began to rise up from her neck.

The people were frozen in their seats, as if unsure whether or not to believe what they had just heard. The boy was the first to act.

“Did I hear you right, Magistrate? You killed the rightful Magistrate?”

The Magistrate spluttered and tried to speak. “I, I–”

“Go on. I’m sure we would all be happy to hear what you want to say.” At this point, the boy had lost any sense of the respectful tone he had carefully used to speak to her.

The Magistrate’s mouth hung open like a gaping fish for a moment, but then, she closed it, swallowed, and began to speak, first in a wobbly tone.

“I — I am not the rightful Magistrate. But you have to understand.

“We all thirst for power. It is something we all want, whether you let it be known to everyone, or it resides in you subconsciously. Who can blame me for my own thirst for power?

“Traditionally, a Magistrate is a hereditary role. But I am not a descendant of the man who came before me. Yes, he did have a descendant. But he was cruel, ignorant, disobedient to tradition. 

“So was I wrong to take him out? Was I wrong, to kill him? Was I wrong, to ensure that our nation would be safe, in better hands than a man insufficient to rule his people? Was I wrong, to kill a man who would dare to change our traditions? Was I wrong, to long for something that everyone thirsts for?

“Yes, I killed him. I pretended that I was the daughter of the Magistrate. I pretended that my ‘brother’ had died of secret illness. I hid my secret from everybody, even the people I claim to be so loyal to. But does it really matter now? The rightful Magistrate’s body lays decaying in his grave.

“If you were in my own place, would you not do the same?”

The boy countered her almost immediately. “No, I would not do the same. Why? Because I am not a murderer responsible for the deaths of children and the rightful Magistrate!”

The whole time this shouting match had been taking place, the people had been muttering among each other, unsure of whether to take the side of the Magistrate or the boy. But now, one girl spoke.

“I refuse,” she said. “To be ruled by a murderer,” she added boldly.

The boy jerked his head in her direction and recognized her as one of his friends– well, one of the friends who had abandoned him. But still, he was grateful to her for standing up to the Magistrate.
Sparked by her words, others began to stand up to speak.

“I agree!”

“The boy is more fit to be our Magistrate!”

“She’s a murderer!”

“She should be put to death!”

The Magistrate was paling quickly. “I only did it for our good– we were a better people because of my actions–”

“Lies!” The boy was angry now. “You claim that you have made us a better people, yet you have changed nothing. You have blindly forced us all to follow the sadistic traditions of our society. You haven’t changed a thing. And you are trying to cover up the fact that you murdered a man with the fact that you have apparently made us a ‘better people?’ What a pathetic excuse.”

Nearly all the people had risen from their seats now, and were chanting loudly, obviously furious with the Magistrate. “Put her to death!” they screamed together. 

The boy strode up to where the Magistrate was hanging over the balcony. She looked as if she was shivering slightly in fear.

“You can admit your defeat now, Magistrate, and we will see fit that you are punished with justice. But if you still refuse to admit that you are responsible for the deaths of countless innocent people, your own people– who are no longer so loyal to you– can decide your punishment,” he spoke confidently. 

Everyone was unified against the Magistrate now, chanting and jeering. Even her guards had abandoned their duty. All seemed lost for her now.

Something strange seemed to flash behind the Magistrate’s eyes. Her mouth twitched. Her shoulders slumped. All emotion seemed to have left her body. “You will never take me,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The boy knew what was coming. “Don’t do it,” he urged her. “It’s not worth it.”

The Magistrate stared into the boy’s eyes and wildly scanned the crowds of the people who had abandoned her. 

What happened next seemed to be in slow motion. The Magistrate stepped over the railing and fell. She hit the ground, her body sprawled awkwardly in the dust. She no longer looked like a hero or a villain. She was no more than an old woman who had forgotten what it meant to truly live. 

Just before her eyes glazed over, wispy words seemed to float from her mouth, into the air, so quiet that only the boy could hear.

“Forgive me.”

And she breathed a last breath. 

All was silent in the stunned stadium. Nobody dared to speak, to cheer, to mourn. The jeering crowds were silent, unable to jeer. The Magistrate had taken her own life just to escape the shame of her actions. It was all over, but not in the way that anybody had wished.

The boy bent down sadly and answered her, though he knew she could hear no longer.

“I forgive you.”

Violet the Explorer

Once, a long, long time ago, there was a small meadow on a large continent which was protected by a tall mountain range. This meadow had just a little short grass, as the rest had been eaten by cows. In this meadow, there was a small cow named Violet. All the cows were very sad because there was not enough grass in their meadow, and no way past the mountain range. However, just across a fast river, there was a large, green meadow. In this meadow, there was large, green grass and no more cows. 

Then, almost like magic, she found a small, rickety bridge. Violet carefully crossed first, followed by the other cows, and made it to the meadow. Unfortunately, in a month, the cows had eaten all of the grass there and were always in the sun without the protection of the mountains. Then, they saw that the grass on their old side was much greener. Thinking about the many years in the small meadow, Violet attempted to cross the bridge again, but it broke, dropping them down into the river. She floated down the river, unable to return.

Meanwhile, a way down the river, Violet was trying to swim back to the other cows, but the current pulled her along and all their energy had to be put into floating. Using all of the remaining energy she had, Violet finally got up to the riverbank and lay there, coughing. Soon afterwards, a small black sheep ran up, poking the strange cow with their hoof. She groaned in pain. Not knowing what to do, the sheep dragged her back to their house.

When Violet woke up, the sheep came over and said, “Are you all right? I found you by the river. I’m Coal.”

“Violet,” was all she could muster to say. 

After about a week, Violet had regained most of her energy, and was able to walk and speak. She really wished she could go back to her meadow, but there was no way except the river and the mountains. She knew she would have to take one. 

She decided after going through the strong river current that she would try to climb the mountains. She brought some grass for the road and a blanket for warmth. Leaving the cozy house of the sheep, Violet knew she would have a hard journey ahead, but she felt ready. She set off to the base of the mountain. 

After about an hour of hiking, she arrived at the base of the mountain. Looking up, she could see it looming, breaking the clouds above. She had no idea what to think, or how she would ever reach the top. She put two hooves on the mountain and tried to pull herself up, but fell. Then she saw a path which cut through the mountain. She decided to walk that way instead.

After a while, when she had gotten a little in, a wolf jumped in front of her. She turned, but there were more behind her, and next to her… She was surrounded! One of the wolves approached, growling. 

“I am the head of this pack… You have trespassed on our land. Now you pay the price…” He growled. 

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t know this was yours, I just had to pass the mountains…” She shivered under the eyes of the pack. 

“Well, do you have anything that could… persuade us?” His eyes glinted.

“There’s a river down the road, you all seem thirsty…”  

“The cows pushed us away from that.” 

“I do have this blanket…” She pushed the blanket toward him.

The wolves took the blanket and nimbly jumped back up to the ledges on the mountain. Violet, taking her chance, ran toward the end of the mountains. When she emerged from the end of the pathway, she was back in her meadow! And there she stayed, happily, with plenty of grass. Eventually, she and the other cows built a bridge, a sturdy one, which they could cross back and forth. 

The end ... For now.


Anxious on the Subway

I am underground. It looks like there are rats hanging from the ceiling. It smells like pee. I feel like someone’s carving a pit in my stomach because my mom is sick. There’s a person staring at me. And when I get off, he is following me. He is white. He looks like he’s up to no good. He looks like he wants to injure someone. He has his hand in his coat pocket. When I get off, he starts to follow me. I run to my mom’s hospital. And I tell the security guards that there is someone following me. The security guard is a big white guy, and he sounds like he’s French or something. 

He says, “We will not let this man in.” Then I go to the desk, so I can check in to see my mom. I see my mom, and she looks the same as she did before, when she wasn’t sick. Beautiful.


The Forest

The large pack weighed heavily on the traveler. He leaned on his walking stick with every step. He considered, for a moment, slinging it over the saddle of his horse. This thought was instantly abandoned as the horse was moving even slower. The traveler glanced up at the sky, the sun was low, but not quite low enough to stop. He ignored this. 

“Might as well rest here, eh Charlie?” said the traveler, addressing his horse. The horse answered by lying down on the soft grass. “Guess that’s settled,” muttered the traveler. He slung his own pack off his shoulder and let it drop to the ground. He made his way over to the horse and slowly dragged the items out of its saddle. Charlie took a few bites of grass and the traveler rummaged through the large sack. He withdrew a rather unappetizing looking piece of bread and a waterskin. He reluctantly took a little of each and then laid down in the soft grasses, looking up at the darkening sky. “Ol’ Dawson is getting too old for this,” he said, Charlie continued to munch on the nearby plants.

The sun rose and Dawson, occasionally irritable in the mornings, struggled to his feet. Groaning, he pulled the pack back up onto his shoulders and reloaded the saddle.

“Come on, Charlie,” he said with a heavy sigh, and began to walk. The horse obediently fell in line behind him. “You know, we’ll be reaching the Forest in a few days.” The remark was nonchalant but mentioning such a place made Dawson instinctively shudder and look over his shoulder. There was nothing there of course, only the plodding horse. The horse felt it too. It took several minutes of the bright sunshine to remove the grim shadow of those words.

The day moved its way along; Dawson humming a little now and then. However, the calm mood turned sour when Dawson saw the sun sinking behind a dark mass of trees. As soon as Dawson stopped, Charlie was laying on the ground. Dawson rolled his eyes and sifted through his many bags until he found his map. On it was clearly marked the road on which he stood, and the Forest. He did a few mental calculations.

“Sorry, Charlie. We won’t make it in time if don’t head into the… there tonight,” said Dawson.

The look on the horse’s face was something akin to “make me.”

“Don’t be like that, Charlie,” said Dawson, shaking his head, although he was just as nervous. Dawson pulled an apple out of his pocket and held it in front of Charlie’s face. The horse raised an eyebrow. Dawson began to walk slowly away and Charlie, who was rather sick of grass, begrudgingly got up and followed. Dawson held out his hand and Charlie eagerly crunched the apple. Dawson laughed and led the way toward his greatest fear.

The creeping darkness and the ominous trees forced Dawson to relive the countless tales and fabled horrors of the Forest. He couldn’t help but wonder if he too, would one day become a cautionary tale for avoiding these grim woods.

The sun quickly vanished and, as the sky grew darker, Dawson had to nearly drag Charlie toward the Forest. Finally, once a thin canopy of leaves formed above their heads, Charlie seemed to get more comfortable. The trees were spread out, with one every ten feet or so, but their trunks scowled down at the travelers. The meandering breeze, which outside had seemed so calming, became a gruesome hiss of foreboding. Dawson slowed his pace until he was walking beside the horse. He reached into one of the saddlebags and fished blindly around, his eyes glued to the surrounding trees.

Finally, his fingers found the item they sought and his fist tightened around it. He pulled out a fat shortsword. Its steel blade seemed the only thing not a dull shade of gray or a terrifying hue of black and green. Its hilt was of a sturdy wood and the handle was wrapped in a worn, gray leather. Feeling this weapon in his hand, Dawson felt a good bit more confident.

A few notes of song whistled out of Dawson’s lips and seemed to shatter everything around them with their noise.

Charlie’s large eyes bore into Dawson, a frightened look saying something between “Ssssh!!!” and “are you trying to get us killed?” Dawson took the message and fell silent. The threatening trees on every side lurked like massive beasts, ready to pounce on the man who broke their tranquil rest. Dawson kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Against the terrifying and ominous power that was the Forest, the sword felt like glorified kitchen knife in his hands.

Dawson nearly jumped out of his skin when Charlie accelerated and sped past him, tearing the lead from Dawson’s hand. Dawson drew his weapon and whirled around to face a possible enemy. He saw nothing on the dark path behind him but his own footprints. When he turned back, he saw Charlie, standing in a small circle of moonlight. The three trees grouped around the spot seemed different. Their bark was a gentle brown and their leaves a cheery green. The moonlight seemed almost golden. Dawson’s nature drew him to suspicion immediately.

“Psst! Charlie, get out’a the light” said Dawson in a sharp whisper. The horse glanced at him but, instead of obeying, sat down. Dawson shook his head and crept closer to where the horse lay. Dawson drew another apple from one of the many sacks he had slung over his shoulders. Charlie looked at him sniffed the air a few times, but didn’t budge.

“Charlie, get over here,” Dawson muttered, a little louder. He turned to face the vicious trees behind him, aiming his sword as if to fight them off. He felt drawn to the spot and unconsciously began to walk backward. Charlie nodded his approval, but Dawson didn’t even notice; his eyes scanned the trees. Dawson felt something solid on his back. He turned around. Startled, he found himself in the center of the moonlit patch of forest. It felt like a different land. A sense of warmth and safety filled him; the sword fell from his hand and hit the crisp green grass.

“Suppose we can rest here for the night…” said Dawson, putting his back to one of the soft, welcoming trees and sinking to the ground. Charlie was already dozing off. Dawson felt sleep creeping up and, with a final burst of energy, rolled the apple Charlie’s direction. His eyes shut and he was deep in the restful, calm darkness within a second.

Dawson sat bolt upright. His hands reached out, desperately searching the ground for his weapon. He grabbed it and put his back against the tree. As the fog cleared from his mind and eyes, he remembered the events of the past night. A few pieces of apple core sat on the ground near Charlie. Dawson looked up through the gap in the trees above and saw the blue sky. He sighed relief and pulled his pack back on. Charlie seemed reluctant to leave the safety of the sunlight but obliged Dawson’s pleadings. They stretched their legs as they walked, expelling every trace of sleepiness.

“Shouldn’t have doubted you, Charlie,” said Dawson. He felt well rested and was setting a rather quick pace for the two of them. 

Charlie’s eyes seemed to say, “Have I ever led you astray?” 

Dawson shook his. “That you haven’t,” he said.

After about an hour of marching through the trees, which seemed barely more receptive to company than in the dead of night, Dawson stopped. A short distance ahead, the road was cut in half by a stream. Something was off about the water. Not its pitch black color that seemed typical of the forest, but its silence. The water was rushing down at a great speed but made no sound at all.

Arching over the icy waters was a bridge. Like the water, it appeared normal at first glance. Its floor was made of wood planks and it had a handrail. However, the wood had rotted to its core. Dawson motioned for Charlie to stay put. Charlie, not being especially fond of water in general, was happy to comply. Dawson thrust the pack off his back and moved carefully toward the bridge. He tapped a few planks with his walking stick, testing their strength. They seemed sturdy enough. As Dawson inspected the bridge closer, he noticed something about the wood.

“They must’ve cut down a few of these trees to make this bridge” he commented under his breath. Looking around, Dawson noticed a few tree stumps near the bank of the stream. As if in revenge, he also saw roots from nearby trees uprooting and undermining the bridge on both sides. The thick, study roots must have been all that was keeping the bridge together. Bright green vines twisted in and out of the rotted holes in the bridge. Dawson, semi-confident that the bridge could hold him, retrieved his pack.

He walked forward to the edge of the wood beams. Cautiously, Dawson placed his foot on the wood. It groaned in protest but held firm. As he walked, Dawson couldn’t help looking down into the black water. He thought he saw something move between the currents. A streamlined shape, its outline somehow even darker that the waters surrounding it. Dawson shuddered, considering what evil sort of creature would enjoy these waters. These thoughts escorted Dawson the rest of the way across. He gratefully put his feet down on solid ground, took the pack off and leaned it against the nearest tree. Dawson, careful to avoid extra weight, dropped his sword down next to the pack. Slowly, he made his way back across the bridge.

Charlie was waiting patiently on the other side of the stream. He had watched Dawson cross the bridge and was beginning to realize that he would have to make the crossing as well. Once Dawson returned, he pulled several bags off Charlie and carried them back across, stacking them with his first load.

“It’ll be easier for you to cross without all these bags,” said Dawson, removing the last load. “Follow me,” he added. Charlie got up and picked his way up onto the bridge. Dawson was checking the contents of this pack. Halfway across the bridge, Dawson heard something. He whirled around at the sound of wood cracking behind him.

As Dawson turned, he saw splinters of wood explode from the bridge and boards go collapsing into the black waters. The entire bridge began to crumble. Charlie had completely vanished. Dawson was paralyzed. He looked behind him at the pile of goods and packages that held in them the keys to his future and down toward the water. The forest decided for him. The board on which he stood snapped and Dawson went tumbling into the ice cold water.

He struggled to take a breath before his head was engulfed into the darkness. A few seconds later Dawson returned, sputtering, to the surface. As his head came up, not a ripple disturbed the horrifying tranquility of the water. Dawson spit as he broke the surface. The water had filled his mouth as he crashed into the depths. It tasted rotten and sickening.

Dawson looked around but his eyes couldn’t penetrate the inky darkness that was the river. With sudden terror, he realized that the remains of the bridge were no longer in sight. He found himself being whisked along by the currents in a nearly imperceptible way. The water remained quiet and even.

Dawson tried to think. He had a small pack on his shoulders; with luck it had a little food and water. He attempted to catch onto a branch and lift himself free of the river. His fist wrapped around the wood. For a second, he was still as the water sped around him. Dawson heard a creaking sound. As the branch snapped from the tree, Dawson’s body was hurled head-first into the water. Dawson struggled against the rushing water, desperately searching for a precious breath of air; he felt something touch his leg.

It was even colder than the water. The icy touch forced its way through Dawson’s heavy boot. Dawson instinctively jerked his leg in the opposite direction. He reached down to where his sword was sheathed. Fear clutched Dawson’s heart as he remembered that the sword, along with the rest of the supplies, were on the other side of the bridge.

“It’s probably nothing,” muttered Dawson, stabilizing himself. Then he felt the same cold clutch his ankle and it yanked him upstream. Dawson snatched a heavy root hanging over the river and held on with all his might. The cold seemed enraged by this struggle and began to pull harder. Dawson, in a burst of luck, felt his boot begin to loosen. He started to crawl up the root, attempting to loosen the boot. It was almost impossible to resist the creature, let alone move.

Dawson shivered as the boot slipped off his foot and the water hit his skin. He forced himself up the root and struggled up onto a patch of land. Dawson sighed and peered down at the water. He recognized the black shape he had seen from the bridge swimming with lightning speed up the river. Dawson decided that his best chance was to follow the river. It was his only hope of navigating out of the forest and, hopefully, to Charlie. He cast a last look back up the river to where the heap of goods and supplies sat on the other side of the bridge. Dawson cleared his head and steeled himself for the journey ahead.

He began to pick his way as well as he could through the dense and angry trees. Dawson unslung the pack and looked inside. There were a few soggy pieces of bread and an intact waterskin for supplies. He sighed and continued to move forward. The tree roots shot up from the ground; even the forest grasses were knotted and tangled. Every low-hanging vine was an invitation to trip and send Dawson spiralling back into the icy waters of the river.

Dawson climbed along the trees. He was moving blindly through the forest, his only hope being that the river led to the outside world. After what seemed like days of hard hiking through treacherous and uneven ground, churned up by the powerful roots, Dawson found himself in front of a massive, rocky hill. He saw it vanish among the forest canopy.

“Might as well have a look ‘round,” mumbled Dawson as he began to climb. As his feet struggled against the steep and gravelly side of the hill, Dawson remembered his old walking stick. It had vanished somewhere at the bottom of the stream along with his sword but it would have made a helpful addition to the climb. The jagged group of stones cut at Dawson’s bare foot, making every step that much more difficult. The rock became steeper with every step Dawson took. Not long into the climb and Dawson felt as though he was making his way up a solid wall of rock. Dawson nearly lost his balance when he felt something touch the back of his neck. It felt like sandpaper against his skin. Dawson turned as far as he could to look behind and found himself among the tree branches. Dark green leaves repelled any sunlight that might have been shining above. Dawson noticed another one of those bright patches of golden light a little distance from the river. He climbed further, forcing the heavy branches and sharp leaves out of his way and moved higher and higher. The higher he climbed, the less rough the leaves became. Near the top, they even felt soft. Finally, as his hand pushed a large leaf out of the way, a warm feeling hit his skin. A flood of sunlight and morning air hit Dawson’s senses. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the glow of the sun and air that didn’t smell of damp leaves. Dawson looked behind him and saw the massive, twisted form of the forest stretch out behind him as far as the eye could see. In front, there were still a few feet of rock to ascend. Dawson reached his hand up and felt a sturdy stone to grab onto. Using this, he pulled himself up to the rough plateau.

With a gasp of joy, Dawson saw the forest seem to melt away before him. The tightly packed trees separated and turned into a wide, grassy plain. In time, the plain met with the blue sky and calming light of day. A few other trees remained, spread far across the plain. Far in the distance, a few pillars of smoke heralded a settlement. Dawson dropped to his knees. He had no idea if there was any sort of civilization in this direction. He breathed a sigh of relief. As Dawson looked, he noticed the black waters of the fearsome forest stream soften into a shimmering river, snaking across the countryside. Dawson yearned to reach this freedom and hurried down the other side of the mountain.

The short distance he had to walk still inside the confines of the ferocious trees had no effect on Dawson’s new and joyful attitude. He walked at a quick pace, ignoring the scowling faces of the towering wooden figures. As he made his way through the forest, the trees began to thin. It happened slowly at first, but one by one the trees began to get further apart. Their powerful roots, causing upheavals in the ground, became less frequent. Their thick canopy was no longer strong enough to hold back the sunlight.

Then, at long last, the trees fell away and Dawson was standing in the plain. It felt strange, not being surrounded at all times by the frowning trees. Dawson found himself starving, and not in the mood for the soggy bread that was left in his pack. He looked around and spotted a few orbs of red lying beneath one of the remaining trees that dotted the landscape.

Dawson broke into a run as he sped toward the tree. As he got closer, his jaw dropped. His swift run began to slow until Dawson was just standing still. Sitting lazily under the tree surrounded by the remains of a few apples, was a horse. Dawson looked at the horse’s eyes, which seemed to say, “You could have just stayed in the river, it would have been faster.” 

“Good to see you too, Charlie,” said Dawson.


Twig

Chapter One

Crunch. Twig winced at the sound of his footsteps. He was used to being silent, and the distinct crackle of the leaves beneath his foot was a new sound. This was because he was walking. Twig usually ran, and when Twig ran, he flew. This came in handy for hunting, a skill required for living in the forest. Although Twig did not especially enjoy killing his brothers for food, it was necessary to survive.

At the sound of a rustle, Twig crouched, ears perked up and eyes searching. He hid behind a bush, watching carefully. There it was again. Twig craned his neck and saw the rabbit. He slowly stood, placing one lanky leg in front of the other. Suddenly, he pounced, and the rabbit lay lifelessly on the ground. 

Twig had a way of doing things, a way of getting things done. He smiled to himself, comforted by the thought, and slung the dead rabbit over his shoulder. He then took two rocks, violently struck them together, and happily watched the sparks appear. Eventually, a fire billowed up from a pile of branches and dead leaves, and Twig threw the rabbit in, watching the flames lick its fur and roast it.

Stomp. Twig turned his head. He knew that sound. It was the sound of violence, the sound of gunshots, the sound of fear and misunderstanding. It was the sound of humans. He bolted, not bothering to put out the fire and take the rabbit. As Twig sprinted, he heard the gruff voices of hunters echoing in the distance.

“A fire!” one shouted. “Someone was here.”

“Nevermind, just continue. We aren’t detectives. We’re hunters. Now let’s get a move on.”

Twig stopped. Hunter, he thought. He didn’t have the word for what he felt, but the image of the fire he had roasted the rabbit in flared up in his mind. He stowed “hunter” away with “human” in the back of his brain. Twig had been collecting words over the years, and his vocabulary was growing. He had gathered words like “gun,” “kill,” “stag,” “dinner,” “idiot,” and “twig,” the name he had picked for himself without knowledge of its meaning. Twig didn’t know what idiot meant either, but he liked the sound of it.

Twig knew he was somewhat human, but he didn’t like to think of himself that way. Afterall, humans did terrible things like abandon their children in the woods with nothing but a small parcel of food and a threadbare blanket and kill animals for entertainment. He did not know much, but he did know that he would never ever go back to his life with his parents, where he would surely live in a dismal grey box with a little clear square as his only way to see the outside world. No, Twig was perfectly fine here in the forest, with rabbits and deer and owls for company. He wanted to stay, and if he could outrun a bear, he could certainly outrun a human.

In the distance, the sun was setting and casting a fiery glow. Twig used the sun and sky as a clock. He knew that even if he had a real one, he wouldn’t be able to understand the confusing numbers he often heard hunters shouting back and forth to their companions. 

Twig lay out a heap of dead leaves on the forest floor and settled into the pile under the protection of a large tree. His dinner was gone, and most of the forest creatures were nestled into their hideaways by now, so Twig reluctantly accepted his grumbling stomach and fell asleep under the pale light of the stars.


Chapter Two

Twig was awake at the crack of dawn the next morning to find breakfast. Although he did not have a mirror, he knew he was getting thinner, because his ribs were visible through his stomach. He scampered up the tree he had slept under and crouched at the top, turning in a circle slowly and scanning the scene below. 

Empty again, but wait… there it was! A streak of white against the greens and browns of the forest floor. It was running fast, and in a flash, Twig was out of the tree and chasing the rabbit. Leaping over logs, splashing through ponds, swinging on low branches, the young boy was only human in appearance. But the rabbit was like lightning, for he had animal blood. The wild chase abruptly ended when Twig realized that he would not catch the rabbit, and he sat back in defeat. Suddenly, he realized why everything was so difficult. He was a boy, not an animal, a boy with no place to go. He felt his eyes grow wet, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Why, he thought miserably, doesn’t anybody want me? My parents don’t want me, the forest doesn’t want me. My whole life I’ve wanted to belong, but I don’t seem to anywhere. I’m a fake– a boy pretending to be an animal to fit in. That’s what I am, a fake! A lonely fake. Of course, Twig thought all of this with his emotions, instead of the correct words.

Suddenly, he stood, fists clenched and palms sweaty. Twig began to walk swiftly, and his brusque pace gradually turned into a run. Hot tears streamed down his face, and the wind whipped his long, ungroomed hair around, but Twig didn’t care. He ran and ran until his feet were sore and his back ached, but still he didn’t stop. Twig ran until the sun had melted into the horizon, and stars began to peek through the black blanket of sky. As a cloud drifted across the sliver of moon, Twig finally stopped. It was too dark to see anything, so he lay beneath the endless sky and cried himself to sleep.

Chapter Three

When Twig woke the next morning, he heard voices chattering and laughing. Something growled like a starved bear, and someone else yelled out a word angrily that cracked like a falling branch. Ladies shrieked, dogs barked, and wheels crunched on a gravel road. Twig curiously peeked around a tree, and almost toppled over in surprise.

Before him, was a long road, with buildings and carriages and people. So many humans! Twig had never seen so many in one place before. He longed to touch the colorful hats that delicately perched on the ladies’ heads, and the gleaming gold watches clasped around the men’s wrists. The road was half carriages, half automobiles, and Twig jumped back in surprise at the loud angry sound they made. Was there a hungry bear hidden inside? 

This place is strange, thought Twig, but he stopped all questioning when a delicious scent wafted through the air. He turned towards a stand full of rainbow scoops on brown triangles.

“Ice cream, ice cream,” a man was calling out. “Cold fresh ice cream!”

Twig didn’t know what ice or cream was, but the colors were so vivid and appealing that he was up and running in seconds flat. Twig sprinted towards the stand and right into the middle of the street. A horse whinnied and a shining black automobile screeched to a halt. Another horse with a coat of caramel began to act up, and soon he was galloping down the street and neighing noisily.

“Hey, come back here you lousy beast!” screamed a man, shaking his fist furiously. He turned to Twig. “You vile, disgusting little child. How dare you scare my horse! You just wait till your mother finds out about this!”

Twig stared at the man blankly. Then, he lifted a finger to point at the man and said weakly, “idiot.”

There was a moment of tense silence as the man’s sweaty face grew a deep shade of purple. “What did you just call me?” he roared.

“Idiot,” he repeated, this time with more confidence. Twig did not know why the man was so angry, but he decided it was not worth losing time and ice cream over, so he walked away, leaving the man sputtering behind him.

Chapter Four

The refined ladies and gentleman looked down in horror at the small, dirty, half naked boy walking confidently through the streets. On the outside, Twig remained calm, but on the inside, he was petrified. The truth was, Twig would’ve given anything to return to his home in the forest, but he knew he didn’t belong there. Although it was painful to think about, Twig wondered if he could fit in here, in the big city full of ice cream and horses and screaming men. It would have seemed completely out of the question just two days ago, but Twig was changing, and so were the possibilities.

“Excuse me little boy, are you lost?” asked a lady. She was short and round, with a feathered hat and a skirt so enormous Twig wondered what she was hiding in it. “Are you lost?” she repeated.

“Lost,” said Twig flatly. “I am lost.”

The lady looked oddly at Twig. “Well uh… my name is Ms. Thompson. What is your name, little boy?”

“Twig.”

“And what on earth are you doing here without a guardian and dressed in nothing but an animal skin loincloth?

Twig looked down at the cloth tied around his waist. He hesitated, but remembered that Ms. Thompson was the only person who had shown him kindness. So he told her everything, from his abandonment to his arriving in the city. Surprisingly, there was not much to tell, but nonetheless, Ms. Thompson stood there gaping and wide-eyed.

Finally she said, “Well… Twig, why don’t you come with me to my house and we can get you all cleaned up. And for goodness sakes, when did you last take a bath?”

Twig just shook his head.

Ms. Thompson copied the gesture, this time in exasperation. And mumbling to herself about how unhygienic children were, she rushed ahead, Twig following close behind.

When they arrived at Ms. Thompson’s house, Twig gasped. It was very different from his pile of leaves at home. The house was bright white and guarded by sturdy pillars. A staircase lead to the ornately carved entrance, and Twig found himself eagerly running up the marble steps. Inside, the mansion was even more breathtaking. The carpet was plush, the curtains were scarlet, vases of exquisite flowers were placed on every surface, and a glittering chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. It sparkled and glistened, and Twig couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Stars,” he said softly, remembering how brightly the stars had shone in the forest.

Ms. Thompson smiled. “Now then, let’s get you into the bathtub. You’re stinking up the place.”

Twig didn’t like the sound of bathtub, so he decided to show Ms. Thompson he was perfectly capable of cleaning himself. He lifted his arm to his mouth and began licking the grime and dirt away.

Ms. Thompson shrieked. “Stop doing that at once! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were an animal!”

I thought I was one too, thought Twig as he let his arm drop to his side. Although he was surprised by Ms. Thompson’s sudden outburst, her tone softened when she said, “My daughter will see to it that you are clean and well fed.”

Suddenly, she yelled, “My darling little girl!” in a tone so squeaky and high-pitched Twig fought the urge to cover his ears. 

When he looked up, a lovely woman was gliding down the tall, winding staircase. Her skin was so translucent, it looked as if it was made of starlight, and Twig wanted to leap into her arms and be buried in the folds of her satin skirts. She smiled warmly at him and spoke in a gentle voice, lightly laced with an English accent. 

After Ms. Thompson told her Twig’s story, a look of worry came over her face. “And you haven’t offered him anything to eat, Mother? It’s as if you’ve never had guests before! You poor thing, you must be starved. Here, try this.” The beautiful woman handed Twig a little pink circle with a strawberry in the middle. Twig bit into it, and was flooded with its sweetness. He immediately scarfed down the rest.

The woman smiled again and held out her dainty hand. “Come along now, you must be washed and groomed.”

Twig obligingly followed her up the staircase and to a white tiled room. In the middle of the room, was a polished white tub, with little silver bars and various bottles of pastel, good smelling stuff.

“You may call me Ms. Lily. What is your name?” asked the woman.

Twig looked down at his feet, ashamed of his dirty face and odd name. “Twig,” he said softly. 

To his surprise, Ms. Lily giggled gleefully. “What a wonderful name!” she said. “And what a wonderful little boy you are!” Twig felt his cheeks grow hot and he kept his eyes glued to the ground. This perfect woman had called him wonderful.

Ms. Lily turned one of the bars, and at once a waterfall gushed out. Twig jumped back, then cautiously peeked over the side of the tub, expecting to see little red fish darting around in the clear water. But instead, all he saw was the bottom of the tub. What was this magical place, where fresh water appeared every time you turned a handle?

Ms. Lily interrupted his thoughts by ordering him to undress and step into the bathtub. Twig did this too with much caution, but when the warm water pooled around him, and the lavender scented shampoo bubbled and frothed, Twig closed his eyes and melted into the water. He was instructed to wash himself with the soap, (the little white square) and scrub his hair with shampoo and conditioner, (the bottles of pale yellow and green). Twig took the soap and breathed in its scent. It smelled like the wild berries he had eaten in the forest. He longed to taste their tangy sweetness again, so he took a big bite of the soap. He immediately spit it out, disgusted. It did not taste like berries. Why was everything so confusing here?

When Twig finished bathing and was dried, Ms. Lily ducked into something called a closet, and Twig began to worry when she didn’t reappear. Finally, she came out, holding a pair of navy pants and a matching blazer. 

“We’ll need to buy you a bow tie for this,” she said matter of factly, and Twig nodded along although he had no idea what a bow tie was. He took the clothing, and following Ms. Lily’s directions, tugged on the pants, fumbled with the buttons on the shirt, and slipped on the blazer. The clothes felt itchy and stiff against his skin, but even worse were the black shoes. They were tight and squeezed his toes all together. How would he run in these? 

But he was rewarded for all of his discomfort when he stepped out and saw Ms. Lily. Tears came into her eyes as she said, “Oh my, you look just like him. Both so handsome…”

Twig tilted his head in confusion.

“Oh, he was my brother. He died of pneumonia three years ago. It’s nothing really. You mustn’t concern yourself with it.” But despite her comforting words, Ms. Lily continued her weeping. 

Twig walked to her, and slowly put his arms around her. For a moment, there was a break in her tears as she rested her hand on his cheek. Twig closed his eyes and felt her cool skin. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he remembered all he had lost. But then he remembered all he had gained, and he wrapped himself tighter around Ms. Lily. She stroked his cheek lovingly. 

“My beautiful boy,” she said softly. “My beautiful, beautiful boy…”

Chapter Five

Finally. Twig was needed. He was loved. He belonged. He really, truly, belonged. It had been almost a year since he had first arrived in the city, and already Twig was adapting to its strange ways. True, he started out eating meals by putting his face into the plate and eating the food like an animal. But eventually, he learned to use silverware. He learned to do all kinds of wonderful things, like cook and dance and sing and play baseball. He even started attending school and talking in full sentences. But perhaps the most wonderful thing of all, was when he learned to read and write.

Twig loved books. He gobbled them up for hours at a time, and he learned from them too. In time, he became intelligent and witty and quick-minded, and when he learned the alphabet, he wrote. He wrote stories of far off lands with witches and dragons and imprisoned princesses and knights in shining armor.

He wrote stories of little boys who were abandoned and lonely, but they were always found and welcomed with open arms in the end. Twig wrote and wrote, and people read his stories. They read them, and they sent in letters, and Twig kept writing, and he knew that one day, he would share his stories with the whole world.

Now, he lived with Ms. Lily and Ms. Thompson in their grand mansion, and he never asked for a single thing. That was, until one day, when he awoke with the feeling that something was missing. Twig went downstairs, and found Ms. Lily and Ms. Thompson chatting. Ms. Lily held a cup of steaming tea, and slowly sipped it as Ms. Thompson talked.

“Twig!” she said with a start. “You’re up early.”

He nodded. “I… I want to go back to the forest.”

Ms. Lily felt her eyes well up with tears, dreading the worst. “What?”

Twig realized his mistake. “Just for a visit,” he added hastily.

Ms. Lily wiped her tears away. “Of course. We leave this afternoon.”

And they did. Twig clutched a trunk and watched the bustling people and buildings fly by as they rode to the edge of the city. 

When they arrived, Twig slowly stepped out of the carriage. He watched a rabbit scamper by, and remembered the day, now so long ago that he had realized he was human, not animal. He took in the sturdy tree trunks dappled by the late afternoon sun, and how the scent of maple seemed to linger everywhere. He breathed in the fresh, pure scent of pine needles, and looked up at the clear blue sky peeking through the tops of the trees.

“Hello again,” said Twig.

Pulling Me Back Under

Everything was quiet.

Everything was still. The hands of the clock shifted letting out a sharp ringing sound alerting everything that it was now three am. The sound echoed throughout the empty house, shaking its walls. Everything stopped, everything stayed still as if it were afraid to breathe. As if it were afraid to scream. Nothing moved as I felt that nothing would, yet I couldn’t help feeling like something would happen. Like something was there watching me, waiting for me to move, breath, or scream. I felt the chills crawl up my spine and into my shoulders. I felt caged in my body, imprisoned, not able to break free. I was standing there still alone in the empty house waiting. Waiting for something to happen, waiting to see it breathe. Still I felt there was something behind me, something about to jump and release me from this trance where I’m stuck, waiting. The clock chimed again. However, when I turned to look it was three am again. The sound chimed another time again. I felt something reach into the depths of my soul, something I had never felt before. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t open my lips. They felt like stone pressed closed not able to move. The clock chimed again. Everything went black. It was as if it were a blink that my eyes had never opened from.

I woke up in my bed dazed and confused. I could not recall whether my dream was a fragment of my imagination or if it was a reality. I could smell the savory smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. I felt chills all over my body. I began to sit up as I rubbed my head, I felt a bump on the back of it. I stood up and walked to the kitchen. I stopped. I was stunned. There she was, cooking bacon. Her soft black hair draping down to her lower back. Her smooth pale skin. She looked so peaceful. She was so quiet. I tried to say something, anything, but my lips were sealed. My legs wouldn’t move, or rather they couldn’t move. She turned around. Her face was so pale and long. She was wearing her white nightgown with the lace hem. It was her favorite. She started walking over to me. Her eyes were white and empty, it felt almost as though you could stare at them for hours and see nothing but emptiness. She touched my face with her long, cold, boney hand. She just stared at me as though she was longing to be there in the moment. She then opened her mouth. I could see her blackened teeth. She reeked of rotting, I felt my nose hairs curl up. She let out a blood curdling scream, and then it all went black. I woke up with my hands grasping my chest. I could hear my heart pounding. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe and I was gasping for air. Finally I realised it was all just a bad dream. 

I looked over at my wooden nightstand to see our wedding photo sitting there. It was just there, like it was calling for me to come home. I thought I put all of my memories of her away. I saw the time on my alarm clock, three am. I wasn’t sure if all of this was a long series of dreams and I am finally awake, or whether I was just stuck in a trance, a paralysis, never to be woken again. It still reeked of rotting. I got up and decided to take a shower to try and calm down. 

I turned the water on and let it run until I saw the steam start to pour out of the curtains, and float up to the ceiling. I stepped into the shower and the water was ice cold. There was steam, but the water was cold. Is this another dream? I thought. I got out to wait for the water to warm up. I looked in the mirror and realised I hadn’t shaved my beard. The mirror started to fog up. I opened it and reached for my shaving cream. I started rubbing it into my beard. I looked down and saw my razor in my hand. It just appeared there, like it was meant to be there. I began to bring the blade to my beard, and watch the hairs fall into the sink. One after the other, as if it were long black rain. I got back into the shower to wash the remaining shaving cream and hairs off. The water was finally warm. Maybe this wasn’t a dream and I was awake again. The water felt good on my skin. All of a sudden the water felt thick and heavy. I looked down to see a thick heavy pool of water. Somehow the water had filled the shower up. I ripped open the curtain to try and get out. The bathroom was still covered in water. It kept rising up and up. I reached for the door trying to escape but it was locked shut. My head was touching the ceiling. Soon I was submerged. I tried to wake up, but I couldn’t. I felt the air run out in my lungs. I turned to see her floating there. She was so beautiful, her hair and nightgown floating up like she was an ethereal creature. Darkness started to close in on me. I felt her soft lips press against mine. I woke up again.

There was a pool of sweat around me. I looked at my alarm and saw it was three am again. This couldn’t be another dream. Why was this happening to me? I got up, grabbed my coat off the foot of my bed, and left my apartment building. The sky was pitch black. There were no stars because they were hiding behind the clouds. The wind swept up the fallen leaves and moved them around through the air as though they were dancing. The streetlamps were flickering and newspapers tumbled around on the ground. I started to walk on the sidewalk. No one was out. I was walking along an empty road filled with abandoned secrets. I started walking along the river. I kept smelling the smell of rotting. Where was it coming from? Was she there? Was she following me? I wasn’t sure. I kept walking faster, scared to look behind me.

There was a tunnel that led to the bridge above the river. I ran to the tunnel, hoping the smell of rotting would not follow me, and she wouldn’t be there. The smell only followed me. I could feel a stream of tears flow out of my eyes and hit my shoulders. The tears felt cold, almost refreshing. I finally reached the bridge and saw blue and red lights flashing up ahead. I thought maybe they could help me. The air felt cooler up here, like a ghost had just walked through your body. The lights kept getting brighter the closer you got to them. My legs felt as though they couldn’t go on much further. My chest hurt and my head was spinning. I finally reached the blue and red lights. They were all gathering towards the right side of the bridge, looking over. There was a big gap in the guardrail. I felt the chills all over my body again. It felt strange this time, almost as though something bad was about to happen. I walked up to them. They all looked sad, however there seemed to be a sort of calmness surrounding them. 

I asked them what had happened. They just stared blankly into the water. One of them asked what had happened, and another one responded that some insane man drove off of the bridge. They then got into their cars and began to drive away. I saw the blue and red lights fade into the distance and then they were gone. I walked across the bridge to the other side, hoping someone over there would help me escape this demon of mine. By the time I reached the town on the other side of the bridge, it was five am. I searched and searched to find someone, anyone who could release me from this pain. As I walked along the sidewalk I heard a bell from behind me. Then I felt something hard hit my head. I turned around to see that there was a boy delivering newspapers on a bicycle. The boy fell over, and I went to go help him up. He looked straight at me, but kept ignoring me. I could tell he did not want my help. 

Once he finally got a hold of it he got up. He hopped on his bicycle and rode away. Now alone I stood there in the dark, in the cold, wondering, waiting. Trying to piece it all together. Maybe I might wake up this time, maybe if I tried hard enough I could go home. I walked over to where the newspaper hit my head. I picked it up and began to read. The chills filled my body again. I felt her. I knew she was near. Why wouldn’t she go away? Why wouldn’t she stop? Tears started to pour out of my eyes and on to the paper. One after the other, weighing the paper down, smearing the ink. Scared for my life, standing there waiting to wake up, wondering how I could wake up, I felt her hand press against my back the way it used to, however it was not the same. It was different. Colder, sadder, lonelier. I felt all of her pain of being alone, all the sadness, all the cold. I continued to read, hoping she would go away. I felt her hand move up to my shoulder, as it fit perfectly into place. It was like we were a puzzle, and all the pieces fit perfectly. I read and read hoping to wake up. The tears kept flowing. The fear kept growing. I stopped. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t speak. My tears stopped running down my cheeks. I didn’t move. The chills were now rapid, crawling all over my body as if they were a nest of ants covering you completely. I turned around to see her, standing there so peacefully. She looked at me and asked if I was ready to go home. I realised I had been running from the truth, and did not remember or know it. The newspaper read: man dead. Drove his car off the bridge into the river. Screaming that he couldn’t live without, his wife. There was a picture of the man. His pale body, his black beard, his lost face. I realised why the boy and the police officers ignored me, why she was here, why the blue and red lights couldn’t help me, why there was a bump on my head.

Everything went dark. Everything was still. Everything stopped, everything stayed still as if it were afraid to breathe. As if it were afraid to scream. Nothing moved as I felt that nothing would. 

Everything was quiet.


Between Four Walls

She, the girl, stands facing sideways towards the mirror, talking fast to distract from the movements she makes, twisting her waist from left to right, her eyes quietly seeking out every imperfection. The mirror is the great enemy. The mirror is the battle. Why does she look so much… doesn’t she know what it reflects by now? Why must one stand for so long looking at a mirror that only reflects what truly is. Or is it possible that one can stand so long looking at the same thing until finally, they forget what the reflection appeared to show in the first place?

What is perfection? Why does everyone want it? It seems much like fog. One is always too far to reach it, but able to get close enough not to abandon it. It is an ever lasting search for satisfaction. Everybody knows they will never find it, but still they continue to look. Maybe they keep looking because if they stop they’ll be faced with the fact that they were looking in the wrong place all along. Or maybe they keep looking because they want to win the battle so much they sacrifice themselves in the process. Maybe.   

***

A plate unfinished. Peas 60 calories, chicken 150 calories, mashed potatoes 300 calories, with butter 75 calories. Total: 585 calories. Too many. Because if I eat this, the person I like won’t notice me and the dress I like won’t fit me and the friends I talk to everyday will stop talking to me and then I’ll be left with nothing to like about myself. So I’ll eat the peas and half the chicken and pretend I had a really big lunch which was actually just an apple and hide the fact that I want to finish the plate and eat three scoops of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate ice cream which I know is in the freezer. But I can’t because if I do then I’ll have nothing left to like about myself. So I’ll go back to my room and lock the door to return to the mirror. And then it will be just the mirror and myself. I strip naked and count every bone I can see, ribs, collar, and shoulders. This reflection I see, how come it doesn’t please me? I eat less, I workout more, but still I can’t see beauty. Why? 

I step on the scale that I long to see all day. But I have to be quick because if my parents saw me I know they’d be concerned. The numbers on the scale start to form, until I see they have gone done. What a relief, because now I can be sure that all my hard work was not for nothing, and a smile starts to form on my face, and I think to myself of how very good I feel. I wish I could share this with someone. My dad calls me downstairs to finish up the dishes so I cover my body with a baggy sweatshirt so no one can see what is actually underneath. So no one can see the truth.

***

Control. She needs it. She thrives on it. Because when her life is falling apart the only thing she has left to dominate is herself. That’s why she’s protecting a secret that is slowly killing her. Even though she knows it will hurt people. Even though it hurts herself. So she keeps fighting the enemy and the battle. But what is the battle now? For the mirror is only a reflection of what truly is. There is no one battle, there is no one reason for all the bad things. If there were, it would all be much simpler as there would only be one thing to get rid of. The mirror, the plate, the scale. . . all the battles that need to be fought to achieve beauty and perfection. That’s what she, the girl, keeps telling herself.

“I ‘ll be perfect and then I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be beautiful and then I’ll be okay.”

But she tried and still she is not okay. Because perfection is like fog, easy to get lost in and never to be reached, and the search for beauty has always been in the wrong place, never to be found. Is it possible the greatest battles were always herself? All along was she her own enemy? After all a mirror only reflects what truly is.

*** 

I am tired of looking at the mirror for every imperfection, and I am tired of the scale going up and down, and I am tired of only eating a quarter of my plate. I am tired of hurting everyone including myself. And I’m tired of forgetting everything that once mattered to me. So I will return to my mirror. The battle that I don’t even remember starting in the first place… CRACK

 Suddenly I see thick warm blood beginning to trickle down my knuckles. Sharp pain shooting through my fist which is pressing against the ice cold mirror. I released my hand from the mirror and slowly started to open up my fingers one by one, each one more painful than the last. My hand is shaking in the end, now covered in blood, a deep crimson red. My wrist ached with a rush of pain coursing through my arm. What is this reflection I see now? Who is this person staring back at me? I can see myself, thin body, only enough skin to cover the bones sticking out of me, but only, this time I look, I am covered by a million cracks, running down my face in every direction. Lines running through my left ribs and chest. But more noticeably a large crack cutting down straight through my face. And finally I can see myself, stuck in this webbed mirror. Stuck in this idea of perfection. Is this who I am? Is this my reflection? After all, a mirror only shows what truly is.


Messages in the Wind

I walked into the kitchen and plopped my school bag on the table. After the chilly walk home from school, the vegetable soup heating on the stove smelled delightful.

“Hi Mom!” 

“Hi Emma,” she said unenthusiastically. 

Then I heard my mom’s phone ringing on the counter. I looked down. The name Johnny popped up on the screen. My mom rushed to her phone to pick up it up. She looked at me with a why-are-you-staring-at-my-phone look. I returned the look with a confused stare, grabbed my bag, then walked upstairs and into my dad’s office. Who could Johnny be?

“Hi Dad,” I said. “I’ll be in my room, ok?” 

My dad sat in front of his desktop, lost in thought. “Hi sweetie, how was your day?” he said, looking up.

“It was fine-” Ding! I looked down at the phone on his desk. Johnny. Again. So my dad knew this Johnny guy too? I didn’t have time to see what the message said, because my dad snatched the phone and shooed me away. 

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework?” 

My parents were acting so weirdly these days. I decided to ignore it for now and go up to my room. Maybe Johnny was just an old friend of theirs. 

I made my way to my desk in front of the big window facing the sea. It’s my favorite place to relax. The window gives me a nice view of our small neighborhood and the Scottish beaches of the Isle of Mull. I opened it to let in the fresh ocean air. 

I took my worksheet out of my folder. Great. Conjugation. My favorite. I sighed. J’aurais, tu aurais, il, elle, on aur-” Suddenly, a flutter outside my window caught my eye and I saw a paper airplane fall into the garden. I opened the window farther and tried to find where the plane had come from, but there was no sign of anybody except my dog, Tanzie, playing in the water with my older brother Mike. He was visiting from his first year of university and he wouldn’t throw a paper airplane at my window. I knew I should finish my conjugations, but I felt intrigued—and a little bit bored with french—and decided to go get the plane. I wandered down to the garden and found it in a flower bed.

When I picked it up, I saw it was made from part of a map. Why a map? It looked a lot like my neighborhood, and I could see something that looked like directions. I climbed the stairs back up to my room where I spread the plane out and unfolded it on my desk. Someone had indeed made the plane out of a map, the kind you find in guidebooks, but I couldn’t find any other information and the directions went off the page. It was interesting, but it wasn’t going to help me with my French so I went back to my conjugation.

But later, during the night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. I had so many questions: Where did the map come from? Would I ever get the other part of the map? Also, who was Johnny? And why were my parents acting so oddly all of a sudden? All those questions exhausted me and I finally fell asleep. 

The next day, my parents behaved as if nothing weird was happening. 

“Good morning Honey!” said my dad, setting a bottle of maple syrup on the rough pine farm table.“I made you french toast. I love that yellow dress!”

“Hey Little Sis!” said Mike, scratching Tanzie’s neck as he sat in his usual spot across from mine.

“Morning, thanks,” I said, sitting down. Not sure if I was thanking Dad for the french toast, the complement, or both. I ate my French toast then walked to our small local middle school. It was a normal school day; maths, english, music, French, and P.E. 

That afternoon, I planned on going to play with Tanzie, my border collie after finishing my homework. After thirty minutes of solving algebraic equations, I saw another flicker in the corner of my vision. My heart beat faster – could it be another map? I rushed down to the garden and grabbed the paper airplane and unfolded it. Another part of the same map! I ran back up to my room and tried to put the two pieces of map together: They fit! But the map was still incomplete. The directions still ran off the page.

Every day that week, I looked forward to coming home from school and getting more and more pieces of the map. After five days, I finally put the final pieces together, I noticed something odd at the bottom of the last piece of the map. I looked more closely and was shocked to find a signature: Johnny. “Oh. My. Goodness.” I murmured. “How..? What…?” I needed to talk to my parents. They couldn’t hide things from me anymore.

I walked into the living room, where Dad read his newspaper and Mom and Mike watched a cooking show on TV. “Mom, Dad, Mike, I think we need to talk.” We gathered around the dining room table. My parents looked worried and my brother just looked confused. 

“I’ve noticed some weird behavior from you, Mom and Dad,” I began. “First of all, the name Johnny keeps popping up on your phones. And then there’s this.”

 I spread the taped-together map out on the coffee table in front of the sofa and pointed to the signature. Their worried expressions told me they had been expecting whatever this was, but weren’t ready. “Can you please tell me who this Johnny guy is, and why he’s been sending me these parts of a map?” 

My parents exchanged looks and muttered something to each other. 

“Hello? Can you answer me please?!” 

They quickly looked back at me, and my mom said “Oh Honey, we’re all sorry. We think you should find that out yourself by following that map.” 

“Wait. ‘we’re all’?! Are you saying Mike knows what this is this about? And why are you sorry?” I felt nearly ready to explode—confused, shocked, and enraged all at once. 

“Calm down!” My dad said, defensively. Yes, he knew. “Fine, I’ll explain: Before- ” 

My mom cut him off. “Stop! No. We need to let Johnny explain. It’s his story.” 

“Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll go figure it out myself.” I snatched the map off the table, grabbed my coat off the hook by the door and stomped out slamming the door behind me. 

I followed the directions and it brought me to the market. I saw a boy, maybe twenty years old, who looked a lot like Mike, standing apart from the small crowd shopping for fresh seafood at the stalls. He seemed to be looking for somebody and when he spotted me and walked carefully over, as if he didn’t want to frighten me.

“Emma? Is that you?”

 I felt confused. “Who are you!?” 

He ignored my question. “I see you got my airplanes” 

“Who are you?!!” I repeated, louder now. 

“My name is Johnny. I’m your brother.” 

I stood, shocked and speechless.

“Let’s sit down on that bench and I’ll explain everything.”

“A few years before our father met your mom, he met a woman called Rose. She got pregnant with me, and when I was born, Rose left our father. She took me with her and we never saw him again. Then our father met your mom and had you and Mike, but my mother never told me I had a sister and brother.” He sighed sadly.

“When I turned thirteen, my mom had to leave me for the military and my grandma took me in, but she died six months later. It was quite a shock for me and it left me scarred. Social workers took me to an orphanage in Harris. My mother never came back and no families adopted me. When I turned eighteen, they let me leave and I got a job at a public library. A friend agreed to let me sleep at his house.” 

What a terrible story, I thought. How could he go through all of that with only one friend?

“But how did you know about my family?” I asked, not wanting to hurt his feelings—he was already scarred for life.

“I started doing research because I wanted to find my father. I got a lot of help from friends and co-workers, but it took me two years. When I found him—last week—I got extremely excited and I called him. He didn’t believe it. He told your mom and your brother, but apparently not you.”

“Wasn’t Mom shocked or furious?” I asked, confused.

“She knew about me when she met our dad, but it was shocking to learn I wanted to come back. It took some persuading but she agreed.” 

“Oh,” I said, still not having all the answers I wanted. “But why did you send me those paper airplanes with the map?”

“Your parents didn’t want to tell you because they felt embarrassed that they hadn’t mentioned anything earlier. We agreed to let you figure it out by yourself and I must say, it was a pretty bad idea.” He chuckled. “I hope you’ll forgive us.”

I stammered. “I…I forgive you.” 

We walked home in silence, thoughts swirling around in my head. Why hadn’t I sensed I had a long lost sibling before? Did my parents know his mom left him? Why had they told Mike and not me? All these thoughts had distracted me and soon we were already home. We entered the living room and my family came to hug us.

“We’re so, so sorry,” said Mom

“Guys, it’s all good,” I said, comforting them.

“Let’s make dinner,” said my dad, “as a family.”

We all agreed and Johnny and I helped Mike make pasta bolognese while mom and dad set the table. We told funny stories and got really close with Johnny. 

“One, two, three—”

“Cheese!”

At Easter holidays, my whole family had decided to go to Edinburgh to celebrate our reunion. We sat beside Edinburgh Castle, beaming at the camera and we probably looked like the happiest family in the city, because we were! My family felt complete and we all had decided that we wouldn’t keep secrets anymore. I never wanted this moment to end. I looked up and saw Johnny, smiling at me, mouthing, “thank you.”


Normar at Dawn

He left early morning, before the sun had even thought of rising. He took the bag he packed last night and was gone. The squeaky stairs and door were a ghost of a sound to the rest of us as we slept soundly. He said he didn’t want us to see him leave, that it would be easier for everybody. Or that’s what he wrote on the little scrap of paper he left behind. I disagree. I grab the other letter he left, the one with my name written on it in blue ink, and quietly leave the house.

I run as fast as my legs can take me down to the port, dodging crates of fish and clams that are being carted up from the fishing boats. They ooze a salty smell that I have grown up surrounded by, that everyone here has. I weave my way between merchants, whose carts are piled high with barrels of seafood, bags full of salt, and piles of sail cloth and rope. They will leave Normar at sun set. 

Precious few outsiders stay in Normar for long; there is nothing for them here. Job opportunities are few and far between. Most of us are sailors and fishermen, at sea all day from dawn to dusk, sometimes longer. The rest are traders, weavers, shipwrights, glass blowers. Our town is one built around the sea: there are no cobblers, for leather will only be ruined by the water; no silversmiths, for the metal will simply tarnish. Those who are born here though, often stay for a lifetime, for generations. Sons and daughters learning their trades as they watch their parents perform them. 

But Normar is no place for artists, for writers or scientists. Many townspeople would have hired my brother, for his deft hands or sharp eyes, but he didn’t want to spend his life here. It made sense; of course Normar is no place for an artist like him. His creativity is wasted here. So he’s on a boat, preparing to go somewhere new, to London, then maybe even Paris. He’ll probably never return.

The bell on the dock begins to clang adding to the cacophony of the streets. I turn sharply, towards the sound. It signals ten minutes to the next ship’s departure, my brother’s departure. I, like all the other people of Normar, know the sound by heart. I can tell you when it signals an arrival, a departure, or simply the time of day. Some things you learn by living. 

I stand at the edge of town center, on the brink of complete chaos. There are vendors who sell their products out of the bottom floors of their homes, pushing out farther into the street than they have a right to. Donkey carts positioned at opposing angles, making it difficult to get through. I dive in head first, side stepping children playing tag, ducking through conversations, and dodging the brooms and canes of men and women fending off the hordes of hungry seagulls. The air is filled with shouting, disgruntled neighbors and competing merchants. They are accompanied by a clatter of wood and metal. I step out of the chaos, not entirely unscathed, but in relatively good shape. I check my pockets quickly to make sure that his letter wasn’t stolen.

I hear someone shout my name and I wave a friendly hello, still walking quickly towards the seashore. I step onto a side street and a crash sounds from a few yards away. I quickly pivot towards the source and see a few of my father’s friends, Steve and Martin, I think their names are, struggling to keep a stack of barrels from toppling over.

“Maria!” one of them shouts. “A little help here?”

“Sure thing.”

Quickly, I rush over and take the barrel from him. It is heavier than I am expecting, and he and I both lower it to the ground while he balances another. As the men work, I steady the foundation, ensuring that none of us are crushed beneath the barrels. Judging from their weight, I guess they are full of lobster, so I work with caution. I definitely wouldn’t want to set these little sea devils loose. When we are finally finished, Martin and Steve wave a goodbye as I continue towards the dock. 

My earlier walk is now a run, racing the sun, even though I should have plenty of time. But when I reach the dock, I slow down and when I reach the post, where there is supposed to be a rope tied, mooring the ship to land, I come to a full stop. I see the boat already much too far from port, the sails out and full of wind, blowing him away from me.

 He said it would be easier like this. How can a single envelope be easier? With its messy white seal and chicken scratch writing. It’s not better. Two pieces of paper aren’t better. A letter telling me how much he cared about me, and I know it’s selfish but I can’t help but think that if he really cared he would have stayed. Sailors bustle around, continuing their work as I unfold the other leaf of paper. It’s a portrait of both of us, his arm over my shoulder. We look so close, and for a moment I forget how far apart we really are.


The Last Robbery

Prologue

In the small town of Memphis, Tennessee, where the crime rate was high, two robbers simultaneously spotted their next job. 

Paz was slim and worked behind the scenes. She sat on the dirty curb next to a busy street. Traffic screamed in her ears while she scanned a newspaper article. Her face lit up as she found the house waiting to be robbed. A grin spread across her face, and her eyes widened.

Dave was a tall and stocky man. He was very clumsy, which was not a favorable trait for a robber, but he still got away with it. He drank warm coffee from Starbucks in his apartment. He bit his lip when he set eyes on the article. His face dropped as he started the plan.

Lurking in the shadows, a greater evil held the newspaper with a gleam in his eyes.

***

Dave

I sit in my musty apartment, planning my next robbery (and figuring out how to pay rent this month). I know that my neighbors, the Henkins, will leave to go to Hawaii this afternoon. My stomach tingles and I twist my thumbs every time I steal from someone. I’ll spy on the house before I go in.

I go over and decide that they’re gone after a wait in the yellow and green shrubs that seem to trail on forever. I walk around the house, through the gate and into the backyard. My lock picking will take a while, and I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. I figure the other neighbors will be easily convinced that I’m taking care of the Henkins’ lizards. 

I slowly open the kitchen door in the back of the Henkin’s house. The guilt is already creeping around the house with me. I know it’s only a trick on the neighbors, but I do wind up checking on Dexter and Kiwi, the family’s lizards.

“Hi, Dexter! Hi, Kiwi! Do you miss your family? Oooh, yes, you do, yes you do- o,” I say in a baby voice to them.

Acting out Dexter’s rough, made-up voice, I say, “The telephones aren’t working!”

“Oh, Dexter, I might be able to fix those, right after I rob your house okay!” I respond in my normal voice. I chuckle and move away from the terrarium the lizards are kept in. 

I poke my head further into the kitchen, pushing back the thought that I have to do this quickly. A smile slowly spreads across my face every time I enter the Henkins’ house. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is clean and organized. There are two candles in copper candle holders sitting the same exact distance away from the clear vase in the center of the table. Purple, blue, pink, and yellow flowers spring up from the rim of the vase, growing off of the table, slithering on the ground, and wrapping around my feet like snakes. I blink and rub my eyes and the flowers turn back to normal. Turning around to the living room and leaving the flourishing flowers behind twists my smile into a slight frown, but I have the willpower to leave.

The Henkin’s living room holds a long, curved, brown couch. An oval blue rug lays on the oak floors beside a small glass coffee table.

As I explore the living room, I stumble into the office and gag as the bitter smell of the fresh cleaning supplies drifts up to my nose and races around my head, making my stomach churn. I lift my dark red shirt over my nose and mouth. I trip over a neat stack of books with torn covers of all colors as I walk towards the leather chair in the middle of the room. Sitting on the shining desk are forty-five, eight-inch tall rag dolls of the U.S. presidents. The first one in the row is George Washington; the last is Donald Trump. They all stare my way with their beady button eyes. As I think back to being here six months ago at the house party when they moved in across the street, more guilt swallows me like a wave, swarms me like wasps. Six months ago the books were not on the floor. The spot on the desk which Trump now fills was empty. The bigger white rug that was in the living room has now been replaced with the oval one.

The steps quietly creak as I tiptoe up the stairs and meet the biggest window in the house. The stars have been hidden in the black night outside. I’m so caught up in the exploration of the house that I don’t immediately recognize the sound of the door clicking open.

***

Dave ran into the nearest closet he could find, in the room of Emma Henkin, the smallest daughter in the Henkin family. The panic that had been following him flooded under the door of the closet, and soaked him with sweat. Was there an actual pet sitter or housekeeper there to check on the house? Would he be caught after everything that he had gone through? He had money once, when he was only six years old, but when his parents died, a storm of dust had ripped them and their fortune away from him. He needed this job. He couldn’t be arrested.

***

Earlier that day, Paz was at a sketchy restaurant, impatiently waiting for her small salad to be delivered to the window booth she inhabited almost every Wednesday and Saturday. Turning her head to face the window made her nose wrinkle and lips curl up. The window had been smashed in and there was a sheen of dirt coating the cracks.

“Excuse me ma’am, excuse me? Your order is here,” the waitress said in a sing-songy voice. 

Paz snatched the salad and turned away, rolling her eyes. She was not a sing-songy person. She looked down at the pathetic pile of greens and dressing. She rose up from the booth, her legs sticking to the vinyl material of the booth as she stood, lifting the plastic tray of the salad with her. She took slow, long, paces to the black trash can in the corner, which was sitting on the dusty floor. Her eyes scanned the contents of the bin, and her nose wrinkled again.

***

Paz

I push open the creaky blue rimmed door and an evil grin is plastered onto my face as I think about my plans for tonight. I creep around the neighborhood until I reach the house of today’s victims, and push through the gate and to the door.

I begin to take out my lock picking equipment and turn the door handle. It’s not locked. My eyes widen and my face becomes a little more pale. I think about whether I should rob the house or not. I’ve never been wrong before when it comes to telling if a house is rob-able or not. I decide to go in, preparing myself to face anyone inside. 

All of the lights are off, and the house was left clean. I straighten out and silently laugh at myself. I begin to forage through the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, bending down to reach compartments closer to the white tile on the floors. I have my mind set on finding the house’s pearl. I shift my attention to the living room, ducking as I pass the large windows. There are two bookshelves in the one corner of the room, and a rocking armchair in another. One bookshelf is shorter than the other, and I carefully shove books, big and small, away, as I search the smaller one on my knees. Not there. I stand on my tiptoes and start from the top of the lofty bookshelf. I finish searching the top shelf, the two shelves in the middle, then the bottom shelf. Not there. I fling the cushion off of the armchair, causing it to rock faster. 

I’m about to storm up the stairs, but I soon regain the knowledge that I have to be fast and quiet. Softly, landing my feet on the stairs ahead of them, I go up the stairs. One. Two. Three … Ten. Eleven. Twelve! I quickly duck down in front of the biggest chunk of glass I’ve ever seen in a house.

What a terrible place for something of such value! I think to myself as I feel around the wooden floors. I search the bathroom, the master bedroom. I look everywhere. The shower, nightstands, and dressers. Under the bed, over the bed, and in the closet. Nowhere to be found. The only rooms left in the house are the kids’ bedrooms. Guessing on what the doors of the bedrooms look like, the family has a young girl, and a teenage boy. One door is covered with messy doodles of princesses finding their princes. The other door has a printed out “Keep Out” sign, held on by a measly piece of tape in the top right corner. The cool draft of the AC had caused the sign to tilt, hanging off the door. I quietly cackle as I disregard the sign, entering the boy’s room.

The smell of dirty socks makes me dizzy as soon as I open the door. My stomach swirls, but I proceed on into the room anyways. After poking my head in the closet, reaching my hands into piles of sweaty clothes, and moving around dandruff covered pillows, I still haven’t found the famous item.

My last destination is the little girl’s room. My shoulder’s slump as I pointlessly push open the door. Why would an item of such value be hidden in a foolish, senseless little girl’s room? I think to myself.

I open the closet door and my face lights up as I stare in disbelief at the valuable treasure. I’m still in disbelief, but this time, as I shift my focus a few inches up at the hand grasping the small painting. 

As soon as I recover from the shock, I grasp the baton at my waist and manage to mumble a threat to him.

“This street is my turf,” I say, my voice shaking.

The man looks up at me, meeting my eyes with a confident glare. The traces of confidence in his eyes disappear as he backs up and stumbles over the angry bird figurines in the large closet. I stifle a laugh, wanting him to know that I take my job seriously.

“I’m sorry, are you robbing this house?” he asks.

I answer him with a yes and note the awkwardness of the situation, not knowing what to do next. Should I grab the painting and run?

He speaks again before I can take action, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should be proud of robbing houses.”

I’m about to say that I’m not, but I realize two things. One, I called the street “my turf.” Two, I am proud of being a quality robber.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I ask in a judgy tone.

“Well it’s just not very nice of you to rob houses.” he responds.

“Excuse me? You’re doing it too!”

“I take no pleasure in it.”

“Why? Being mean and mischievous is awesome!”

“At our age, it’s really not. We should be caring for our community. It’s a little irresponsible of you to think that being mean is a good thing.” I don’t get this guy. He takes the same thing I’m after and then tells me I’m being malicious. Sure it’s mean. Sure, being mean isn’t cool, but he stole it before I did! I love sneaking around, and all of those people who have regular lives are just pathetic.

Memories of the orphanage flash in my head as I see more doodles of the family in the girl’s room. Memories of the trouble I made. Memories of the people who came and left, taking a friend of mine every time. But never me.

This family has something that I never had in me. They love each other. They have lives that are worth saving, and I’m interfering with those lives.

***

At this moment, another force of evil lurks in the backyard. He wears dark jeans, and a hunter green colored cotton T-shirt. He paces the patio after realizing that the door was yet again, left unlocked. He silently creeps closer to the muffled voices up the stairs and turns the door handle without a sound. He is now thinking sinister thoughts while positioned behind Dave and Paz, who still do not know that he is in the house with them.

***

Dave

I begin to walk out of the closet, but the woman reaches out and stops me. I know she won’t leave until she gets the painting. I freeze up as I turn. My eyes widen and my jaw slightly drops. My face is pale. Beyond her is a taller man who stares directly down at me with a blank expression. He slowly reaches a gloved hand out, expecting me to hand over the painting. He wears a black glove on one hand and nothing on the other. A large hat shades out most of his face, but I can still see his eyes and mouth clearly enough to know that he is made up of pure evil. His eyebrows curve and he glares at me. His eyes hold no shine, like there’s nothing in there, but a black heart.

I tap the woman’s shoulder and point to the man, my mouth still hanging open. She surprises me, and glares right back at him, but his expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated. 

The woman reaches for her baton as we reach a silent agreement. She takes a step towards the man and swings her baton towards him. He lifts the gloved hand, blocking it from touching his head. I leap forward in an attempt to tackle him, but again, his hand reaches up and pushes me onto the floor. The woman and I meet eyes. We nod, and spring forward, pouncing on the man and taking him down to the ground. The hard floors knock him unconscious and we use our socks and a few ropes from Emma’s closet to tie him up.

“By the way, I’m Paz,” the woman says.

“I’m Dave.”

We leave the house and carry the criminal to her car, opening the door and shoving him in. Paz gets in the driver’s seat and I get in the passenger seat, but the moment we turn around, he’s gone. We look around, but he’s nowhere to be found.

We pinky swear to never steal again.

***

5 years later…

Dave and Paz sit at the outdoor mesh table reading the news. A criminal named Randy Bluett had recently been caught. They exchange glances and grin, their eyes gleaming. Dave had taken the wallet of the criminal they had encountered on their last robbery five years ago. Some of the name had been scratched out, but he could read “Randy Bluett”. Dave drinks a latte and Paz drinks black coffee. Dave pays and Paz gets up and heads to work after saying goodbye to Dave. Paz now works as an author. Most of her stories are about robbers who have great adventures. Dave works as a fortune cookie writer. He gives great fortunes to bad people. It will get better . . . after you learn your lesson. Dave and Paz are the only people who know about their pasts. Besides the Henkins . . .


Someone Like You

I live in area 423, for only Jewish white people. Twenty years ago, the Federal West segregated everyone by religion and race. Each area is surrounded by a gate. If you get caught going past it or being with anyone in another area, you will be punished. Sneaking out last night was one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. I’ve snuck out before, but last night, last night was different.

I walked to school every day like usual. My high school is ten blocks away from my home, but today I felt sick to my stomach. It was my last day of junior year. I stopped at Quart Street to wait for Rory, my forever best friend. Rory and I have been inseparable since kindergarten. I can tell her anything and everything on my mind. We walked to school in silence. Neither of us wanted to talk about what happened last night. 

Last night me, Rory, her boyfriend Keith, and his friend Phil went to the gate to celebrate the last night before the last day of school. Everyone goes to the gate to hang out, but mostly to smoke and take drugs. I’d been there before. I snuck out at twelve, careful to keep silent as I opened the window and reached for the rope I had previously tied to my window frame. I walked down the silent streets of 423. Getting caught outside after 8:00 could result in jail time, but in 423, it was easy to sneak around. Rory and Keith were already there and Phil was in the corner smoking some new drug.

“Lena!” Rory jumped up and gave me a hug. I sat down next to her. As soon as I sat down, I heard a rattling sound. I turned around and saw Phil climbing up the gate to area 907. I sat there astonished at his stupidity.

“Get down idiot,” Keith yelled. Phil got to the top of the gate, ducked under the barbed wire, and climbed down the other side. 

“Fuck society,” he yelled and walked away into the darkness. The three of us stood there, shocked, and frozen. We slowly walked towards our homes, knowing if we went after him or reported him, we’d all be doomed. 

So, that’s why Rory and I walked to school in silence. We started to hear the screams of the kids at our school. Every yell, every shout, reminding me about last night. I was so dazed that I hadn’t noticed that Rory stopped. 

“Lena?” Rory said quietly.

“Yeah?” I turned around to face her. Her eyes were red. She must have been crying a lot. “Are you okay?” 

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Rory, I-I don’t know. I hope he does.”

She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Okay.” I could tell that my answer wasn’t the answer she was looking for. We walked the rest of the way to school, pushing our sorrows away and putting on our fake smiles. 

I sat down in math class, middle-left side. Mr. Fitzgerald walked in and sat down. The bell rang and Mr. Fitzgerald turned on a movie and went on his phone. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. There sat the incredibly hot and gorgeous Matt. Matt was on the baseball team and always played the lead in the musical.

“Hey Matt,” I said awkwardly as I faced him, his deep blue eyes staring back at me. 

“Are you okay?” He asked me.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I responded with my cheesiest grin, my voice only shaking a little bit. 

He lowered his voice. “I know what happened last night.” My heart stopped, my brain froze, and I died a little inside.

“Keith told me,” he said. Of course Keith told him. Matt and Keith told each other everything, at least that’s what Rory told me. Matt and Keith were the male version of me and Rory, except I knew Keith before Rory. I practically set them up.

“Earth to Lena,” Matt’s gentle voice whispered to me. I felt myself come back and I looked at him. “Lena, I’m here for you,” he said and reached for my hand. We sat there speechless for a while. I sat there going through the events of last night. The bell rang and my body jolted. I didn’t even realize that I was still holding onto Matt’s hand. He smiled shyly at me, and I smiled back. We walked out of the room, and I dropped Matt’s hand immediately. Rory was sitting on the floor bawling with a note in her hand. I quickly sat down and gave her a hug. 

“Rory, what’s wrong?” I asked, concerned and worried. She looked at me, her makeup dripping down her face.

 “I-it’s Keith,” she muttered between sobs, “he went to join the rebellion.”


DIY Shopping


Shopping List

1. milk   x

2. cookies  x

3. pony       x

4. paint    x

5. pillow    x

6. unicorn   x

7. book    x

8. camera    x

9. a grape (one singular grape)   x

10. spinning wheel  x

This morning, my personal shopper quit. She said I bought too much stuff and she just couldn’t take it anymore.

I was like, “It’s your job though.” Then she hung up. Now I have to buy everything on the shopping list for tonight’s gala. The first thing on the list is milk. I forget why I needed milk. Oh! I remember because cows and horses are related, I read that in an article. Cows make milk, and so… horses must drink milk, which means ponies must drink milk, and a pony is on my list. 

“I’m so smart,” I said to myself. So I got into an Uber and headed to the grocery store. I went to the dairy fridge and saw so many brands of milk, so I took one of each. Organic Valley, Horizon, Borden, coconut milk, almond milk. I looked at the list and saw cookies after milk. So I went to the snack aisle. Again, too many brands of cookies. I felt overwhelmed. I finally understood The Bachelorette. The cookies were all the guys. I actually know the girl on The Bachelorette right now and she told me what it’s like. This is obviously more stressful though. So I took out my phone and searched up best cookie brand. Nice! was the best one but Fairway doesn’t have it. I kept going down the list and nothing was here, finally I resorted to the last brand on the list, Chips Ahoy. They didn’t even have the original one. They only had chewy. I tossed the chewy cookies into my cart and moved on. I looked through the list and saw that the only thing left that I could get at Fairway involved shoplifting and the risk of jail. I needed a single… grape. I unsuspiciously moonwalked to the fruit aisle, trying not to attract any attention to myself. I began looking at grapes, trying to find the least bruised one. I needed the perfect grape. I discreetly searched the grape packages. 

“Finally!” I shouted out loud. Instead of having one of my many head voices say it for me in my head. Some old people looked at me, 

“Sorry, sorry,” I whispered. I tucked the grape into my pocket while being very sly. I took my cart to the register. I started taking out all the milks, 16 in total. Then I took out the crinkly Chips Ahoy bag. I began to sweat when the lady started to speak. 

“Would you like a cooler bag for an extra four dollars for all your… milk? Or would you like a normal bag for an extra fifty cents or would you like a plastic bag for no extra charge?” 

“C-cooler um bag,” I stuttered. My armpits were getting really sweaty, like that time I met Justin Bieber and he hugged me and then he made a gross face because I was really sweaty. Don’t worry. I’m still a Belieber. She started scanning everything and putting everything in a cooler bag. I handed her my credit card and she slid the card into the machine. Finally it was over. She handed the card back to me and I took the bag. I speed walked to the security alarm and took a deep breath. I stepped across and the beeps began. Beep. Beep. Beep. I stood in place as guards surrounded me. They had mini scanners in their hands and they cornered me. My only exit was the door. I backed up as they closed in on me. Then the automatic doors opened for a cute old lady. That was my exit! I was free. I ran backwards and then spun around so I was running facing forward. I ran to some bushes and called an Uber. After four minutes of waiting, I saw the car stop in front of the grocery store. The guards were busy searching behind cars in the parking lot, so I took a rushed breath and sprinted to the Uber. I opened the car door, breathing heavily and tried acting very calm, “Hi, Danny?”  I said with a breathless voice.

“Yes, Alisha?”

“Yup.” 

The car began moving and we headed to Home Depot. I said goodbye to Danny and entered the wonderful world of Home Depot. The first thing I saw were toilet seats. Then pipes came into view and then finally big buckets of paint. Why did I have to be so vague on the shopping list? Then it hit me… because I was mean to all my assistants. Maybe that’s why she quit. Rude. I set my shopping bags down and looked through the paint. Pink, blue, orange, red, magenta, maroon, brown, black, grey. I decided to get the grey paint because it’s a neutral color and the gala is called The Grey Life. Everyone has to wear grey so all the decorations pop out. I put the grey paint bucket in the cart and put my shopping bags in there too. I went to the comfort section of home depot. The next thing on the list were pillows. I had a specific pillow in mind despite the vagueness of the list. SmartHome Bedding Super Plush Pillow. It’s my favorite pillow of all time. 

I searched through the shelves and shelves of pillows but there was no sign of my SmartHome Bedding Super Plush Pillows. I resorted to an average pillow with some pink on it. I placed it in the cart and headed to the cash register. The scrawny man scanned the stuff and I went through the boring paying process. I ordered another Uber and checked the list for what was left. I needed a book and a camera. We were heading to Barnes and Noble. We got there and I entered the store. I was slow because of all the bags I was carrying but I pushed through. I took out my phone and took a selfie on the gram. Took a photo of all the bags and put it on my story, #thestruggleisreal.

I was going to get 50 Shades of Grey. A classic, definitely my favorite book of all time. It also went with the theme, just an added bonus. I found it in the romance section. I plopped it in the cart and then I went to the other section of the shop. It was called… other. I looked for one of those pretty polaroid cameras. Thankfully I found a bright pink one. It will really pop. I put it in there. Paid. You know the drill. Except, the sweet old lady who was in Fairway was in the romance section. I saw her when I was leaving and so I hid behind a tall man on the escalator. I ran up with all my strength and suddenly I smelled Shake Shack. The delicious smell of milkshakes and burgers and fries filled my nostrils. My head voices started talking. “Go eat it.”

“No, you have a gala to plan.”

“It smells good. Go. Eat. The. Goddamn. Burger.” 

“No! No! No! No!”

“I shouldn’t. But it tastes so good,” I said. 

“I can’t!!!”

Imagine a lady with a bunch of bags filled with random stuff talking to herself. Now you get it. People started moving away from me. 

I took out my phone once again and called another Uber. The dropoff location was the Apple store on fifth. It was near the horse carriages all the tourists love. The guy dropped me off and I walked across the street to the carriages. I went up to the first guy. He looked like Jack from Mary Poppins. 

“Is your horse for sale?” 

“No.”

“Can you make it for sale?”

“No.”

“Do any of these people have ponies?”

“Yes. All the small ones.”

“All the small people or all the small horse looking ponies?”

“You pick.”

“What?”

“Go away.”

I went to the next guy, “Is this a pony?”

“Yup.”

“Can I have it?” 

“No.”

“You’re just like the last guy.”

“Are you calling me a potato?”

“What? No.”

“All Grumpy Joe eats are potatoes.”

“Is your pony for sale?”

“Maybe.”

“How much is it?”

“An apology from you.”

“I’m sorry. Ok, can I have the pony now?”

“Make it sincere.”

“I’m so so sorry for calling you a maybe potato.”

“She’s all yours.”

I took the pony’s leash and climbed onto it. “78th and 3rd,” I said. The horse was still. “Move!” I screamed at the horse. People started looking at me. “Can someone help me move this pony?!”

Fast forward to when I finally got the pony to move. I dropped all the stuff at home. The last two things on my list were a spinning wheel and a unicorn. 

“How the heck do I get a unicorn?” I asked myself. I called an Uber and said hi. I took out my trusty mini bat and whacked him in the head. I only knocked him out for a little bit. 

“Sorry.” I mumbled. 

I got out of the car and took out my phone, dialing the number of my trusty car mechanic. I called him over and watched him remove bolts and lift up the car to get the tire. He had another appointment so he rushed off not noticing the Uber driver I had laid on the floor of the car. I got the tire out and left the car in the middle of the empty road. I rolled the tire back to my apartment. Jeff the doorman looked suspicious of the tire but I acted very normal. I said nothing and we made eye contact until the elevator door closed. Like I said, very normal. I hot glued the tire to my pottery wheel. There you go. A DIY spinning wheel.  

The last thing on the list was a unicorn. A majestic, elegant, unicorn. I know! I’ll just go to one of those witch stores. I called a Lyft because Uber isn’t letting me log in. 

The driver came, and he said, “So, you’re one of those people who believe in witches.”

“Nah man, I just need a unicorn.”

“Oh, yeah that makes it normal.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. We finally reached the witch store. I walked into the store and heard the bell ring.

“Hello?” I said, trying to make my voice heard. 

“Whatcha want?” An older woman came into view dressed in leggings and an orange off the shoulder shirt like she just came from an 80’s disco. 

“I need a unicorn.”

She went to the back of the shop. She came back with a stuffed unicorn in her hand. “50 bucks.”

“It’s fake.”

“Since when were unicorns a thing?” 

“Well, I need one.” 

“Go put a horn on a horse.” 

“When have you seen a brown unicorn?”

“Paint it.”

“Good idea.”

I left the shop and went home. When the time was right at the Gala, I would go to the bathroom, dump some paint on the pony, and stick the unicorn horn headband I wore for Halloween last year. 

The shopping list was done. I took a breath of relief. My phone dinged and I checked my phone. The contractor called in sick.


The Girl Who Could Not Play

Chapter One: Mornings

It began as something sweet and airy. 

All things begin this way.

It was a jumble of pleasant mornings spent with a friend: two girls with their arms swung around each other making their way from street to street. They strutted at the same pace shoulder to shoulder chatting amongst themselves. They looked like twins with their matching outfits. Each wore a black skirt, cap, and shoes with white stockings and a loose blouse. They were completely oblivious to the world around them; the rolling cars on the cobblestone streets, the pitchmen that came around selling everything from newspapers and cigarettes to bowties and shot glasses, or the  sombre-looking soldiers that lined up in the streets before going to the front.  

Above the hustle and bustle in the streets, the sky had been lit up with a purple glow. Swirls of fuschia and ivory exploding like small candies were pinned to the sky. Someone must have painted the sky by hand.

The two girls were immersed in their own world of fancy.  Around them they saw classrooms instead of cars. Instead of pitchmen offering them trinkets, they recounted stories of boys offering them flowers. And instead of soldiers, they thought of their own division. A youth division just for girls. Donna’s mother insisted on her daughter arriving early to each session. Donna set off just after the crack of dawn each morning with her hair in tight braids and face washed. Donna would meet Alessia on the corner and they would walk together. That was the way it went every morning.

Donna was like a white starched linen. She had two long braids the colour of sour lemons that dropped from her shoulders like ropes. Her complexion was blanched and pearly. It was like someone had come along and white-washed the colour from her face. However she had eyes dark as a starless night that stuck out like lumps of coal stitched on either side of her nose. She was generally a quiet reluctant girl and was lucky to have made such fast friends with Alessia, the exemplary girl. Donna’s friend was conventionally beautiful with heart-shaped lips and bouncy ringlets. She had a throng of admirers who watched her wherever she went.

This particular morning, Alessia was engaged in recounting her a story about the time a boy walked up to her and pulled at one of her ringlets. Donna listened contently. As they passed through the square, Donna glanced at the clock. 

“Alessia we’re late!” She tugged at her friends sleeve. 

“Let’s run!” Alessia exclaimed after swinging around to look at the clock. The girl outstretched her legs and bounded forward. As she sped off, Donna, after a moment of hesitation, set off after her.

They shrieked with laughter as Donna quickly caught up with Alessia. They swatted their arms and clawed at each other, doing whatever they could to slow the other down. Donna was panting relentlessly. Their bodies pierced through the crowd. They were tripping, slipping, and swatting, meanwhile gaining speed. They raced right around the corner. Donna picked up her legs and began bolting forwards. She surpassed Alessia and was dashing up the cobblestone sidewalk. She jumped onto the road, slipping on the morning frost and dodging cars as they came skidding towards her. She knew if anyone had seen her and told her mother that she was running on the street, she would be in trouble. The thought of this both frightened her and enthralled her with amusement. She leapt back onto the sidewalk that spread out in front of her. Her arms swung back and forth. Exhilaration ran through her as wind lashed at her legs and blew at her face. She thrust herself forward. Alessia was calling to her. She twisted her neck to look back, her legs still wheeling forward. Suddenly, her chest fell backwards and her black shoes slid off the ground. Pain shot through the back of her head. And the scene went black.

Chapter Two: The Girl Who Cried on the Main Street

Through the obscurity, Donna could see herself lying there. Her limbs sprawled out over the cobblestones. Her meager figure laid out for the world to see. Her braids coiled around her like a spider’s front legs. Her face twisted in abject terror. Her heart was saddened by her own modest self lying down motionless over the sidewalk. 

As her eyes blinked open, above her Alessia’s ringlets poured downwards onto Donna’s face; her friend had knelt down beside her. Donna could hear phrases in the distance. The words hovered above her.

“What happened?”

“A girl just ran headstrong into Signor Di Napoli!”

“Are you hurt, Signor?”

“No, no, I am fine.”

“What about the girl?”

“Who is she?”

“Is she alright?”

“I think she may be dead!! And it is all my fault!” This last bit was Alessia, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. She grasped Donna’s shoulders and began shaking her. Four hands were placed upon her and Donna was prompted to her feet.

“Are you fine, miss?” This was the voice of old Signor Di Napoli. Five years ago, he moved to Rome from Naples and had started a toy store. All the children in the neighborhood spent their weekends lined up to go into his store. Walking through his store that now stood behind them was like perusing through a book. Metals, porcelain, plastic, gears, springs, fabrics, tinsel, colours, reflections, textures, speaking dolls, and kites line the walls and were scattered on the floor. It was a portal into another world found in the heart of Rome. An emporium of sights and sounds, feelings and imagination. From the walls, tin airplanes were suspended, glinting with light.  Dolls with glass eyes and fountains of shining hair were lined up on shelves peeping down at small girls cruising through the aisle. 

Donna always admired Signor Di Napoli. She wasn’t in love with him. She wanted to be him. She did not want to live in vain. Living with a husband and family in a fancy house with servants for her to boss around was her mother’s dream for her. Donna was opposed to this. She wanted to be a maiden forever and  live in a house with a toyshop on the ground floor and a limited loft up top to sleep and eat in. 

“I am fine Signor Di Napoli!” She grinned, making a quick recovery. “How is the shop going?” she asked eagerly. His face was sombre with a sad smile and a pointy moustache.

“I am afraid the shop is not doing so well at the moment, ragazzina.” He always called her “young girl” instead of her real name. He never thought the name Donna really suited her. 

She glanced over his shoulder to see the wooden sign above the shop doors being lowered by two construction workers.  She opened her mouth to speak but it felt like someone had pushed a stone down her throat. Her chest rose and fell abruptly. All she could squeeze out of her lungs was a gasp like sound. However the heroic Alessia put her words in for her.

“Is the shop closing Signor Di Napoli?” 

“Yes it is, Alessia.” As he looked down at the girls, they could see tears welling in his eyes. Donna was silent. Inside she was screaming. She was clawing at the construction workers and hissing at Signor Napoli for not even giving her one more day to enjoy the store. Outside the morning turned cold and frost nipped at her toes. She stood there feeling like an out-of-place pole made of cold steel.

“Why,” she whispered under her breath. He did not hear her.

“Why?” she said a little louder this time, “Why? Tell me, why?” She hung her head and sunk into a fury of muffled confusion. She had to know why.

“Why didn’t you have a closing sale or something?” Alessia asked.

“I am moving back to Naples. My brother is coming in his car to pick me up this afternoon,” he announced.

“But why?” Alessia tipped her head to the side.

“The toy factories in Italy are being turned into war industries. If I were to keep the store open, there would be no more toys to sell,” Signor Di Napoli said gravely. Donna thought she’d heard him wrong. 

“No toys…” she looked frantically at him. She felt a kind of squeamish discomfort rise within her.

Alessia suddenly remembered the time and clicked her heels. 

“Donna, we are late for our meeting! It’s already started,” she said, pulling at her friend’s arm.

“I think I want to stay for a while, Alessia,” Donna looked longingly at her friend, “but you can go if you want.”

Alessia’s face grew long. Her nose screwed itself up and her lips pressed together. They always walked together; at the mention of walking separately, Alessia’s face twisted and contorted itself in different directions. Anger. Confusion. Embarrassment. Her cheeks turned red and she turned away with an abrupt “fine.”

Donna watched as Alessia’s bouncing ringlets moved farther and farther away. She shifted her gaze over to the store. The boarded up window, the locked doors and the expressionless construction workers aggrieved. Her anguish piqued as the two construction workers lowering the sign lost their hold on it, dropped it, and it came clattering to the ground. The painted sign broke in half. The shattering sound rang in Donna’s ears. Her heart turned to porcelain. She stumbled to the boarded up window. Her hands fell on the plywood boards and she crooked her head to see through the window. The room was submerged in an inky darkness. Donna pressed her forehead against the window. She squinted. She could see the outline of smiling painted faces looking at her with their large circular eyes. They seemed to be both mocking her and silently asking for her help.  She leaned in closer, but a construction worker grabbed her arms, pulling her back. She howled and flung herself in all different directions. She lunged forward and used her legs to pull herself back to the window. The construction worker’s firm arms dragged her in the opposite direction. She was brushed to the side like an unwanted pile of shingles. She and the shop were separated. She fell into Signor Di Napoli’s arms and wailed.

A small crowd had formulated and was watching the girl as she collapsed in the middle of the main street. Tears came pouring down her face and she could not choke them back. Signor Di Napoli was unsure what to do. He tried comforting her, but there was nothing he could say. Donna did not know what she was doing. She was equally surprised as some of the bystanders that were watching her. Why am I crying, she thought. She had not played with toys since she was seven. When she was young, she had a dolly with feather wings and a plastic halo. She called her doll Anna. It was Donna’s prize possession for the first half of her life; she took it everywhere.

When she was eight, she started her training in Piccole Italiane, a youth division dedicated to preparing girls for their future. Her mother thought this very important. In the beginning, Donna cherished the division meetings. She showed so much enthusiasm that she was asked to stand and pose in traditional roman imperial clothing at a rally. She grew so busy with learning the Italian anthem and learning how to cook that she had no time to play with her doll Anna. One day she returned home from a meeting to find that Anna had been sold. She didn’t cry. At the time she just shrugged her shoulders. Now she cried. She was surprised at herself. This was the moment her memory flashed on, like a light switch turning on the electrical lighting in a room. Today she can barely remember what it was like before. From then on she was no longer a young girl with a friend walking down the street. She was the girl who cried on the main street that day.

Chapter Three: Warhood and The Cherry Dress

The remainder of the day passed by slowly. Donna was scolded for being late to the meeting. Before she would have blushed, slouched her shoulders, and trudged guiltily into her place in line for being so late. Today, Donna arrived at the meeting numb with tears and dragging. The useless girl barely showed a sign of consciousness. She didn’t look at the Piccole Italiane instructors when they were speaking to her. Her feet carried her from place to place. Alessia approached Donna asking gently where she had been, but Donna only sighed and wandered off. She silently refused to sing when they sung Giovinezza. She stood there amongst her smiling piers as they sung with their high-pitched voices. Donna remained silent.

“Hail, people of heroes,

Hail, immortal Fatherland,

Your sons were born again

With the faith and the Ideal.

Your warriors’ valour,

Your pioneers’ virtue,

Alighieri’s vision,

Today shines in every heart.”

The sound of the opening verse flooded through her ears. There was an influx of bitterness that arose within her.

Many years ago, a group of men came together to write the lyrics to this song. They thought it would be the best representation of their fascist Italy, a song to define an empire. When Donna first learnt the lyrics, the words were bold and strong, both poetic and to the point, but most of all, the words seemed right. She could remember how her courage would be reborn as she heard this song. Now there was something sickening and plasticky about it, like the smell that emerges from a factory. She winced. 

“Youth, Youth,

Spring of beauty,

In the hardship of life

Your song rings and goes!

And for Benito Mussolini,

And for our beautiful Fatherland,”

Suddenly, she began to remember things from the past she had not noticed or thought odd before. The same year Donna joined the Piccole Italiane division, Mussolini had travelled from city to city across the country to give speeches. He began in Rome. 

Her mother barely left the house, but on this particular day, Donna watched her as she swung a string of pearls around her neck and  slipped into her yellow dress limited to special occasions.

“Is Papa coming back today, Mama?” Donna asked. Her mother shot her a glance.

“No.” Her words were cold as they struck Donna across her face. She flinched. “Now go and get into that new dress I got you, the one with cherries painted on the fabric.”

“Are we going out for lunch? Is that why we are getting dressed up?”

“No.”

“Are we meeting Papa somewhere?” 

“No, there is no Papa. Now go get dressed. I do not like questioners. It’s forbidden for a child to talk up to her elders in such a matter.”

“But where are we going?”

“In the Italian borders,

Italians have been remade

Mussolini has remade them

For tomorrow’s war,

For labour’s glory,

For peace and for the laurel,

For the shame of those

Who repudiated our Fatherland”

Remade. Repudiated. Tomorrow’s war is now.

Donna and her mother left the house and entered out in public, a place her mother had not stepped into for the longest time. The cherry dress was new and exciting. It was too tight for comfort, but fit her well considering it was secondhand. It was new for Donna, but the world had seen it many times.

They met Alessia and her parents on the corner. Alessia and Donna walked in front as the adults trailed behind. Everybody was out on the streets and people they barely new tilted their hats at the young girls and bid them how do you do. Young Donna must have presumed  that all the people on the streets, including herself and her mother, were making their way to a party of sorts.

“The poets and the artisans,

The lords and the countrymen,

With an Italian’s pride

Swear fealty to Mussolini

No poor neighbourhood exists

That doesn’t send its hordes

That doesn’t unfurl the flags

Of redeeming Fascism”

Thousands of Italians gathered together, jostled into each other. Above them a facade stretched itself out. Donna remember the eager moments she spent admiring everyone’s outfits. They were chained down in patterned skirts, coloured headbands, straw hats, ties, ribbons, and smiles. Donna beamed at the notion that, from up above, the crowd would look like a multicoloured fruit. Then all of a sudden the crowd fell silent. All those yapping mouths hushed to listen. A man dressed in a fleece suit stepped into view through a shallow balcony smoothed onto the facade. One yapping mouth poured it’s words onto the crowd. Donna could hear the words, but she could not understand. 

“Do you know what he is saying?” she leaned in and whispered this question into Alessia’s ears.

“Shh,” she hissed, “I am trying to listen!”

Moments later the crowd erupted. Thousands of voices hurrahing. It was like an explosion. Hats catapulted into the air and couples leaned over and kissed each other. To her side, Alessia was jumping up and down, clapping her hands and sputtering indistinct words of joy. Donna’s mother grabbed her shoulders and kissed her right on the nose. 

“What has happened, Mama?” Donna couldn’t help smiling. “Is Papa coming home?”

“No, bambina, we are at war!” her mother triumphed. She leaned down and kissed Donna again. It was as if they had already won.

After most of the crowd had left to go off to bars for a drink, Alessia suggested that they search the ground for coins. Donna knew she should be getting home, but with her new cherry dress, she wanted to stay outside longer. As they were searching the ground they found a small boy a few years younger than them sprawled out on the ground. His sock was red, drenched with blood that poured from his ankle like water. He had been trampled in the excitement of the coming war. They knew this boy. He lived in their neighborhood. They often saw him at the toy store, but never at church. As Donna thought back on it now, she could not recall seeing him for a while now. He had vanished over the last few months. She was forbidden to talk to him because he had darker features. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, he had it all.  He must have been completely swallowed up by the crowd this time. Or maybe he vanished for a different reason. As the Italians were being remade one by one in the hands of Il Duce, that boy must have been neglected. 

The group stopped singing. The girls’ singing voices ended. The meeting was dismissed and all the girls set off in different directions. Alessia searched the crowd of friends, enemies, and girls for Donna. She glanced down a small alleyway to find her friend crouched down in a gutter, legs pulled towards her chest and eyes forced into her knees. Her shoulders bounced as if she was laughing silently. For the second time that day, Donna cried.

Chapter Four: The Silhouette Wife

Donna was relieved to finally be in bed. Her heart was filled with sour chagrin. She felt betrayed, as though all those smiling people had lied to her. And so had the cherry dress. She wrapped herself in her bedsheets and curled into a ball in the corner of her bed. She felt sick. After a few moments of silence and painful thoughts, the door opened to her room. Donna peered out from behind the blanket to see a yellow glow projected on the floor of her room from the hall. Her mother’s silhouette as she stood in the doorway drew a clear outline of her mother’s figure on the floorboards.

“Are you asleep, Donna?”

“No,” her sickly daughter responded

“You didn’t help with the laundry today. You knew you were supposed to do it today.”

“I know.”

“Well, how do you expect to become a good wife if you decide not to do the laundry whenever you don’t feel like it.” These words were not unfamiliar to Donna.

“What if I don’t want to become a wife?” she spat.

“Well I am afraid, Donna Roma, that you have no choice. A woman’s job is to keep a house, not a seat in Parliament. Do you want to end up on the streets?” Before Donna could answer, the door shut abruptly. Darkness fell back onto the room the same way a thick polluted fog would, the kind of fog you get trapped in and you cannot breath in or find a way out.

A few words about Donna’s mother, Ines Roma:

She was beautiful and lively with rich blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes. She grew up in a respectable middle class family and was brought up in the countryside. She spent her days playing with the other children in the village, climbing fences, drinking spoiled water from wells, and chasing each other across fields of long untamed grass. At nineteen, her father took many day trips to the neighboring villages and farms. At nineteen years old, Ines was dozing in the field behind her house when her father was returning from one of his trips. She was dragged indoors. Before her twentieth birthday, she was married to the wealthy man, Giovanni Roma, who happened to be vacationing in the next village at the time. His father was fast friends with hers and thus a wedding was in order. She went with him back to Rome where his family lived in a grand house made of slabs of marble and chandeliers of shining crystal. During the economic crash of 1929, the Roma family lost all its money and honour. They were forced to live in an overcrowded tenement. After a few years of this meager lifestyle, Giovanni was embarrassed to show his face in the streets and could not bear to look at his wife and newly born baby girl. One morning, he left before the light of day as usual for his newly acquired job as an assistant shoemaker. Ines waited for him at the house. She waited as hours and hours clicked by. When her husband did not return that night, Ines knew that he would never come back to them. In the last few days he was living with her, she neglected him. He stayed curled up in a mound of bedsheets as Donna is now doing and served no purpose. She only gave him small scraps of food, the rest she gave to the baby. She was not a very good wife to him the last few days before he left.

Chapter Five: The Break-ins

First she began with the toy store, then the houses.

The decisions Donna would make in the next few moments of life would change the course of history forever. Wrapped in her bedsheets, she contemplated in the dark. At first it began as a sudden impulse where Donna found herself half awake and half in a dream. She went over the idea multiple times in her head. At first, she laughed at the ridiculous notion. Then she began envisioning herself doing it; that is when it became real. She tossed and turned in bed. She wrenched at her mind and clenched the bedsheets in her fists. She couldn’t shake the concept of her sneaking away at night and breaking into the toy store from her head. It was so daring. It was so exhilarating. But most of all, it was so unlike her. 

How could she be sure of anything anymore? She pushed herself from the bed. Donna threw on her robe made of purple fabric with yellow stitching. She positioned it onto her back and tied the belt. It fit like a glove. War was no longer just soldiers that line up in the street; war meant lives both lost and living. It meant the life of Alessia, the spritely girl living a few houses down. It meant the life of Signor Di Napoli, the man now probably fast asleep in Naples. It meant the life of her mother. It meant the life of her father, wherever it he is now. It meant the life of the little Jewish boy with the bloody ankle. It meant the absence of toys in her neighborhood.

She thrust open her window. A brown sac swung over her shoulder, she carefully sat on the sill. She turned around and shoved her toes down the gap between the open window and the wood plank she was sitting on. She gathered air into her lungs and pushed her legs out into the dry night air. She gave herself little time for reluctance and she slid herself out the window! Donna felt her newly exposed body hover in midair. As she felt the air spin around her, she swatted her arms and caught hold of a brick that was slightly jutting out of the wall. Taken aback with amazement, she stayed clinging to the wall a while longer. Eventually, she succeeded in crawling down the wall like a spider. Her feet dropped onto the cobblestones and she rubbed her hands together to get all the chalk from the brick of them. She blew into her hands to warm them and she ventured off into the darkness. The darkness was comforting. The constellations watched Donna as she moved about the city. The darkness was going to let one girl shine.

Most nights, the people in Rome are forced to flee into a bomb shelter. But tonight was much more gentle. It humbled her. It was as if the war was put on pause for her most beautiful action.

The walk to the store was enjoyable. Donna smiled for the stars that blessed her eyes. She smiled for the cool breeze that stroked her hair. She smiled for her warmth all bundled up in her robe. She smiled in hot anticipation.

The store itself was tedious. She approached the boarded up door and latched handle to size up the amount of force it would take to break the plywood. After attempting to do just that for several minutes, she had tried several different tactics: pulling, punching and wrenching. She slid her hand behind the plywood until her palm touched the cold refreshing glass. She used the small muscles located in her fingers to tap on the door and she heard the hinges squeak weakly as the door pushed open. The girl lowered herself to the ground and slithered under the plywood. She sucked in her stomach so she could fit.  Using the sleeve of her robe, Donna wiped beads of sweat that came trickling down the side of her face. Her breathing grew heavy. Her sense of feverishness heightened. The air in her lungs thickened until it was dense enough to cut with a knife. She kept reminding herself to quicken her pace; she pushed herself to be faster. Her stomach still glued to the floor, she pulled herself deeper into the toy store. Faster. She arrived at her first pile of toys. Faster. Then she worked her way into the second. Faster. She worked tirelessly for half an hour until she could marvel at her filled brown sac. In it lay dolls that opened and closed their eyes depending on how you held them, toy vehicles, some with real tiny engines, wind-up toys in the shape of mice drumming away at very festive looking drums. Donna had even climbed up onto the top of a low shelf and untied a red old fashioned toy airplane from the ceiling and a green and red kite along with it. You can only imagine the trouble Donna had fitting the bag underneath the plywood. But it would all be worth it.

She escaped back into the night like a common criminal, the sac like a boulder she herself had laid across her back. She gazed upwards to watch the sky as it slowly began to shift and become lighter. She wished fervently that no one would see her and she ducked away into the shadows of buildings. Unlike a common criminal, Donna was not quite done. If she were to stop now her whole plan would be failed.

She encircled the first house several times before seeing the open window leading into a boy’s nursery. The window felt as though it was left open especially for her to climb into. She hoisted herself in and was now standing gingerly in the middle of a small boy’s room. From the thermometer left on the bedside table and the medicine bottle that rested in all its plumpness on top of the bureau, Donna could deduce that this boy was ill. Donna removed the multicoloured kite from the sac and slipped it in next to him beneath the bed sheet. She searched the room for a pen and paper. Once she had found some she wrote:

When you get better, go out to the beach and fly this kite.

Sincerely,

Donna paused for a second. She brought the tip of the pen to her lips. 

The boy’s eyes blinked open. Donna began shuffling towards the window afraid that the boy would scream in terror and attract the attention of his parents into the room. After a few silent moments of staring at each other, she noticed that the boy wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see her.

“Are you La Befana?” he inquired. La Befana is the friendly witch that brings children toys in Italian Culture.

“No.”

“Then why did you give me this kite?”

Donna was about to hiss and tell the boy off for asking too many questions, but instead she shrugged her shoulders

“What is your name then, if you aren’t La Befana?”

Donna shrugged her shoulders again.

“Are you the bogeyman then, come to take me away?!” 

“No!”

“Are you death herself come to fetch my corpse away? Am I dead?!” For a young boy he had quite a vivid, but dark imagination.

“No.”

Quickly Donna scribbled her name on the paper:

The Toygiver.

It seemed to fit her.

“What is that paper?”

“It is far too late for a boy your age to be up.” Donna sighed. “Now get comfortable in bed and I will sing to you if you like.”

“Alright.” The boy nestled in bed with his new kite; he was grinning ear to ear. Donna pulled a stool by his bed, sat, and sang until her mouth was dry and the boy had slipped into a blissful sleep. She left his room through the window, not forgetting to leave a note on the table. She visited ten other houses that night. The sky was red like a pitted cherry when she stumbled back to her house. Her mother was waiting outside, shivering in her robe both of chill and anxiety. 

“Where have you been, Donna?” her mother cried out when her daughter came into view. “I was about to have a heart attack!”

“You were?” Donna said gently.

Before her mother could answer, she was engulfed in a warm hug. Donna went over her new name over and over again in her mind. The Toygiver. The Toygiver. Toygiver. Donna would continue to do this nighttime ritual for years to come. She did it all the way until the end. The end of the war. The Toygiver. The Toygiver. Toygiver.


Decaf

Chapter One

“Grande iced coffee with almond milk, two pumps of caramel, and one and a half pumps of hazelnut. Thank you.”

“Decaf?”

“No,” I shuttered. It was too early to have decaffeinated coffee. I needed to have coffee. Last night had gone too late and too long. God, last night was awful and now I was tired, annoyed, and majorly hungover. Coffee would help with that. Maya always said I drank too much coffee. Everyone always said I was addicted, but I was really trying to stop drinking so much caffeine. It’s just, what else am I supposed to do? At this point in the argument, Maya would say I could sleep, then I would laugh, she would roll her eyes, and I would leave with full intentions of going to Denny’s, getting on line, smiling at Ralph and getting my drink. They always had it ready and ice cold. But of course today of all days, there was a new barista. Molly, I read. Next time I would make sure I got a barista that knew what they were doing. 

“Anything else, um, what’s your name?” Molly asked.

“Lexi and, um, yes.” Then I looked at the clock and then at Molly. This was her first day and I could tell. She looked like a deer in headlights, staring down each customer like they were her enemy. No, I didn’t have time for Molly to under or overcook my bun and I didn’t need to be any later than I already was. 

“I mean no,” I told Molly just as she was about to add more to my order. “I’m good,” I said as I gave her my rewards card. She took it like it was a space rock from Mars. She looked it up and down trying to figure out what this strange object was. 

“Never mind I’ll just pay with cash.” I took back my rewards card and gave her exact change in case she didn’t know how to open the cash register. 

“Thank you,” she said. For a moment I thought she was going to come out from behind the cash register and hug me, but she just stared. I smiled and went to go get my coffee.

“Nice name,” Molly shouted. The bribery was strong in this one. 

Now all I had to do was run to the open call and hope and pray I would get the role. Fortunately, when I checked my phone I saw that the open call was only five minutes away. Unfortunately, I only had two. I ran all the way there and was still late. When I went inside, the director handed me a packet and told me to sit down. I knew as soon as I saw the character description that I wasn’t even going to try. Shame, the girl at first seemed good. It said her name was Ashley and she was twenty one. That was fine and good. The only problem was that Ashley was struggling with an addiction to alcohol. I had never had an addiction. I didn’t want to offend anyone by portraying someone wrong. I stood up and walked over to the director. I was two steps away before I realized I was without my Denny’s cup. I needed something to get me through this. I ran back to my chair, grabbed my cup, and went back over. 

“Hello sir.” I smiled. I knew I could do this I talked to directors all the time. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about my role.”

“Call me Carl.” Carl. Of course his name was Carl. “Yes, Ashley. She’s a beautiful character.” I took another sip of my coffee. The taste swam around in my mouth making me feel the heat of a Costa Rican sun or feel the drum of a lost island. The smell was enough to make you happy, but the taste was amazing.

“Yes but it’s just-” Suddenly a wave of caramel splashed the top of my mouth. Something was off. I took another sip searching for the hazelnut that would always balance of the slightly salty caramel, but I couldn’t find even a trace of it. I took another sip and another, but the caramel once again overwhelmed my taste buds. It must have showed on my face because Carl was staring at me like I was a freak.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I don’t know if I can play her.” I tried to recover.

At this point, if I messed up, the ice and coolness of my drink would calm me down, but instead the coffee seemed to grow hotter. 

“Listen, I understand that she seems like someone completely different, but just see if you can find some similarities. I’m sorry—are you okay?” No, I wasn’t. My mouth was just flooded with a nutty taste. Oh my god, is that nutmeg? Who mixes up hazelnut and nutmeg? This was the most disgusting coffee I had ever had and apparently it showed.

“I’m sorry. It’s just my barista messed up my order and it’s literally disgusting and it isn’t ice cold and just blegh.” When I looked up at Carl, he was laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just, it seems like you have a bit of an addiction of your own.” How dare he. How dare this man insult me like this. It wasn’t my fault Molly messed up my order and it wasn’t my fault Carl was being rude. 

“I’m usually like this it’s just something was off and I didn’t know what it was. It turns out my barista used nutmeg instead of hazelnut and I’m just having a bad day.”

“So I see you’re a coffee snob—” My jaw dropped. “—and a little bit of a drama queen.”

“I am not a coffee snob.” My face was getting red and my jaw was practically hitting the floor. “And I am not a drama queen. I just like to be in control of what goes into my mouth. If it’s trash, I don’t like it, which is probably why I don’t like this character!” As soon as I said that, I wanted to take it back. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I just meant-”

“Ms. Brown,” said Carl, “I think you should leave.”

“No, sir, please.” I took another sip of my coffee, knowing and dreading what would happen next.

“Out.” Carl smiled and reached out a hand for my Denny’s cup. “And close the door on your way out.” I bit my lip to stop the tears and slowly walked out the door. I almost left that audition feeling sad until I heard Carl spitting out my drink exclaiming how disgusting and gross it was. Maybe it was the complete over dosage of caramel. Maybe it was the absence of hazelnut and the nutmeg sinking into every delicious coffee bean. Maybe it was even the coffee itself. Maybe Molly had messed it up like she had this entire day and this entire audition. But all of those seemed fine compared to the giant flem god that I spat in my coffee. Who was a drama queen now?

Chapter Two

“How did it go?” asked Maya. She was making coffee, decaf no doubt. 

“Not well,” I told her. “The director was just awful and my coffee was just awful. There was this horrible barista, Molly. She mixed up hazelnut and nutmeg. Like who does that?” I fell onto the couch, sinking into the fluffy Target pillows.

“Well,” Maya said as she jumped onto the couch next to me. “Maybe it wasn’t all Molly’s fault.”

“Yeah maybe I actually just told her nutmeg instead of hazelnut.” I rolled my eyes. I would never mess up my order. 

“Well yeah,” Maya said, “I mean I do it all the time.” I rolled my eyes, but then Maya smiled and I had to forgive her.

“I redecorated the apartment.” I looked around. Maya tended to do this very frequently. This week’s (possibly day’s) theme was blue. She had added blue beach paintings, which she was making when I left, to the walls. Then she had gotten a new rug for the living room and some new vases and accessories for around the house. Yeah, it looked good, but I wish she could just stick with something. I told her I really liked the peach one she did three weeks ago, but she said it was too princessy. I took a peak in her room and saw she had completely redone her room to. It was slowly closing in on itself with the layers and layers of paint she would use to cover the last stage of herself. The Maya she was showing today was vintage Maya. She was wearing old Levi’s overalls and an old MTV tee that she no doubt got from a thrift store or yard sale. This ensemble was accompanied by her old ass Converse and a ripped up Newsies cap. Maya would change into a different person every week, throwing away her life before this new style. Sometimes I would like Maya and sometimes I would hate her. I didn’t like emo Maya. I really didn’t like preppy Maya. Sometimes she would ask me what my favorite Maya was and then I would say, “My favorite Maya is just Maya.” Then she would laugh, even though it wasn’t a joke. But today vintage Maya would just be out of it and cool. I was fine with that, but I wished I could spend my time with the Maya I knew when I moved in with her. But who knows maybe that was another version of Maya that I didn’t know. To go with this new Maya, she had painted her room a brown-ish mustard. Her record player and typewriter were out and she was using her orange sheets and she had switched out her Chanel poster for a display of her records. Maya was starting over once again, creating herself again. Soon she would drop all her preppy friends and she would start hanging out with hipsters at coffee shops. 

“So do you like it?” She seemed kind of eager to hear what I had to say.

I wanted to say, “you should just keep it normal and stop changing it,” but instead I said, 

“I love it. Definitely your best form yet.”

“Well,” she said. Then she smiled and I realized I was looking at the same Maya. Her toothy grin made me so happy so I went with it. 

“Yes.” I tried to replicate her smile but I just came out looking like a bunny.

“Maybe we could redo your room.” She flung open my room before I could stop her. I would go into detail describing my room, but it’s pretty basic. It’s all white, but not in a cute way. It looks like an asylum except for the occasional splotch of coffee spill. I still loved it, but Maya, well, Maya thought it could be improved. 

“I mean.” Maya paused. Even Maya, who comes up with new room designs every week, couldn’t think of a way to salvage my room. “We could-”

“We could close the door of my room and never open it again,” I suggested, but before I could execute my plan, Maya stepped into my room. I couldn’t leave her to her own devices in there so I followed her in. I was truly beyond the point of no return.

“Well we can start by getting you some new sheets.” Oh brother this was going to be awful, but, hey, I was in Maya’s hands now. When I looked back at Maya she was spacing out.

“Maya,” I said. Nothing. “Maya!” I basically screamed. Suddenly Maya’s face lit up. “What?” I asked.

“I know what we’re doing for your room.”

“What?” If she made my room like a six year old’s I was going to kill her.

“Coffee,” she said smiling.

“What?” 

“Oh my god, stop saying what. Your room is going to be brown, white, and green, like a Denny’s cup. Also we’re going to have cute coffee art and a desk and finally your room isn’t going to look like you live in a mental institution.” 

“Great. You do that.” I went to go get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch and, you guessed it, coffee. 

“Come on,” Maya begged.

“No,” I said. I had no intention of letting Maya touch my room.

“Why not?”

“Because.” 

“Because what?”

“Fine. Do it.”

“No.”

“This is why. Once you do it once, you’re just gonna do it over and over and over until I’ll have no room because the paint is going to kill me with it’s fumes.”

“I won’t do that.”

“Fine, go. Go make over my room.”

“Eeeee!” Maya squealed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

I was going to regret this, but before I could tell her to stop, she was out the door. I slipped into my room and opened my computer. I opened up my Gmail and waited. I stared at the screen, waiting for an email, an open call, an audition, something. I needed to start pulling my weight or else, well, or else Maya might not want to house me anymore. No, that couldn’t happen. It wasn’t Friday, but I started the send anyway. First, I would need coffee. I walked out to the kitchen, bringing my cereal with me. I mixed it and sipped it and I suddenly knew everything was going to be okay. I started the first email and finished the second, third, and sixth. I sent the third and the second, but held on to the sixth. I wanted to see what Maya thought. Then I waited… and waited… and waited. And then an email popped up. I clicked on it and it was from Carl. It read: 

Dear Lexi,

Although you were a bit rude I want to give you another chance. I feel you can really embody this character. Come tomorrow at nine. Sharp.

Chapter Three

I’ll skip the pleasantries and just say this show was amazing. Except for one day. One day, I was walking back from a particularly bad rehearsal and Maya told me to sit down.

“I have a surprise,” she said. She seemed a bit too happy. “Come with me.”

“Ok,” I said. She led me to my room. 

“Now open.” My jaw dropped. My room was white with a band of brown around it. In the middle of my new room was a huge circle with the Denny’s logo on it and that logo ended up morphing into my head board. Around my room was more disgusting green and coffee art. If you couldn’t tell, I hated it. 

“What did you do to my room?” I screamed.

“Nothing, I just made it better.” Maya seemed hurt, but I didn’t care.

“That was my room and now I’m literally living in a coffee cup.”

“Yeah, that was the idea.”

“Well, I hate it.”

“I was just trying to help.” Maya started to cry.

“Wow, Maya,” I said sarcastically, “and I thought with so many different personalities you weren’t able to even have feelings.” At this point I was crying too. But not sad crying, angry crying.

“I just wanted to help you.”

“Well Maya, you didn’t.”

“What is wrong with you? I thought we were friends. Friends do things like this with each other.”

“Really? I don’t know, Maya. Are we friends? Or am I friends with Preppy Maya, Hippie Maya, Mean Girl Maya, or, god forbid, Emo Maya? There are just so many of you I don’t know. Are we friends?”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“You don’t know who I am? Try figuring yourself out first.” 

“Don’t go there, Lex.”

“Oh, I’ll go there Maya.” Now I was mad. “You don’t know who you are. You always say you change your look for fashion, but that’s not true. The truth is you keep changing because you think one day someone might actually like you. But guess what Maya? If you just keep never truly opening up, no one can love you. No one.”

“Out,” Maya mustered through tears. So I did. I packed up my stuff and left for a cheap motel. The next day, I was still in shock, but I still went to Denny’s and got my coffee.

Molly gave me the cup and said, “I made it specially for you.”

When I opened the lid, I saw something I’ll never forget. A huge fly was swimming around in my foam. Before I could think, I texted the food and drink health department and demanded for Molly to be fired. Then I sent a picture of my drink.

I left for my last rehearsal. At the end we all hugged and high-fived and said we couldn’t wait for Sunday. It was Friday and I couldn’t wait.

I went home, well, I went to my motel and I texted Maya. I said I was sorry. She left me on read. I pulled an all nighter sipping the gross motel coffee from the lobby. When I went outside the next day, I saw something. I didn’t believe it. I saw an abandoned building that used to house the Denny’s coffee shop. I went up to the window still seeing the painted walls of green, white, and brown. The chairs were turned up just like they were yesterday only now the doors would never open. I touched the brass door handles and pulled slightly. The door opened until a chain stopped it. The opening was just big enough to slip inside. I did. Then I smelled the coffee. I looked outside to the world I used to be in and then to myself inside a now abandoned coffee shop. My hair was messy and my eyes were cakey from putting on too much concealer.

I still remembered that fateful day when I went to get my coffee and met Molly. That day I thought I was mad at her, but I didn’t know about how much she could really destroy. As I walked around this haunted house, I saw a flyer. I walked over to it, examining the bold red letters that spelled “D-A-N-G-E-R.” Right below it, it read “dangerous health conditions.” Then my eyes got fuzzy and I heard the drop of a single tear on the ground. This was my fault. 

“So.” I turned around and saw Molly in the doorway. “Was it worth it getting me fired?”

“No,” I said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, here.” She handed me a coffee cup.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

“Crush it,” she said. So I did. 

“Done.” She looked at the cup. It was completely destroyed, the green band now bent.

“Now say ‘I’m sorry’,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I told the cup. It stayed the same. Destroyed. “Nothing happened,” I told her.

“Exactly.” She slipped through the door and didn’t look back. I walked sluggishly back to the motel, making each step slower than the last. When I finally got there, I went up the stairs, not even stopping to think to myself how hard it was. When I opened my door, I saw that Maya had texted me back. She said it wasn’t OK. I lay on my bed thinking of Ralph and Molly and even Denny. They were all out of work and were probably struggling. Especially Molly. I thought about what she said. Even though I knew she was right, I still wrote each and every person I hurt an apology email. No one wrote back. I closed my eyes and thought of everything and finally I slept. I slept and slept not being woken up by coffee or Maya or anything. I slept through the opening lines of alcoholic Ashley. I slept through Carl screaming and asking anyone if they knew where I was. I slept through eighteen text messages from Maya telling me to wake up. I slept through Denny’s getting sold to Starbucks. And the Sunday I had wished and dreamed about for my whole life came and went.


Ink

Introduction

Hello. I’m the narrator and I only have the one paragraph for the introduction so let me get some things straight. First of all, this is totally made up and you should not try this at home. Second of all, I really don’t have anything else to say except get ready for lots of humorous and crazy things to happen so let’s hope you didn’t skip this.

Chapter One: Inky Depths 

Hey it’s the narrator again and I’m back to tell you the story. So, this story begins at the home of an artist name Jeff Jones who had this pen and was drawing. He was always drawing horror and he loved horror and this new pen he just got was special and Jeff did not know that. So he drew a portal sucking a house into this world, then he felt this tight pull on him and he saw a portal. He quickly wrote a message that said:

Free me from the portal.

The pen is the mightiest weapon you have.

It creates anything you need to use.

Use it well.

-Your dad,

       Jeff

Later that day, Bobby came home from school to find ink everywhere and a message covered in ink. He was able to make it out and it read:

Free   from portal the   is the mightiest weapon you         creates 

Anything     need us t we l

-Your   ad

       Jef

Bobby decided to recreate the drawing that he saw that was ripped and then it happened. He saw an inky black portal open and it sucked him in.

Chapter Two: Inky World

When Bobby woke up, he saw he was in a cage and in front of him were two knights. Then one said, “Second one today, guess we better feed him to the ink hound”. Bobby knew this was not good so he drew on the wall a tommy gun and then he started to pull on the wall. After that, he got his tommy gun and he knew this was his only hope. He saw bright lights and on the floor were the two knights. The cage had broken open and then he saw the knights melt into ink and then everything went black…

When he woke up, he was on the floor, and looking down at him was a monster that looked like he had taken a bath in ink and never wiped it off. The monster had one eye and you could tell the other eye was submerged in ink. He had a creepy smile and spoke in a raspy voice “these inky depths, they are evil and you can’t get out. Beware of the wolf known as Billy he makes sure that no one escapes. He has two accomplices. One’s a spider and one’s a lion. Neither are… oh no I have said too much, run!”

As Bobby ran away, he heard a scream and ripping and chewing. Bobby ran and ran till he saw someone in front of him that looked like a man from Jeff’s drawings. So Bobby ran more and more until he couldn’t even stand up so he drew a car. As he drove the world around him got darker. Then he fell and the world around him changed. 

Chapter Three: Wolves, Spiders, and Lions

When Bobby hit the ground, he was tired. So he ate his favorite food: tofu and pea soup. As he ate, Bobby felt so refreshed that he could fight. Then he heard a howling and a wolf came with a lion and a spider next to it. Bobby walked back and then he felt the cold stone hit his back. Bobby knew this was the end and then he tried to draw a line, but he was so scared that it was not even straight. So he closed his eyes and let the monsters eat him.

He felt the cold drool of the wolf on him. The ground rumbled and broke open. Then everyone fell through. He drew in the air hoping a trampoline would come out and then it went black…

Bobby woke up seeing the ink rising and then Bobby saw a door. He ran towards it just in time to get inside before the ink covered everything around it. Everything was submerged in ink and he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his dad covered in ink. Before they could talk the ceiling cracked and little by little ink started to flood in.

As Bobby and Jeff ran for their lives, Bobby felt a sharp pain in his arm and he saw the wolf had bitten him. He ran and the wolf ran after him and then the ink broke through the ceiling and killed the wolf. As Bobby ran, the ink started to catch up to him and then he felt his heart stop pumping and his blood started to leak out from his body and then…

Chapter Four: Dead Or Alive

Hey, it’s the narrator again and I have to tell you that this next chapter is really weird and you should definitely not read it. But then this won’t make sense. You know what just ignore me.  

When Bobby woke up he was still dead but he was also alive, probably because he drew a heart on himself (yes, this worked for some dumb reason).  And he had lost his dad again. Then he saw foot steps, so he followed them. He followed them for hours until he found a place covered in ink. He did what his gut feeling had told him to do: draw a portal.

He felt himself getting pulled on, and then everything went black.

Chapter Five: New Ink City

When Bobby came out, he saw a huge building with big letters on it that said: “get yourself inked.” Then, Bobby realized that someone or something must have escaped the ink world. Then it hit him, literally and figuratively. His dad’s creations must have gotten out and one of his dads creations knocked him out which was the fourth time he got knocked out. When he woke up, he was in a cage with pipes that was starting to pump ink into it. He drew a huge cork and plugged the pipes knowing that he had enough time to draw a key and unlock it. Then one of the corks burst and then the other one. He was starting to drown so he worked more quickly and then he opened the cage. He fell down and knew he was gonna die but no one was there, then the door burst open.

He saw a guard there who then fell down.

There was a man who said, “The legendary Bobby Jones, the man who started this and has to end this.”

Bobby was confused and asked, “One, who are you? Two, where is my dad?”

The man replied by saying, “One I’m a rebel. Two, your dad died 4 years ago. You and your dad disappeared 10 years ago. He came back in 6 years then died; you came back now so help us.” 

“No!” Bobby yelled.

“Ugh,” said the guy. Then Bobby got knocked out again.

When Bobby woke up, he was surrounded by many people and they were all screaming questions at him. So he drew a minigun and held it up to them and said, “Listen up you guys. You have no weapons or ammo so let me make you some guns with infinite ammo. Trust me: if one of you betrays me then the last thing you will hear is bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang. And trust me, you don’t want it to end that way. So who’s with me?”

Everyone looked at each other for a little bit and then started chanting and bringing whatever they could to help create weapons for them. Some asked for swords others asked for guns and some asked for helicopters which was weird, but Bobby had seen weirder. After many hours of creating weapons everyone was ready.

Chapter Six: Blood And Ink

The army of men and women charged towards inky people, all with swords and guns. As Bobby and his army charged, many people fell dead from swords, but so did the ink people. Then, everyone heard a rumble. 

Bobby ran while yelling, “Take cover!” but it was too late. Everyone was turned into ink so Bobby took his minigun and shot until it looked like the floor was ink. Then no one was left; just him. He went to confront the leader and then he heard a rumble and the ground broke.

He woke up in the ink world again with many portals around him. He knew only one would lead to where he needed to go. So he looked at them until he found one that mentally spoke to him and he went in it and woke up in his house and his father was talking to him and saying, “Shh, shh. Everything is alright”.

“What happened with the ink?” 

“I will tell you later” said Bobby’s dad and then Bobby went to sleep. 

Chapter Seven: Clean Up

When Bobby woke up his dad said, “Many of the ink things got out; it’s time we erase our work because they are evil.”

“But why can’t we just draw something to do it for us,” asked Bobby, “because that’s just making things worse than they already are and right now they are worse than the Devil himself.”

“Ok,” said Bobby’s dad.

When they got outside, the first thing they saw was an inky black killer clown and Bobby drew an eraser and waved it at the killer clown until it was nothing but a drop of ink and then it was nothing. As Bobby and his dad, Jeff, walked, a monster came down and ripped the pen in half and Bobby and Jeff had no more weapons

Chapter Eight: Just Flesh

With only fists and their surroundings, Jeff and Bobby were outnumbered by many ink things. Then Jeff realized something: these were his creations so all he had to do was get rid of himself. So he went up to the creatures and yelled “take me and kill me!”

The leader which was the lion from the ink world said, “We will keep you, but not kill you.” And they took him away.

As Bobby ran, he could not keep up with the monsters that took him away and slowly he stopped. He looked up and saw this monster running away to the White House (yes, Bobby lives in Washington D.C.) and he knew they would keep him hostage. So he ran towards them, fighting the will to give up until he finally got to the White House where he could confront the monsters that were still alive from the destruction of the ink world.

Chapter Nine: Ink to Flesh

Finally, when Bobby got to the White House it was more of a black house and the American flag was just a black flag. It really looked like you took the white house and dumped a bucket of ink on it. Nonetheless, Bobby went in. As he walked, the men guarding it stepped away cautiously as they knew the pens powers, but did not know that the pen was broken. 

After he got to the oval office, where his father was being held captive, the Lion sat there and looked out the window and said, “This place is amazing, full of color and no way to get out. All you have to worry about is dying, but not in my world”. Then the Lion turned around and attacked Bobby.

As Bobby got bitten by the Lion he yelled, “Wait, wait, wait!” And the Lion stopped. Bobby said, “If you give me one of your teeth, I won’t stop you at ALL”. The Lion was mentaly blinded by having the whole world so the Lion gladly ripped off one of his teeth and handed to Bobby. As he ran away to take over the world Bobby ran to his dad.

When Bobby got to his dad, his dad did not look at Bobby and said, “Kill me, Bobby.”

And Bobby said,“No, I refuse.”

Quickly, Jeff grabbed the Lion toothed and said, “I love you Bobby,” and thrust it into his chest and all the ink melted away and then the white house was white again. He then took the Lion tooth and walked away.

Chapter Ten: Fist Fight

As Bobby walked out of the white house, he saw a six monsters: a dragon, the Lion, a stick figure, a skeleton, a vampire, and a cowboy. As all the monsters ran at him, he picked up a sharp piece of concrete and ran at the them. He cut the cowboy from the chest up. Then he took another piece and threw it at the dragon and hit him directly in the face, falling down and exploding into ink. Then he took the stick figure and stabbed the vampire in the mouth,and the vampire fell down dead. The stick figure was also dead. Then he took the skeleton and stuffed it down the Lion’s mouth then the Lion fell limp.

Then all the monsters melted away, except for the Lion who charged at Bobby screaming, “You killed everything I had!”

Bobby replied yelling, “I had to kill my only family member.” And then he stabbed the Lion with the lion tooth he had in his pocket and got up and walked away.

Epilogue

As Bobby walked home, he was covered in ink and wished he could talk to someone about what just happened with his father dying. When he got home, he opened the door, but the door just fell down. So he went in the living room, which was the room were he got sucked into the portal. The room was the same, but as he explored, everything was covered with ink so he started to clean. 

When he went to clean the bathroom, he saw himself. If anything, he looked like an ink person, so he just kept cleaning and told himself that he would take a shower soon. After he had cleaned the house and taken a shower, he got his dad’s body and put it in a coffin that had his most important drawing on it. The drawing was Bobby fighting a dragon. Then he closed the inky black coffin and walked out of his dad’s room into the living room to watch some TV.

The End?


The Shattered Syringe

Editor’s Note: Content Warning for Drug Use

As the luck in the packs does not change, Michael sits in his chair trying to stay enthused so that his chat does not know how much that measly eighty two rated card affected his bank account. The packs begin to get slightly better, and then go right back down in their regular slope. Michael decides that he has had enough for today. He ends his stream with no warning to his thirteen fans, leaving them confused as to why they got only seven and a half hours of streaming today.

Opening the fridge to the repulsive stench of spoiled milk and half-eaten canned tomato soup, he asks himself if he should just quit streaming and get what his family calls “a real job.” With half a Campbell’s soup in hand, he walks over to his monitor to see if there are any job openings nearby. The only available positions near him seem to be quite tragic: a cashier at the rundown Sunoco gas station or a waiter at Bertucci’s thirteen miles away. Both pay the same, $7.25 an hour, the Texas minimum wage. The long bike ride is worse than the cigarette smell that the gas station has, leaving Michael with only the interview left to complete. Calling it a night, Michael falls asleep to the three am Houston traffic.

The next day, with his best sweatshirt on, Michael walks into the gas station looking for a job. After the interview, Michael is confident that he has secured the job and decides that he deserves to treat himself for going out to the gas station instead of wasting away in his room playing FIFA on camera until he is ready to punch a hole in his wall. He buys himself a box of Pop-Tarts and a beer, the treat he deserves after this successful day. On his walk back home, he notices a bar and decides to go in. After all, he deserves it.

The next morning, he wakes up with a severe headache and a voice message on his phone. He opens the message. It’s the manager of the gas station. He didn’t get the job. The taste in his mouth turns bitter with rage. He needs that job. He grudgingly unlocks his computer and begins to stream. As a starting point he puts in $100 into today’s packs, the remnants of what’s left over in his bank account. Finally, after an hour and a half of no luck, he gets a walkout. As he walks across the stream, he hears a noise coming from his computer. Someone had donated two dollars. Not much, but it’s a start. Pack after pack, his luck seems to be shifting, getting slightly better and better players every time. After another forty five minutes, he gets the flash of light, indicating a good pack. Crossing his fingers, Michael watches as an icon walks out of the pack and does that little animated celebration everyone was waiting for. Maradona. Michael watches his stream go crazy, numbers rising from thirteen to twenty to thirty six viewers. Someone donates $15. Slowly but surely, Michael is making his money back. For the first time in his FIFA career, which is also his only ever career, Michael has gone positive at the end of the stream, actually gaining three dollars.

As Michael contemplates what to do tomorrow on his next stream, he begins to smell smoke. He wanders around, searching for the source of the scent, until he eventually stumbles into the kitchen where he notices that the oven is still on. In the oven are Michael’s, now charred, attempt at cookies that he was going to treat himself with. Panicking, Michael throws the cookies out of the oven and tries to put the fire out. The severity of the situation does not occur to Michael until he hears a knock on his door. He sprints out to open it, and one of his neighbors is there with a fire extinguisher.

After an alarming ten minutes, his neighbor finally leaves him alone with just a very dark patch left on his floor. Only now noticing that the fire alarms are going off, Michael uses the anger that is pent up inside of him and uses a crowbar to knock the fire alarm out. With some peace and quiet now flowing through the house, Michael walks toward his bed. Looking down at his bed, Michael begins to bawl. Tears rolling down his cheeks, his shoulders tremble.

The next morning, Michael walks down the street looking for any money making opportunity, even asking kids running a lemonade stand if they need a hand. As he walks past the CVS, he decides that clearly this won’t work. On the walk back to his house, he decides to take a shortcut, leading him through the back alleys of Houston.

A man stands in the middle of the alley on the way to Michael’s flat, almost as if he is another roadblock in Michael’s life. Michael contemplates what to do, whether to speak to him or not. Deciding that he has hit rock bottom, Michael decides to just say hi to the strange man. 

“Hello,” Michael says politely to the stranger.

The man looks up at him and gives him a size up. He looks up and down, as if surveying if Michael is a threat.

“Hey, I have something you want,” he replies with a hoarse voice.

Michael begins to wonder what it is that he has. Money? A job opening? Some luck?

“And what is it that I want?” Michael asks, genuinely curious, but also a little nervous for what he is going to hear.

“Heroin,” he replies.

The word bounces around in Michael’s mind as if it is a skipping stone going across a pond. Michael’s immediate reaction is obviously to reject it and walk away, but the more he thinks about it, the more the idea seems to be a good one.

“I don’t have money on me,” Michael finally responds to the stranger.

Hoping that that might be the end of it, he begins to walk away.

“Don’t worry, first dose is always free,” the stranger responds, knowing that this first dose would lead to another and another and another.

“Sure, why not?” Michael responds, somewhat knowing that he shouldn’t be doing it anyway. “How do I take it? Do I like snort it or something?”

“No, I have a spare syringe for you. Don’t worry about it,” the stranger responds, reaching into his back pocket. “I guess this will scare you if you’re an anti-vaxxer.”

“Just give me the damn syringe,” Michael responds, just wanting to get it over with.

He grabs the syringe, already filled with a dose, and looks for his radial artery. Being a med school drop-out, he knows how to get an artery to bulge out. He cuts the circulation going into his right arm and then injects the grimy syringe into his bloodstream. 

There is not much immediate pain, just like a normal vaccine or blood test, and Michael does not feel any different with heroin as without.

Thirty minutes later, and a calm passes over Michael. It is as if his troubles in life just disappear, and all of a sudden he is just peaceful. Unfortunately for Michael, this only lasts for about 45 minutes. Now Michael is back to normal, except for one thing. He has this strange cramp in his jaw. Not much to worry about. It should leave in a day or two, Michael says to himself. 

A day passes by, and Michael has gone to see the stranger another time to get another dose, this one not quite as cheap. The jaw cramp has yet to leave, but that isn’t too much of a problem. Instead he now has these continuous muscle cramps that come and go but are mostly just annoying. He ignores the symptoms, not wanting to realize what he knows they are. The days pass by, and he continues to make a few dollars here and there on stream, mostly looking forward to when he could afford his next dosage.

A week later, he finally could afford a small dosage. This starts to become routine, meet up with the man, whose name turns out to be Theo, get the dose, go home, and enjoy.

“Hey, Theo,” Michael says as he walks closer to joy.

“Michael,” Theo responds, not looking up.

He is wearing an OffWhite sweatshirt and Fear of God jeans. Theo is a dealer, and because of that, lives quite fruitfully off of the money he makes, just with the bad part of being constantly scared of getting caught.

“So, can I have it,” Michael asks, handing over the $50.

That is all that he has made over the last week and was going to pay for a bit of his rent.

“Sure, whatever you want,” Theo hands it over, once again, in quite an unclean syringe.

Michael thinks about just wiping it down, but that seems like a lot of effort for such a small benefit.

“Thank you, man. I’ll see you soon.”

Michael walks away, trying not to let the excitement show, so Theo doesn’t think he is a complete junkie.

 As the days roll by, Michael seems to be getting more headaches and is having trouble swallowing. And a month later, he goes to see Theo again, this time for a bigger dose. 

As Michael walks towards Theo, he takes the money out of his back pocket, $150, the most he ever made off of streaming. Theo is there waiting. Michael is becoming his best customer, and he could see that that wouldn’t change anytime soon.

Michael is about to hand the money over when his muscles suddenly stiffen and he loses consciousness. Michael falls to the ground and begins to convulse. White foam comes out of his mouth, and his eyes roll back in his head. Theo panics and sprints away with the money. He leaves a syringe next to Michael.

Weeks go by, and a stench begins to come from the alley behind Alonzo’s Pizzaria. Finally, a customer decides to go and see what is producing this horrid odor. It is a surprise indeed. The flies buzzing in and out of the man’s nose and mouth is enough for a scream to crawl out of the former customer’s mouth. He is glued to his spot, looking at a man sprawled across the asphalt with open eyes, but no pupils.

As police come onto the scene and bring the body back for an autopsy, it is clear that he has died because of untreated tetanus. As the police swarm the scene like the bugs across Michael’s body, they find something. A single shattered syringe.


My Mom

Hi, I’m Skylark Lalak. I live in Cleveland and really want to find my mother. When I was three years old, my mother ran away. This I remember because, if I want to remember something, I can remember it. It is kind of sad to think that she would run away. Now that I am sixteen, I would like to know more about where my mother is and find her. I also would like to know more about why she ran away.

I have a sister named Maya, who has Leukemia. Leukemia is a type of cancer. I am worried if I leave I will never see her again. My dad wants to help my sister but they don’t realize how much it is impacting my life. 

The thing is I have to take care of my sister because my father works till 8pm every night. The main thing that I have to do is make dinner and clean the dishes. Luckily, I can go to school. My sister can’t go to school because then she will get even more sick, considering all the germs. It is really hard to make friends at a time like this, but luckily I have a friend named Chloe. Chloe is a nice, caring person who helps me with my sister by checking on my sister while I do my homework. If only my dad would take some time off of work for my sister. Last night I was telling my dad how I felt about all of this. He said it was so we could pay for everything. 

Back to trying to find my mother. I decided that tonight I would ask my dad about my mom and why we never speak of her. First I needed to go to school, check on my sister, do homework, then wait for my dad. My dad gets home around 8:30 pm and sits down on the couch and I notice something is wrong so I call 911. I notice that my dad is limping and his foot is swelling. We go to the ambulance and after some tests, they find out my dad has a broken foot. He will not tell me how he broke it. Uh oh. I need an adult I can trust. Now I really need my mom. I can only trust my mom and the doctors. I just talked with the doctors and they say they will call whenever something happens. So I’m off. But I need to tell my dad and ask him a few questions.

I go up to my dad and ask, “Dad can you tell me anything about Mom?”

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask, trying to beg him.

“Because,” he answers. 

“You sure?” I try one last time.

There is silence then finally, “Fine, just ask her yourself,” he says as he goes on my phone and dials a number. I go in my room and answer the phone.

“Hi Mom,” I say.

“Hi,” she says. It feels great to hear her voice. It has been a long time since I heard her voice. It makes me feel sad and happy at the same time. Her voice is kind of soft like the harmony of angels.

“Where are you mom? No one will tell me anything. And why did you run away from dad, Maya and I?” I feel bad that people don’t tell me anything.

“I will give you a hint and tell you the rest when you come and find me. Here is your hint… I am at the hottest continent in the world. The country I am in is called something that has a few Os in it,” she answers. I think that this is a very strange answer. Now after I finish this call I have to solve the riddle.

“Mom, if you don’t know, dad has a broken foot and Maya has Leukemia,” I say in grief because it is sad to say that my whole family is falling apart.

“Sadly I know that these things are happening right now. I know these things because your father calls everyday. Gotta go ,bye,” she says.

“Bye,” I say and hang up. I think I just need to figure out that riddle and then I will tell my dad that I am going to wherever the riddle takes me. I head over to my desk and figure out the riddle. I have always been great at riddles and I love them. This is how I figured it out…

First, you figure out what the hottest continent: Africa (if you don’t know look it up.)

Second, you know that a few means around three, and there are three o’s so…

The answer is Morocco.

So now I need to tell my dad.

“Hey Dad,” I say as I head over to the couch.

“Hi honey,” he says.

He looks tired so I tell him, “Dad, let me tell you something. Then you’ll try to sleep.”

“Ok, what do you want?” he says.

“Can I go to Morocco to save Mom?” I ask, crossing my fingers.

“No,” he answers.

“Dad, why not? I am helping Maya, you and myself. Please.”

“But you may get hurt,” he says.

“Dad, I won’t get hurt. Can you stop being overprotective?”

“I don’t want everyone in this family to be hurt.”

“Then let me go. I will always be hurt without my mom. Just so you know the doctors are taking care of Maya.”

“Go, but try not to get hurt.”

“Sure.” Yes, I am going to Morocco and saving my mom. Now I need to get a ticket. I look at my phone, and I see that there is a flight tomorrow at 2 pm to Morocco. When I turned sixteen, my dad gave me a wallet that had a credit card. I will go then. I am lucky that it is the weekend tomorrow. Wait for one second. Tomorrow is Chloe’s birthday. I will ask if we can do something for her birthday in the morning before noon.

A few minutes later…

Yes! She replied and said that I could come over now and have a birthday sleepover. I told her I’d be there in a little bit. So, off I am to the bookstore to get Chloe a book. I decided to grab something Harry Potter. I am now trying to find the Ravenclaw notebook. Our favorite house. We like Ravenclaw because they are smart and so are we. Found it. Now I pay and we are off to Chloe’s 17th birthday party. She is a few months older than me. 

I get there and I give the present to Chloe and say, “Are you looking forward to being seventeen? I am sorry that I could not be here for your actual party.”

“It is fine, I know how much you want your mom and your family to be safe at home,” she says, and we start the sleepover. To sum it all up, we ate pizza and popcorn, she loved my present, we watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and we played Just Dance. Now the party is done. I am surprised that I had a good time. Like, I have to go home to grab my stuff and head to the airport, forgetting my passport. Don’t worry about that.

A few hours later…

I am on the plane to Morocco. It is a long plane ride so I will watch some movies. I also will listen to Grace Vanderwaal. She is my favorite singer. I’ve been on a plane many times before. The plane has 3 rows. 

15 hours and 25 minutes later…  

It was a long plane ride, but finally I am here, in Morocco. Now let me call my mom.

“Hey mom I figured out that you meant Morocco and I am in Morocco right now. Where are you?” I tell her.

Good job,” she said. “You did it. Come outside. I go outside and see that there is a limo. The guy asks me if I have any luggage and I realize that I forgot my luggage. I go inside and get my luggage and go back to the car. I’ll listen to more Grace Vanderwaal. When we get to wherever we should get to. I see a house with a backyard that seems like it is close to a lion territory. I walk  in and see the person I’ve wanted to see basically my whole life,

“Mom,” I say as I run up to her.

“Finally, I can see you and talk to you in person. Sit on the couch and I will tell you what you want to know,” she says. “What would you like to know?”

“I have many questions. First question, Why do you leave Maya, Dad, and I?”

“Ok, the answer to that is one night I got an email that the lions need some help to stay alive, and since I love animals, I thought that I could maybe help.”

“Ok, next question, why do you never call me or Maya?” I ask.

“Because your dad wants us to surprise your sister on her birthday. So can you please stay here for a little while? You will have to be homeschooled, sorry. I didn’t call you because we wanted you to want to come here.”

“I guess,” I said. I was unable to answer this question because I would like to be with my mom, but also want to be with my other family and friends. So I guess that I will be hanging out around lions for a month or two.

Epilogue 

It has been a couple of months and I am on my way to my sister to surprise her. For some reason, we are heading to the house instead of the hospital. Does this mean what I think it means? It does! My sister overcame leukemia!! I am so happy and excited. My life is finally normal. My sister is a normal kid, who can do normal things. My mom is back. And my dad has his foot back. That is all the time I have, bye.


Goldfish

Every day, I just see a boy staring back at me. I see most everything he does, and not all of it is pleasant to watch. I’m a goldfish, and this boy decided to name me Bananas. What kind of name is that? Especially for a fish. 

I have a pretty nice life though. I just swim around in my tank and wait for this boy to feed me. At least I’m not getting flushed down a toilet.

As I swim around, I question, “Why does this boy have me in his room? Why does he need me?”

And I’m still not quite sure of the answer. All I do is swim in this tank. Is it really that entertaining for this boy? 

This boy, I think his name is Sam. His hair is brown and he has green eyes. He’s fairly pale and tall. Well, I guess every human is tall compared to me. I’m not sure what this boy does. Sometimes I see him on a device with cords coming out of his ears, and he nods his head or dances. Sometimes he sings while he stares at me. I’ve seen other boys come in here. I’ve even seen girls in here too. I’ve seen this boy Sam cry. I do not understand why he cries. I do not understand what he has to be sad about. All I know is that he comes over and looks at me, salt water pouring down his face, and I cannot help him.

I’m useless. Maybe the boy cries because he feels useless. Maybe I make him feel as if I needed him. Maybe that’s why the boy has me in his room. Maybe that’s why he wants me, because I need him, and it’s encouraging to know that someone or something needs you.


Eye of the End (The Second Vision and The Third Vision)

Editor’s Note: The First Vision in The Eye of the End was published in the Spring 2018 issue of the (parenthetical). This is a continuation of that story.

The Second Vision

All alone, far away from any contact that might help me. It’s been days since I’ve seen Lucas’s smile. No humans know anything about this place. The place is bright and gives me chills.  Some random extension dimension with mirrors that isn’t home. I feel different than my usual self. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I’m not myself anymore. I made a friend, and I risked my life for humanity, but in that process, I also got so much hate. My life was a constant reminder that I would never get treated the same.

The bullying that happened in my past was as painful as getting your head stabbed with an axe. I specifically remember Bob. He was a mean one, Mr. Bob. The mean popular kid was always creating trouble, but Bob was just on another level. His real name was Affreux, but he was commonly known as Bully Bob (BB). 

Screech, Screech, Screech. The creaky steps of the klutzy school. Recess is present, and all kids are running after the spinning checkered like a ball. Soon BB approaches the scared, scrawny Megre. Before Lucas came, he was the only person who would at least smile at me. 

His face would enlighten hope throughout me. BB picks up little Megre and shakes him up and down like a girl to the melody of Édith Piaf. Lucas’s shoes clang on the ground while he moves towards the bully. Peu and Gros try to stop Lucas from his daring mission. Knowing the consequences, Lucas runs toward BB and punches him in the hard, sturdy, and extremely sweaty back.

“You’re going to pay for that you little insect,” exclaimed Bob.

Peu and Gros come running towards me. What did I do? Do they think I was part of an attack? Or do they expect me to fight alongside with Lucas? Was I being picked on because of my third eye? Were they after me because of my love for Lucas and Megre? Questions aside, I had to deal with them. I was bickering to myself on how to prevent the abuse. With one idea in my mind, I ran with it, literally. Running towards these pests was the only option I had. If I had stayed in the back, they would’ve cornered me and made me into Hollandaise sauce. If I would have run the other way, they’d cooperate and chase me down like the alarm escape scene from Rififi. Jules Dassin is an amazing director, and I’ve seen all of his movies.

My feet lifted off the ground and dashing north shows a shocked and slightly terrified look on Peu and Gros’s faces, but the chase is still on. I dodge the students in the way and jump over the hurdles like a horse in a race. I’ve caught a few sights of the daring acts of horses leaping as fast as a bullet. Four meters away from them and I still don’t know how I’ll get passed them. I think and slide. I am under them, and I make it through the thighs of Gros. I felt like I was in a stunt movie as I glide through under. Peu looks behind him and sees me. I wink at him with a sign of awesomeness. I look in front, seeing BB. Seeing my competition, I’ll crush that piece of — thud. I fall to the ground, making me injured and vulnerable. Gros and Peu start to thrash me. I catch glances with Lucas. We are in pain but have the energy to do one thing … smirk at each other.

The Third Vision

I feel something rushing through my feet as if it’s a snake rolling up my spine. As it reaches the most top strand of my hair, I feel unwanted energy through my body. Slowly, my feet lift off the solid ground, and before you know it, I am flying. But my flying is not like normal flying because I can’t move at my own will like birds. That thought reminds me of a poem that Lucas told me.

As a Blackbird flies,

A Rooster will crow.

As a Chicken pecks,

A Duck will Quack.

How to kill a Mockingjay was the title,

But Why would you kill a Mockingjay was the question.

The birds are like Humans, 

Stupid and Weird.
I am still stuck in the Mirror Dimension, reciting all the poems that Lucas taught me while drifting in the air. Not knowing how to get out of this world, I fall asleep in the peaceful realm midair. I wake up tired, and I find out that I am no longer floating but dangling on the ceiling from a glass chandelier. My face turns upside down, and my pupils make me feel dizzy. I feel like I want to cry, but the tears just don’t roll from my eye. As the string that pulls me together swings, I slip out like soap. I dive out of the chandelier while looking in the mirror and seeing my face with a blank expression, as the disappointment on my face sinks into my soul. Blood.

The Willow Tree (Excerpt)

“Oh, what am I doing?” Azure whispered to herself.

Abruptly, the crowd of people that surrounded Azure gave a wide berth to a group of teenagers. From the way they spoke and the excruciating detail and craftsmanship of their clothing, they seemed to be from… the higher folk in the desert lands. The two girls in the group wore colorful silk tops that matched the bright colors that swathed the marketplace’s stalls. Barely a streak of muck or dirt showed on their tanned faces. They bickered loudly over a large diamond-encrusted necklace as the frenzied merchant tried to separate them.

Azure swallowed down the bitterness that rose in her throat. Here there were people fighting over the simplest issues, only worrying about how expensive the things they purchase are, when there were people dying from the Desert’s Wrath and fighting over life and death.

“Typical,” Azure exclaimed. “Fighting over a piece of jewelry while death and disease are elsewhere.”

She blew a strand of hair from her face, thinking sickeningly about her own family and their suffering from the Desert’s Wrath. She spotted a water stand near the bickering girls, and suddenly she felt how dry and parched her throat had been. Perhaps I have a few coins to spare to get water, Azure thought.

“Come on,” Azure urged. “We can spare getting a water supply before we head out.” 

Erix shifted uneasily in his place as Azure gave him an impatient glance over her shoulder. His eyes continued to squint at the group of kids in the center of the market. Azure swiftly made her way ahead of Erix, when the apparent leader of the teenager group, a tall boy with sleek, dark hair and a crooked nose, waved his two arms up in the air.

His face lit with recognition as he shouted, “Hey Erix!” His voice reverberated along the market shops. 

Erix stopped mid-step, a few feet behind Azure. His face fell, and he slowly began to back away. Azure’s eyes shifted from the boy and Erix nervously, creasing her brow. Immediately, the guy wrapped his arm around Erix’s shoulders like they were longtime friends. He tassled Erix’s already messy hair.

“I missed you, little guy!” he exclaimed, despite Erix being an inch taller than him. “Didn’t think you’d actually go on that silly dare we gave you!”

Azure knew Erix had tried to steal her ruby when they met, and stepping away from the two boys, she wondered if they were accomplices. She’d only met Erix last night when they’d both made the agreement to help each other find the willow tree. Azure was still wary of him.

Erix pulled away, but not before the guy snatched his map from his pocket. Erix angrily went to grab it back, but the guy held it high above his head, throwing it to his friend.

“You said something’s been stolen from you alright, Rowlen,” the boy said to the guy next to him. “This it?” 

The second guy shrugged. “Nope, but finders keepers, eh?” He went to put the precious desert map in his trouser pocket. 

Azure stepped up in front of Erix to face the leader of the group.

“It’s ours,” she said defiantly, craning her neck upwards to meet his eyes. “I’d like you to give it back.”

The boy laughed and raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, my lady.” He bowed sarcastically. “But it’s ours now. Besides, do you really trust this guy to take you to the willow tree? If it even exists, you’re going to die anyway, reaching it. I’m doing you a favor by sparing you the trouble of dealing with him.” 

Azure narrowed her eyes, her eyes still glued on the map that peeked tauntingly out of Rowlen’s pocket. She knew well enough that some people only searched for the tree to gain glory, and she was quickly running out of her time, and patience. 

“You think he — ” The boy pointed at Erix. “ — is true to his word? Ha! Well I’ll tell you what I know of Erix of Ragnarox.” The boy spat.

“Kwan, that’s enough,” Erix said dangerously. 

“Just leave him alone! I don’t care what you think of him,” Azure snapped back. She glanced nervously behind her shoulder. The exit from the marketplace was too far to steal back the map and get away from these people. Of course, she had to be dragged along into Erix’s problems. “Just give me the stupid map… now.”

“Actually for your information,” the boy replied, “Erix wouldn’t even have helped you or known anything about this map without my help. He didn’t even know about the legend itself! I’m the one who dared him to find that tree when we met back in Ragnarox and led him to the place where he could most likely find the map. All that’s left for him to do is to find it and cut it down. Then you’ll be accepted by us, right pal?” Kwan continued. 

Erix tensed his shoulders and his fists. “Shut up, Kwan!” he exclaimed stiffly. 

Kwan ignored him. He turned back to Azure. “Still don’t believe me, eh? Just see the look on his face then!” He and his friends laughed.

Azure stood still. She opened her mouth, yet no words came out. She didn’t know how to make her words come out. She gritted her teeth. She’d just run off with the map and leave. The bitter feeling in her mouth returned. Erix would cut down a tree that had the cure to the worst disease in the desert, something that has been surviving in the desert for so long, just to prove himself to these ignorant people.

With a cry of anger, Azure grabbed the map from Rowlen with such force that he fell over a cart of caged chickens, and ended up landing straight in a pile of donkey droppings. The group of kids suddenly stopped laughing as Rowlen glowered, his eyes on Azure. Azure’s instinct took over. She had one thing on her mind now.

Get out.

With that, Azure sprinted away, pushing the crowd despite people’s cries of annoyance. In her haste, she knocked down merchant stalls, sent baskets of market goods flying, while the group of teenagers took off in pursuit. Dust clouds flew in front of her face, blocking her view. Kwan was right on her tail, merely a few feet away. The edge of the marketplace was still out of reach. Azure had no idea where Erix was, nor did she care. She wanted to run, far away from everyone and everything, off into the middle of the desert where no one would lie to her for their own reasons. 

“Azure, watch out!” Erix was a bit ahead of her just near the barren, golden landscape of the desert. Azure’s ears perked as she turned, her face inches from the furious hooves of a horse, its rider frantically pulling on the reigns.

Aahh!” both Azure and the rider screamed.

Azure swung her head down and rolled out of the way, hitting the side of a crumbling building. Clutching her aching head, Kwan appeared over a pile of rubble. He loomed over her and reached his arm out, grabbing the other end of the map. 

“You’re not getting away, you lowly wretch! It’s time you learned your place in the world.”

People stopped by as they watched Kwan and Azure. Neither one of them was about ready to let go. Azure grabbed the edge of the paper till her knuckles went white. Her arms shook from the effort to hold on. The crowd murmured and whispered, chickens clucked while the donkeys brayed loudly, Erix shouting out for Azure. The image of the willow tree on the map blinked up at Azure in the sunlight. The beautiful willow tree that Azure yearned to find. The one that would bring her back to her former life. 

Azure’s head was about ready to burst as tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. From the distance she could see the silhouettes of the others making their way through the market. Freedom was too close to let go, when Azure was nearly at the desert. Sweat slipped down the sides of her face as she bared her teeth. The crumbling building next to her continued to crack faster and faster, breaking apart the dried, dull yellow stone. Rocks and stones began to fall as the building’s bottom began to deteriorate.

Everything happened too fast.

In a shout of frustration, Azure tugged with all her might, pushing Kwan backwards onto the dirty road, freeing the map from his clutches. Her hand hit the building, and like a rippling effect it continued to crack apart at a mad pace until it reached everywhere, up to the top of it and beneath Azure and Kwan’s feet. Azure’s mind was racing. She didn’t know what she was doing, yet her mind had no control over her movements. Her hands swung upward and to the side. The right side of the building finally collapsed.

A huge dirt cloud blasted in Azure’s face. Azure coughed in the flecks of debris that now swarmed the air, engulfing her lungs and throat.

People cried out in shock, and Azure could barely hear the faint warbling sound of Kwan and his groups voices.

“She’s cursed!” came their cry, along with the scared agreements of the crowd.

Azure had heard enough, and this time she had no retaliation to say back. Words had completely left her. Azure’s clothing was ridden with dust and dirt. Her hair was a wretched mess, just like Kwan had said. Breaths came in quick, constricted gasps. The map was still clutched in Azure’s fist, yet the view of the market was fully blocked with all of the fallen debris and wreckage. All that was left to see was the glittering sand and the one lone stray fox in the distance. The sun glared down on Azure as she kneeled down, resting her head heavily against a rock face.

What have I done? she thought to herself, scared of looking at her own hands. She shot a quick, narrowed glance at Erix, whose face had gone pale. He didn’t back away or run from her however.

“W-w-what did you — ” he shakily began.

“I don’t know what I did, okay?!” Azure shouted, louder than she expected. “I don’t know! But this is all your fault! Of course, you care more about being ‘accepted’ by people that will never really be your friends, don’t you? You’re just like everyone else. Just as bland and just as selfish and self-involved.” 

Erix didn’t say anything. He looked at his torn shoes.

“Of course you don’t have anything to say, huh?!” Azure exclaimed. She thought he would have at least said something, anything, even the most stupid excuse to his actions would have worked. “Aargh, I hate you! I hate everything. I hate your stupid ‘friends.’ I hate myself!” Azure punched the eroded rock, clutching her hand in pain. She couldn’t bear to look at Erix anymore. “Good luck getting accepted,” she said quietly, turning her back to Erix. 

With that, Azure ran. She didn’t care how far she went or where she was going at the moment, but she needed to leave. She ran and ran, her feet flying before her eyes, the entire landscape a blur to her. Only when the sun began to slowly descend into the crimson sky did Azure stop. Splat. Azure looked down. A single tear hit the grainy desert sand, before absorbing into nothingness. 

Hurriedly, Azure wiped her tears with the back of her hand, streaking dust and mud across her left cheek. She looked around. No sign of life was in sight. Azure had gone right back to stage one in her quest for the willow tree, alone and helpless as daylight fell through her grasp once again. Not even the map could comfort her now.

Azure slumped her way over to an array of rocks that bordered a series of towering sand dunes, their sloping hills shining deep orange in the fading sunlight. A skull rested at the base of one of them, slowly crumbling to dust. Wait a second, Azure thought to herself. With a shaking hand, she lifted up the map. Skull Man’s Dunes was drawn onto it, shielding the place of the willow tree that barely anyone dared to pass. Four sloping dunes were drawn in shining ink, identical to the ones that stood menacingly before Azure.

Azure’s knees sagged, and she clutched her chest, her heart rapidly beating, sinking lower into the ground.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no!” she cried out to no one. “I have to get out of here,” Azure squeaked. She tried keeping her composure, but her movements were clumsy and she struggled to stand. She had to keep going. The donkey. Azure tugged at her hair in anger. “Stupid Azure!” Azure exclaimed. “How could you forget about what you needed most to reach the tree?!” Azure imagined Erix, happily riding on that donkey, making his way across Skull Man’s Dunes without a care in the world, free and safe from any possible harm. 

“Arghhhh!” Azure shouted, her voice breaking.

She began to run, hoping she hadn’t been in that treacherous area for too long. Abruptly, the ground shook, and Azure’s legs buckled. She fell face flat in the sand. Turning her head around, Azure’s eyes bulged, her mouth agape, unable to make a sound or a movement. 

The dunes had been awakened.

A vast cloud of golden sand and speckles of dust rumbled in Azure’s direction. It burst through the desert, devouring everything in its path greedily. The wind shrieked and howled in Azure’s ears as she covered her hands over her head. Spumes of dust and dirt rose above Azure, coating her in a thick layer of sand and grime.

Azure could barely see through the haze of dull yellow grains of sand that flecked at her stinging eyes and skin and lips. She shouted out desperately for help, yet the moment her mouth moved it was engulfed in dust. Azure, closing her eyes shut, crawled along the ground, grappling her way through the monstrous domes of sand that blotted out any source of light. The wind grew louder, crying in agony as Azure shouted along with it. Her hand managed to find the rough edge of an object, and she squeezed her fist around it like a lifeline. 

It crumbled to dust in Azure’s hands, relenting to the storm. “Stupid power!” Azure managed, clutching her aching hand, wiping her mouth from all of the grainy sand that dotted it. It did nothing as the storm raged on, enveloping Azure’s nostrils and her mouth once again, not letting down.

Dust and bits of rock caked Azure’s face and clothes. She lay there, crouched on the floor, coughing out dirt. Her hands were cut up raw from the million bits of sand that flew past her skin. Another wave of sand flew into Azure, and upon the impact, Azure was sent flying across the desert, scabbing her knees on the rough desert plains, not knowing where she was or what day it was. Her throat begged for water, yet all it got was more dirt and speckles of rock. 

After shouting for help repeatedly, Azure stopped her struggling. “Help,” she said hoarsely, before letting go to the storm.

Clutching her torn and rugged satchel that was miraculously still there, Azure prayed that it would end. She didn’t care about the willow tree anymore. It was hopeless. She had no one left by now. She was no one. Her family was sick, and she had trusted the wrong people. She failed. 

Azure thought for a moment she heard her name beyond the howling sound of the ghastly wind. Images of her family, her parents, and her siblings flew through Azure’s mind. The smell of fresh warm baked bread her mother would always make every Saturday morning, her father’s low, rumbling voice that would resonate through the house when he was in an elated mood, as well as her little twin brothers’ shrieks of laughter as they’d play outside, sending dust clouds in the air as they chased after one another. 

“I’m sorry,” Azure finally spoke, her eyes shut tight, her ears ringing from the sound of the wind. 

Azure breathed heavily, every bone in her body smarting and aching. She begged repeatedly for everything to be over, for everything around her to just end. Azure’s voice grew so loud in her head as she screamed for everything to stop that she couldn’t hear the overbearing sound of someone calling out. 

Azure’s eyes barely opened, and as she squinted through the golden haze, she could make out a frail silhouette. Her hands left her ears and the ringing subsided, followed by a clear sharp voice. “Azure!

Weakly, Azure looked up. An arm reached out, and without knowing who or what that thing had been, with her last ounce of strength, Azure reached out her own hand. She got hoisted up onto what seemed to be a stout gray animal that clomped hurriedly across the dunes. An animal that looked just like a donkey. The person finally turned, only his eyes visible, warm dark eyes that were filled with concern. Erix, Azure thought. As they made it to where the dust and sand had lessened, Azure could finally take a full breath. She nearly sobbed with relief. The one person who’d originally wanted to cut the tree was here. 

The sand still loomed above them, and not saying a word, the two bolted off to the nearest border of rocks, where a small opening revealed a stone cave. Just as the wind pushed the sand furiously closer, they leaped through the opening. 

“Come on, we have to close the opening!” Erix finally said, struggling to push a giant boulder at the back of the cave.

Azure rubbed her sore arms, barely able to push or move anything. She looked down at her hands. The scene at the marketplace flashed before her eyes, Kwan and his group chasing her, and the cracks in the old building, spreading out like a ripple. Maybe I don’t only have to cause things to crumble. With a shaky breath, Azure thrust out her hand willing herself to move the boulder. Come on, please! I don’t have any idea how my hands have been doing any of this, but you need to move now! 

Closing her eyes, Azure felt a gush of air and a final crash. She snapped them open, praying she hadn’t accidentally crushed Erix with a boulder or something. The giant rock now lay on its side at the entrance to the cave, and the world was drenched in darkness except for a tiny sliver of sunlight from the ceiling of the cave.

Azure panted heavily, then broke into nervous laughter that instantly grew louder. She must have looked delirious. “Ha! I did it! I moved a boulder, Erix! A boulder!! With my bare hands!” Azure turned, Erix still staring straight at the blocked entryway.

“Uh huh… ” he said weakly. “So this is… normal now?” He turned to Azure, his hair and clothes caked with a layer of sand, he grasped the leash of the old donkey as though it was his lifeline.

Azure looked down, finally calming down. “I honestly don’t know, Erix, ever since being in that marketplace… I just felt so furious at that moment, trying to get hold of the map, I could barely even think straight! And the next moment I destroyed that building. Imagine if there had been people in there!” She slid down against the cool cave wall.

Erix crouched down beside her. “But there wasn’t. That building was ancient after all. It would have eventually been taken down.” 

“You saved me after our, well, you know… argument. Why?” Azure spoke again after a still silence, trying to change the subject.

Erix fiddled with his fingers. “W-well, you did stand up for me back there in the market. No one’s done that for me before.”

“That kid was being a brat anyways,” Azure said finally.

Erix chuckled. Erix might have been selfish at hiding his motivations, but after seeing him save her, perhaps, he could be trusted.

“Look, whatever Kwan said you did… about being dared to take the map and cut down the tree and all that was wrong, and unjust of you… ” Azure took a deep breath before continuing. “But Skull Man’s Dunes, it isn’t a one man journey. To be honest, I never imagined I’d ever say this yet… I need your help, Erix. We both need each other’s help if we hope to make it out of here successfully… and alive as well. Perhaps the reason I even have this new ability is to somehow help us reach the willow tree.” 

Azure finally turned to Erix, and she caught a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He flashed a mischievous grin. “You think you can find a way to move that rock again?” 

Azure nodded, stiffening her shoulders. “I-I think so.” 

Together, Azure and Erix reached the large boulder that blocked the cave entryway. The sound of the howling wind had diminished to a faint whisper as the storm began to drift away gradually. Here goes nothing, Azure thought to herself. Steadying her shaky breaths, Azure pressed her palm against the rockface. Instantly, it grew warmer by the second, and the warmth spread all the way up Azure’s arm. Still concentrating, she used all her will to cause the rock to move. Slowly, Azure’s tense arm relaxed as the warmth from the rock filled her. The surface of the rock left her fingers, and when she opened her eyes, the rock had been pushed away, revealing the fading orange light of day. 

Erix, giving the boulder one final push, clapped his hands happily, still heavily ridden with dust. Wiping sweat from his brow he glanced at Azure.

“I suppose I could get used to this.” Azure rolled her eyes as they stumbled their way onto the donkeys back once again.

They were still in dangerous territory. The thought of the violent storm was still clear in Azure’s mind. The map had still miraculously survived, and it lay clutched in Azure’s fist. They’d been in Skull Man’s dunes for a while.

“We have to be getting closer,” Azure began, furrowing her eyebrows as she studied the map.

“Let’s hope we find it before we can’t see anything at all.” Erix, grabbing a hold of the reigns on the donkey’s saddle, nodded towards the tiny faint sliver of light in the corner of the sky. The sun was setting fast, and already stars began to pop up in the sky. “You know,” Erix continued, “we never got to name him.”

“Who exactly?” Azure began slowly, confused.

“The donkey, obviously. Got any ideas for names? How about… ” Erix scratched his head as though in deep thought. “Erix Jr. maybe?”

Azure crossed her arms, giving him an incredulous look. “The fate of an entire village is at stake, and you are worrying about naming our donkey at the moment?” Erix merely smiled in reply. “Well, looks like it shouldn’t be at stake anymore.” They suddenly stopped, and Azure’s eyes grew wide, a grin breaking across her face.

The willow tree towered above them, wide burly branches reaching to far ends, with broad leaves in deep golds and greens. Its roots extended deep below the sand beneath it, and although its bark was chipped and cracked, it was alive, surviving even in the most harsh circumstances. The shriek of a hawk pierced Azure’s ears, and a chip of the tree’s bark fell before Azure. Upon closer inspection, it looked blackened and… dead almost.

With a sick feeling rising in her mouth, Azure immediately hopped off of the donkey, rushing to the tree, Erix right in her wake. As she got closer, Azure realized how weakly the leaves flittered in the wind, how the branches groaned under the weight they had to hold, and how the mahogany-colored bark was fading into a deathly black color.

Erix stood next to Azure, his eyes twice their normal size as he looked about the tree in utter shock. “I-is is it… dead?” he spoke faintly.

Azure gently reached out her hand to the tree. She pressed her forehead against it. No. She repeated to herself over and over. I couldn’t have come all this way for nothing. No! Tears began pricking Azure’s eyes and slowly began to streak down her cheeks, yet she didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. “No! It can’t be! It’s not dead!” Azure hit her fist against the ground, not gaining the strength to use any of her powers. Azure released her hand from its fist, staring at the center of it, wishing somehow a miracle would occur and her hand would be able to heal the tree. 

A small, papery object flew into Azure’s open hand, a green leaf. Azure looked up at the tree, her heart thundering in her chest.

“It’s alive,” she cried. “It has to be. Its leaves are still not blackened!” Azure stood up abruptly, her mind whirring. “It’s not dead yet. It’s just been… ”

“Poisoned?” a gravelly voice spoke from a few feet away.

Azure’s head snapped to the side, clutching her leather bag tightly.

“No need to be afraid… ” the voice continued smoothly. “I’ve been expecting someone to arrive quite soon.” A figure emerged from around the tree. He was lean and tall with a narrow tan face and crooked nose, his dark eyes glinting mysteriously. His lips curled into a thin, sly smile. “Hexron’s the name,” he said calmly, as though he was in any normal conversation. “So the Desert’s Wrath. I heard it’s been spreading quickly, hasn’t it? It’s a pity how ignorant people can be when it comes to finding clear solutions to their problems. By then I’d already poisoned this pitiful tree. It’s already gotten terribly old, hasn’t it? It’s grown old and tired from the disease and terrible actions of humans it has had to fix.” Hexron chuckled slightly at himself, as Erix and Azure’s mouths hung open in shock.


frank

“frank? frank!

my entire life, summed up into two short words, written in sharpie against my white bedroom walls.

i think that’s what they hate the most. the shortness, the stillness of it. the ink that dried too quickly and the words that were missing too many letters. the blood that rushed to my head and the gravity that pulled the marker away from me, onto the ground.

i’m sorry.

they’re angry with me, even if they pretend that they aren’t. maybe they wish i had more to say, more of an apology than just the words:

i’m sorry.

when i think about it now, i have more to say. i could’ve written pages and pages about it, explaining why i did what i did. but sometimes things are better when they’re simpler. sometimes i don’t need the whole world to try and analyze my mind. 

the only reason why i make so many mistakes is so that the skeletons in my closet won’t be lonely. but i didn’t tell them this, won’t tell them this. instead, all i left behind was a measly i’m sorry. it’s better than nothing, i guess.

still, they hate me. i know that they do. but i can’t really blame them. i hate me, too.

i felt like a jellyfish that day, or a ghost. something that you can’t hold on to. i couldn’t even hold on to myself.

***

i spent two weeks in the hospital last month. four days were for me, in a stiff white bed with no company but the ceiling and the tubes and the nurse who poured me orange juice every morning. the remaining ten days were for my dad, sitting beside him in a plastic fold-up chair, listening to his even breathing as he climbed over the edge of life. he died surrounded by what he loved most, the woman he pretended that he could still call his wife and half-empty cans of beer.

he was a nice person, i think. he was just good at not being himself.

he’s in a better place now. and if you ever want to talk about it… if you ever need me, just know that i’m here. i’m here for you. we’re here for you. you’re not alone. 

it’s going to be okay.

it probably is going to be okay, but i wish it could be more than that. i wish that things would be how they used to be. i wish that things could be summed up more than just “okay” and “i’m sorry.”

the last night as a patient in the hospital was the worst. i shared a room with a six-year-old girl. she talked a lot, mostly to herself but also to me. she told me about the pet rats in her bedroom who chewed holes into the sunlit yellow paint that coated the walls and died. some nights, she’d crawl over to my side of the room and just cry, but i never said anything when she did. that was the worst part about being upset — people just wouldn’t leave you alone. i couldn’t tell what she was thinking. maybe it’s better off that way.  

monday, 1:37am. i wish that i had learned her name.

my dad died on a thursday at half past twelve with so much alcohol in his veins that they couldn’t tell how much of it was blood and how much of it was whiskey. i wasn’t there that night like i was all the other nights, like i was that monday thirty-seven minutes after one in the morning. i wasn’t there as he faded into nothing, silent as ever, no one noticing that he was truly gone until my mother turned over to give him a glass of water and didn’t even hear a whimper of protest in return.

he was half dead when they first found him on that day, face down in a puddle of unrecognizable fluids. they spent ten days trying to revive him, wasting their energy on a man who was too far gone to even care. 

i don’t miss him, and yet i wish that he was still here. ryan doesn’t believe me. she thinks that i do miss him, somewhere inside, and maybe she’s right. but maybe she’s wrong.

ryan visited me twice when i was there. she brought a plant with her the first time, a small cactus she named albert that had allegedly lived for fifteen years, but no one really believed her about that, especially because after a few days of living on my windowsill, albert was no longer looking very healthy.

it’s fine. everything’s fine.

***

there is no air here. i can’t tell if it’s actually as stuffy as i think it is — maybe it’s just all the flowers lined up against the wall, little goodbyes and sorry’s but mostly just dying flowers of what they think is sympathy.

goodbyes to a dead man. how ironic. shouldn’t he be the one saying goodbye?

people are staring, but no one says anything. maybe they feel as out of place as i do. maybe they’re pretending just for me.

my mom leans over towards me. she doesn’t reach for my hand, but i feel her breath, warm and sticky on my neck as she says, “are you okay?”

i nod. 

the breath moves away like it had never been there at all. i don’t look up. i don’t look anywhere. time keeps moving, moving on and moving away and i am still, not still enough to not be noticed, but still enough to fade into the background. 

there is no air here, and yet the atmosphere still smells of who he used to be and the dust that floats by me but not in the way i want it to. and everything is so quiet, their words tiptoeing around me, but it still feels too loud and i know this only because my head feels like it’s going to explode. 

it doesn’t.

my mom hovers over my shoulder again, pressing fingers into my palms and words into my ears but really all it is is noise.

“are you okay?” she asks again. this time i turn to face her. “frank?”

“yeah.” something crawls up into my throat and pulls down at my flesh, down my neck and my spine and my wrists. it’s racing up and down my chest and down into my stomach, and i feel like i might throw up. everything is glued to me. the hair on my forehead, the shirt on my back, and the rows and rows of eyes watching me, waiting to see what the dead man’s son has to say about his decaying body.

i cough into my sleeve, the cloth warm over my chin. another layer of fear.

“frank, are you sick? you’re not getting sick, are you?” she reaches up to my face and presses a palm to my forehead, pulling away after a few moments of prodding. “you feel sweaty,” she says. 

“it’s hot here,” i tell her. “it’s too hot here. and stuffy.”

“maybe you are getting sick,” my mother contemplates to herself, reaching up to my skin again. she looks worried. i didn’t mean to make her worried. “but you feel okay… ”

“because i am.”

her eyebrows curl up and form little creases on her face. “you’re pale,” she tells me anxiously. “maybe you should go lie down somewhere.” she digs into her pockets and pulls out a pack of napkins, our alternative to regular tissues when i was kid. i cough into halloween, into rainbow birthday cake, into christmas and pearly black new year’s balloons and sparkly fourth of july. i shove the crumpled up celebratory paper deep into the pocket of my jacket.

“is ryan here?” i ask, searching through the sea of people for a tiny head of green. “did you see her?”

“uh, no, i don’t think so.” she shoves the words out of her mouth quickly to reassure me, and then shoves me forward a bit along with them. i wobble towards the back of the room near the door and into a cheap plastic chair. “you should rest, until she gets here at least.”

“you’ll wake me up when — ”

“yes, yes, okay? i’ll wake you up when she’s here, now go.”

i go. what else can i do?

she wanders off to talk to who i assume are relatives. i recognize a few of them but most i don’t. even from here, i don’t need to hear what they are saying to know what they are telling her. one of them looks familiar, an old woman with bracelets that sing like cymbals as they tangle themselves around her wrists, and this one leans forward to enclose my mother in a hug.

she barely knows him. she barely knew him. why does she get to care? why can’t i?

they’re always asking, and i never tell.

how are you feeling, frank? after what happened… ”

nothing. i feel nothing.

“i’m doing okay.”

i feel less than this woman with a face that looks a bit like everyone else’s, a woman who had probably had only spoken to my father once in her life. and still she brought flowers. and still she feels bad.

she feels bad.

i feel nauseous.

suddenly i can’t sit still anymore, and it’s like the bats that have been breeding in my stomach have blossomed and burst out and i can hear nothing and everything all at once.

i shift out of my seat and slip out the door where no flowers wilt, no chairs are stacked, and most importantly, no people are huddled. the air feels cool on my skin for a moment until another wave of heat crashes against me, and i realize that i’m shaking. i move back to steady myself against the building. it helps just as much as i expect it to, which is not at all. my head is still spinning.

no one is here. no one is watching. usually that would make me feel better, but right now it isn’t.

breathe, i tell myself. an ant crawls up against the back of my arm. breathe.

i’m going to throw up. i know i am. i know i am, breathe, breathe — 

“frank?” a voice calls from behind me. i turn around for a moment to see a head of green and brown hair, scan all the way down to her feet with curly shoelaces, the ones that match mine.

and there it is. it all pours out of me, more bats and more stomach acid, and even though i knew it was coming, it still takes me by surprise.

“oh, frank.” she edges towards me slowly. no touching, no touching. she knows this already. of course ryan knows. “hey,” she says. “it’s alright.”

“not really.” i cough out more bats. then, i wipe my mouth with the napkins in my jacket pocket. the party poppers and confetti and balloons are ruined.

“can i… ?” ryan questions, and i nod, so she pulls my hand into hers and we tumble into the grass. there are ants crawling all over us, swarming us, or at least it feels like that. i ask her if she feels them, if she feels them all over us, suffocating us, and she shakes her head in return.

“nope,” ryan says. “no ants. just us. just you and me.”

“oh.” i take a deep breath, but it doesn’t seem to sink in. “good. that’s good. i like it better like that.”

“me too.”

i am floating on this twin sized mattress, on this bed of grass, and i am listening to the water. i am just an accessory. i am just a footnote to someone else’s happiness. maybe that’s all i’ve ever wanted. maybe that’s all i’ll ever get.

it is/was/will be. and that is enough.

“are you okay now?”

i think before i answer. “i, um, i guess so.” i’m breathing again. the bare minimum but it still counts. ryan tells me so. we listen to our breaths for a few more moments before she speaks again.

“do you want to go in?” she asks, pointing to the door behind us. 

no. i don’t want to see him.

no. “okay.”

***

the hospital again. it smells the same and looks the same, but this time it feels different. there is no commotion outside in the hall, where my dad is still half alive. there is no nurse with orange juice, no roommates. nothing. it is quiet and for the first time, i wish that it wasn’t.

i look up at ceiling where there is no fan spinning like the one in my bedroom. instead, there is a spider, and the way its legs move reminds me of a fan a bit, or maybe everything reminds me of everything. maybe i just want to go home.

i do.

i wonder if anyone will come visit me this time. i wonder if anyone will bother at all to go down to the pharmacy across the street where they sell those pink balloons with the bears on them, where they used to sell holiday napkins except now they don’t anymore. i wonder if my mom is at home and if she’s thinking about me at all. if ryan’s thinking about me at all. i wish for a moment that she didn’t know about what happened, about what i did.

the door squeaks open, and something jumps up in my chest as a woman in a white coat pushes her way in, and i know that my eyes are traveling down to her shoes, looking for laces that curl but they aren’t there. this isn’t who i want it to be.

The Price of Freedom (Chapter One)

CHAPTER ONE: The End

“Where did you say that they’ve spotted these things again?”

“The biggest places,” Elizabeth Brunswick began, rolling her eyes. She started to type on one of the bigger computers, so that images of cities showed on the large screen. She pushed her hair back from her face and began to name the cities. “New York City, Phoenix, Philadelphia… the list goes on and on… ”

A few of the people in the room who were sitting in the other computers turned to look. Viola and Elizabeth glanced at the people who were peeking; they turned back to their work at the computers. 

 Viola Lodge rubbed her forehead with her fingers. She wasn’t pretty, to get that straight. She wasn’t all that skinny, and she had a blemished complexion from having acne as a child and wrinkles were forming on her face. And, even though she was still young, she did nothing to stop them.

But, she wasn’t ugly either.

Viola Lodge was Viola Lodge. Distant, but down to earth. Delicate, but, yet, strong. Discrete, and up-front. No one could figure out what she was, or try to get her to change so that she could be easier to understand. No one wanted to anyway.

“And,” she began, sighing, “are all the 911 calls from different places?” Viola wished that the answer would be ‘no.’ But, her gut feeling — which was never wrong — told her that she wouldn’t not get the answer she wanted. 

Elizabeth Brunswick shook her head. “Sorry to say, Ms. Vice President,” she started in false respect, “But they’re all from different places, a different city.” That was all Viola wanted to hear, but Elizabeth kept talking, as she usually did. “And more are coming in by the minute, but we haven’t checked since the original calls.”

“And how many original calls were there exactly?” Viola rolled her eyes as she spoke. She hoped that she wasn’t sounding frightened. Not frightened in front of Elizabeth Brunswick, out of all people. To be honest with herself, she was scared out of her mind.

All the computer workers wrinkled their faces, some even closed their eyes, as they cringed. Maybe they thought that they could scrunch themselves up so much they would turn to nothing, and wouldn’t have to deal with the looming problem. 

 Elizabeth Brunswick bit her lip just before mustering out the words: “There were 20 original 911 calls.” She fumbled with her hands. “But there must be hundreds now… some might be from new places.” 

“Twenty!” Viola screeched, losing all her cool. 

“Make that 21.”

 The door swung open, and it smashed loudly against the wall. All the heads in the room turned to look as President Richard Werrington entered. Everyone but Viola rose and saluted him.

“Way to make an entrance… ” Elizabeth Brunswick muttered sarcastically. Soft enough that only Viola could hear. Viola shot her a death-glare to shut her up. Though, inside, Viola agreed with her. She just wasn’t willing to admit it.

 “What do you mean?” She asked hastily, waking up to him. She tried not to show it, but her eyes began to water and her heart beat rapidly. She had to crane her neck to look up to Richard, who stood at 6’3”. 

“I don’t recall you telling me that you’re blind, Ms. Vice President,” Richard Werrington started. He took off the white gloves that he was wearing and shoved them into his pocket. “Have you even bothered to look outside? One of those… things — ” he gestured at the screen — “is right outside.”

“Well, that’s news,” Elizabeth Brunswick said nervously.

Even though her voice shook, she held herself high and kept her chin up. Elizabeth Brunswick didn’t brand herself as a woman who got scared easily. She wouldn’t let it fear overcome her now. Even in a situation such as the one before them.

Richard pushed back his wavy, dark-blond hair. “You!” He said, turning and pointing to one of the workers. “Call Mr. Irving and arrange for an Air Force 1 jet to be ready for take-off. I’m getting out of here.”

“Yessir,” the employee said quickly. 

“Mr. President,” Viola scolded. “This is no time for your usual crap! We don’t even know what these things are!” She turned back to the screen that now displayed the different glowing lights. “I mean, they could be comets… rocket ships… even meteorites — ”

 “Bombs,” Richard said flatly. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Elizabeth Brunswick cut in. She scoffed slightly, but she didn’t seem to intend to make the sound she did. Some of the computer workers looked up anxiously. “Did you just say, bombs?” 

“Yes, bombs, Miss Secretary,” Richard stated. “And if you’ve got one ounce of sense in you, you would issue a national emergency and get out of here as fast as you can.” 

“How do we know that they’re bombs?” Viola asked. She scrolled on the computer, and it zoomed in on the light, having to adjust to the new zoom. “We can’t be sure, and who would possibly want to attack us.”

“North Korea… for one.” Richard began, counting on his fingers. “Then there’s China… Russia… ” He paused for a second and crossed his arms. “To be honest, we’ve pissed off so many countries it could be anyone.”

“Richard James Werrington!” Viola screeched. “If you really think that this is a national emergency — then you shouldn’t be fooling around like this! Every day it’s the same damn thing –”

 “Mr. President… ” Elizabeth Brunswick’s voice was oddly feeble. She was standing next to one of the workers at their computer. Her face was paler than it usually was, and her purple veins were visible in her highly exposed neck and arms. That was another thing Viola wasn’t fond off… 

 She gulped and turned to Viola and Richard. Her eyes were wide, but her back straight. “I… I… um… I think that you might just be right… ” she said so horsley, it was almost a whisper.

 Richard and Viola both heard her, even though her voice was soft. They still couldn’t comprehend what she had just said. Even Richard, who had suspected it, was praying on the fact that he might be wrong. Now that was thrown out the window.

“I’m sorry… what?!” Viola said. Her voice started off as low as Elizabeth’s, but it slowly rose higher. The “what” was so loud that it shook the entire room. Viola had that effect on people, but she also had that effect on rooms, apparently. 

“President Werrington is right,” Elizabeth spoke again. Her words were like thin ice, but much colder. “It’s a bomb, and I’m damn sure it is… From my days in the military… ” Her face suddenly went red, and her breathing quickened. She looked like she was about to pass out. 

“We have to get out of here… ” She managed to get out the words as she stumbled her way from the computer. She pushed to the two of them and ran to the trash can by the door. She proceeded to throw up; she was done being strong. 

 Richard and Viola advanced towards the computer. The nervous, fumbling, shaking employee was zooming in on the image of the light. The entire room was filled with nervous mumbling and the sound of Elizabeth vomiting. 

“Put that one the screen,”  Richard instructed carefully. The words came out slower than he thought they would. He punted to the screen, and everyone in the room seemed to lean towards it to see the image. 

 The image appeared on the screen, and the man behind the computer began to zoom in. As it came closer, the ball of light took on a definitive shape. 

 Richard adjusted his glasses, although he didn’t need to. He could see it quite clearly. Elizabeth, still shaking, walked up to between Richard and Viola. She lifted her head to look up, as much as she didn’t want to.

Elizabeth turned her head slightly and sighed. 

Richard turned to the rest of the group, and flopped his arms to his side. He sighed and let out an exasperated laugh. “Crap,” he said, still chuckling. “Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap… ”

This didn’t exactly strike Viola as unusual — Richard was well-known to her as one to laugh when he was nervous. But, whether she was used to it and whether she was bothered by it were two extremely different things.

She had known Richard since they were children. They had lived in the same estate and been friends from elementary school all the way to law school. They flocked to each other because they had the same goal in life — they were the only two children in St. Peter’s Catholic Academy who had wanted to become the president.

But only one of them has achieved that goal.

Steaming with anger — she wasn’t usually wrong — Viola walked up to the front of the room, in front of the screen. “We’re going to issue a national emergency, people!” she yelled. She began to walk up the isles, observing the people. “A national emergency!”

 The lights dimmed and red lights in the ceiling and in the hallway began to flash. The room turned to absolute chaos, with people running and Viola shouting instructions. It suddenly felt strangely hot. 

“Get to the helicopters! Get to the base! You know where to go! Take your laptops! We’ll operate from there!” She commanded, picking up a grey briefcase. All the people began to run. “Get yourselves out of here!”

 Elizabeth Brunswick had gained back her usual air of mightiness and was new walking up to Viola. “I’m going to need Secretary Greene and Secretary Xin,” she said sternly. “I’m almost certain they’re with Ortega at a meeting — you might as well get him too.”

Viola crossed her arms and spat back, “I don’t take orders from the likes of you.” Viola wasn’t fond of Elizabeth. She didn’t like how she always showed up in designer dresses and heels. She believed that work wasn’t a place to dress up like a model to go to.

Elizabeth scowled. The feeling was mutual.

“Fine,” she spat. “I’ll go there myself.” She stalked off towards the door, her red heels clicking so loudly that it nearly drove Viola insane.  

“Richard!” She now turned to him, addressing him by his first name. Richard Werrington turned to her, looking lost in all the hustle and bustle. It was clear that he was a little claustrophobic. “You need to get Madeline and Anthony! Get to the jet. That employee already placed a call. It should be ready for you.”

  Richard paused and stopped to process what she had said. He suddenly gained the face of someone that had just been hit on the head with a frying pan. Richard began to run towards the doorway at full speed. His arms didn’t seem to know what they were doing.

Although he ran fast, Viola ran faster. She grabbed his sleeve before he was ever able to get to the doorway and held out the briefcase. She opened it with a click, to reveal a panel of buttons. 

“You know, Ms. Vice President,” Richard said frankly, catching his breath. He slammed his hand down upon one of the buttons with such force it nearly fell out of Viola’s hands. “Usually I like pressing red buttons.”


Before I Forget

I think of the rumors I hear about her. They get whispered around the school. I hear the mumbles of questions wondering what exactly happened to Liv. I’m beginning to wonder what exactly is true. How can the rumors I hear be about the same girl I used to know? 

Let me tell you what I remember. I first talked to Liv in the courtyard at school reading a book on some time period I can’t remember. I was drawn to go up to her. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was because she sat alone, with the remains of temporary tattoos up her left arm. 

“So you like history?” I said awkwardly. 

“A little.” Her eyes squinted, looking up at me and the sun.

“Here.” She moved her bag. “Come sit next to me.” 

That’s how it all began. We had gone to school together for years, but we were just classmates. She was the friendly girl I found intimidating.

I recall that day her nails being painted eggshell blue. Her third finger torn up with a ring that sat at its base. It was faux bronze, with flakes of paint chipped off of it.

Her stories always included farfetched realities, and she told them with exaggerated hand gestures, to help make her point. Each one left me wondering if what she told me was true. I learned about her and the secrets she held inside about the people who acted differently in a different light. 

“I trust you,” she told me.

If only I knew what that meant.

Liv was the type of girl every boy fell in love with. She was far from perfect, and not like other girls. I never tried to resent Liv for this. It wasn’t something she caused. However, the memories are replaying on why exactly boys were in love with Liv constantly. Liv had long blond hair, and her personality seemed unnerved by people’s comments, a polar opposite from mine. 

As I think back to the first day we met, the feeling of the black plastic table burning the bottom of my thighs is brought back, but it was easy to ignore the pain when talking to Liv. 

“Everyone wants to believe they’re a good person.” She played with the skin of her middle finger some more. “It’s too hard for them to hear there’s a chance they have hurt someone.” I continued to look at her as her hair hid part of her face.

For someone who I didn’t know for long, it became hard for me to think of days passing without her. We spent time together laughing with each other in the front seat of her car, ignoring all the pain that occurred in our lives. I enjoyed that our friendship wasn’t a typical one where we complained about who had it worst. Instead, we would joke around about our lives and laugh about how much we wanted to die, because it used to be true, but now it was just a silly remark we’d make. 

She told me about the boy she’d been seeing. Some days I lived through all the secrets and adventures she lived. 

Our phone calls would last for hours, but it usually ended with her telling me about how she planned to sneak out of her house to go somewhere. I would typically tell her I was getting tired and hang up the phone, but each morning there was a text telling me about the past night’s adventures.

I knew clearly that I didn’t know everything about her.

I would go to pick up her phone, but before I knew it she would snatch it away. She lived a life of secrets, thinking it would be more fun.

It was summer time when I went to my first party with Liv. We walked into a room of classmates and strangers. Dave was there. He was the boy Liv had been seeing, but she’d clearly stated it wasn’t love. 

Liv drank enough for four people her size. She danced and giggled, wearing high heels I knew she’d complain about in the morning. I stood in the corner with water in my cup as I watched her enchant the whole room. She talked to boys, being flirty, but this was nothing new. But perhaps when I saw one of the boys hands got down to the hem of her skirt it caused me to step in.

“We should head home!” I screamed over the music.

“Come on, lad, few more minutes. Do you like that? Lad, I sound like an Irish man.” Her head tilted back, laughing. 

“I’m going home,” I said.

“What a buzzkill. Fine, let’s go then.” She aimed for the door. However, her direction changed when Dave stepped in, I knew I would be leaving without her. 

I don’t believe Dave caused the problems that occurred. It was an inevitable sequence of circumstances that prevailed. 

Liv had created a world in her head. She didn’t let me be a part of it, but she made me feel as if I could be. 

Six months later from that day we first me outside in the courtyard, it was Memorial Day weekend when I got the phone call. I had been away with my family. Liv whispered through the phone things had gotten out of hand and she wasn’t exactly getting better. This was her goodbye to me. 

 I sat on the floor confused, wondering what had changed. Liv was the most outgoing girl yet too shy to say what was wrong, the one who hid away, the one who broke her own heart. The girl I knew for six short months. 

Perhaps people can change quickly, in the blink of an eye, become someone new you can meet again. Maybe I’m wrong.

All I know now is that I want to remember her before I forget. Ingrain the memory of the late Saturdays and Sunday early afternoons we spent together.

I don’t want to forget that she taught me to live, but, in the end, I couldn’t help her. 

I want to remember the Liv I knew.

I want to reminisce about it before I forget.


Sky Demons

There’s an old legend that states that one night a burning star fell from the sky and slammed into a mountain range. It caused a catastrophic explosion, tossing huge hunks of rock and dirt and debris around the mountains for miles. The star disappeared, but it left a gaping hole in the mountains.

According to the legend, my people and our sheep were born from that star. In the morning, my ancestors emerged fully formed after its burning diminished. Together, they all blinked in the harsh light. They looked around at the scorched, rocky ground and the walls of stone on either side. One of their sheep bleated. Then, a cluster of massive shapes dove down towards them. They grasped both sheep and people in cold talons and swooped back up to the sky. They ate their prey. From that moment on, my people have called them sky demons. From that moment on, they have been our enemies.

That’s the legend of how we came to be. I always thought that it was ridiculous, because how could people and sheep come from a falling star? And how could a star not destroy the Earth? Papa thought it was nonsense, too. Mama and Sam didn’t though. They were the dreamers in the family. 

I once told Sam that the legend was utter nonsense. I was eight years old at the time. He was seven.

“No it’s not!” he replied. “The legend is true!” That was the end of our conversation. 

Sam also liked to look at the tufts of green grass that had sprouted up over the years.

“It’s like us, Sophie,” he said to me one day. “The grass is like us. It lives on rock. And,” he paused here, his light brown eyes wide with excitement, “no one would have ever thought that grass could live on rock. But it has. Just like us! No one would have ever thought that humans could live in a rock hole, but we have, too!”

I had laughed and ruffled his soft blond hair. I didn’t care about metaphors between us and grass. All I had ever wanted was to learn about the world. The real world outside of the ashen gray rock walls that surrounded us. Once I learned enough about the world, I reasoned, I would be able to escape the rock. I don’t know what I was thinking. Papa had always wanted to escape. And look where that got him.

***

Sometimes, on clear summer evenings, Papa and Mama and Sam and I would lie on the stone behind our hut. Together, we would watch the sun set. Once Papa tried to explain how it worked, how it wasn’t the sun that was moving, it was actually the Earth. Even I quieted him, though, because sunsets shouldn’t have a scientific explanation. 

We would watch as orange and pink spread their fingers across the sky, pushing away the soft blue-gray of daytime and welcoming the purple of night. We would watch as the purple oozed across the sky, erasing the orange and pink. Once it was completely dark, Papa and Mama would usher Sam and me inside. Sam would go right to sleep on his cot, but I wouldn’t. I would peek out from my window and watch the sky demons cut across the dark, hurrying towards their nests, their bodies like blades against the soft purple. I watched as the adults in our village would crowd in the square, holding spears of wood and stone. I watched as they hurled the spears at the sky demons. Sometimes, a spear would hit its mark, and a sky demon would fall from the sky, shrieking. The next day, we’d have meat at dinner. Sometimes, a sky demon would fly down towards the adults. Sometimes, it would grab one of them in its talons. Sometimes, it would rip the roof off of the sheep barn and steal away the sheep. 

Every morning, we would find blood dribbled on our roofs and splattered in dark stains on the stone. We always worked hard to scrub it away. 

Mama and Papa were the only adults who never took part in sky demon hunting. Papa because he was too busy studying a way to get us out of the hole in the mountains. Mama because she couldn’t bring herself to pick up a spear.

Sam and I used to watch the other children holding little bits of stone, throwing them towards the sky, trying to hit a sky demon. It never worked. The stone would always fall back down before it flew up far enough. It would usually hit one of the other children on the head. Sam and I never threw stones at the sky. 

I used to wonder why the sky demons only ever ate a few of us or our sheep. I used to wonder why they didn’t kill us all. They must have wanted to, I thought, them being such evil beings. I never figured out why they didn’t. I also used to wonder about why, in the legend, when a cluster of sky demons first swooped down, why they didn’t eat all of us. 

I asked Papa why. He told me not to bother with the legend because it was stupid. Then he took me and Sam by the hand and slung a rope over his shoulder. He called for Mama.

“I’m ready,” he told her.

Mama just nodded. I’ve always wondered why Mama didn’t argue, why she didn’t tell Papa not to go.

We walked to the rock face near our hut. Then Papa tried to climb it. He wanted to get to the top. He wanted to see what lay beyond us. He had a long rope and strong arms. He got very far. The whole town gathered to watch. He was almost out of our sight when the rope broke. He flailed for a grip on the stone, but to no avail. He fell, and his body broke on the ground.

We wanted to bury him, but it was impossible to bury anything because our ground was stone. It didn’t matter anyway, because a few hours after Papa fell, while Sam and Mama and I all held each other and sobbed and shook, a sky demon grabbed Papa’s body in its claws and ate it. Then he was gone.

***

One day, about a year after Papa died, a sky demon fell. I was on my knees, scrubbing sheep’s blood from the stone, when it crashed in front of me. I dropped the rag with a strangled yell and launched myself backward, my palms skinning on the wet ground. The sky demon was lying on its side. It didn’t move. 

I thought briefly that perhaps it was shot down by one of our archers, but it had no arrows or spears implanted in its body. 

Once I had caught my breath, I inched forward on my hands and knees. The sky demon showed no reaction as I approached it. I had always been a reckless child, and soon I was a mere foot from its prone body. I stared at it. My whole life, I had always been taught to hate and fear the sky monsters. My whole life, I had never seen one up close. The sky demon was barely larger than I was. It couldn’t have been more than a few months old. It had a gray, downy coat of fluff. Its feet were curled and a soft, wrinkled pink. The sky demon’s talons were pliant, and translucent pink, the color of Sam’s cheeks when he was born. The sky demon’s chest hammered up and down, its heart a pulsing orb pressed against its rib cage. Its wings were skeletal. One was twisted at an unnatural angle. The other one was barely twitching.

I was enthralled. This wasn’t the nightmare that we thought haunted our home. It wasn’t larger than our huts. It didn’t have a black coat of acute feathers pointed in the shape of knives. It didn’t have fine, metallic-like talons large enough to snatch our sheep. I didn’t see a monster; I only saw an infant. 

The sky demon’s eye fluttered open. The iris was a cloudy blue, the color of the dye we made from the berries that grew near our homes. The pupil swam around in the iris, constricting and expanding rapidly. The sky demon gazed at me. It let out a small moan. Then a squeak. Then it made a sound that I could have sworn was a plea. A cry for help.

I reached out a cautious hand, my fingertips brushing its feathery back.

“Sophie!” My name tore through my ears. I looked over my shoulder and saw my mother running toward me, her dress fluttering in the wind.

“Ma — ” I started to say, but before I could finish, she shoved me aside.

I watched my mother. My mother, who baked flat bread for anyone in our village who was hungry; my mother, who had never once thrown a spear at a sky demon; my mother, whose arms trembled so badly that she could no longer she braid her hair. I watched as my mother, with hands steady as stone, pushed her knitting needle into the sky demon’s chest.

What would always stay with me was the sound. The sky demon let out a shriek as the needle pierced its heart. The needle made a wet crack as it punctured the bone. It made a crisp tearing noise as it stabbed through the muscle. 

Blood gushed out of the demon, flowing onto the stone. It swirled around my feet, warm and wet. I stood, paralyzed. I stared at my mother and the dying creature at her feet. She met my gaze, and her eyes were hollow. Empty. 

“Get inside, Sophie,” she finally said. She ducked her hand down. “I’ll clean it up.”

Wordlessly, I ran into our hut, tracking blood on the stone.

***

The next night, my town gathered together in the central square. The sky demon had been defeathered earlier that day. A wooden beam was stabbed through its body, and it hung over a huge bonfire. Fat and grease dripped down and sizzled in the flames.

The adults sat at long, stone tables and laughed and drank jugs of mead. Mama sat with them, her hands folded tightly together. She didn’t drink. She was talking to some women, whom she was friendly with. Her friends were all smiling and talking loudly and cracking jokes as they bit into the flesh of the sky demon and the blood trickled down their chins. Mama had a very small portion of sky demon, which she nibbled on. She smiled and talked and laughed, too, but all her smiles were too wide, and her laughs were too loud, too late, too fake.

The children were happy, too. The smaller ones ran around chasing each other and hiding under tables. The older ones were cheerful. They gnawed on the sky demon’s bones and pushed each other around.

Sam and I sat together on the damp rock, on the edge of the square, in the shadows. I didn’t eat the sky demon, and so neither did Sam. 

“Do you ever wonder, Sophie,” he asked, “where the sky demons came from?”

“No, I don’t, Sam,” I replied, not looking at him, but looking at the darkness beyond the firelight.

“I do,” he said, quietly. “I wonder where they came from.” 

I didn’t answer.

“I think,” he continued, “they came from the star.” I looked at him, and his face was wide and earnest. 

“What did you say?” I asked, my voice quiet, serious. 

“I think they came from the star,” he repeated. “Just like us.”

I snorted and picked at crumbling pieces of rock. “That’s ridiculous, Sam,” I said, and my voice caught a little. 

“It’s not, Sophie!” Sam exclaimed. “If we and our sheep were born from the star, then it only makes sense for the sky demons to have been, too.”

“Why, Sam?” I was angry now, but I didn’t know why. “Why does ‘it make sense’ that the sky demons were born from the star? How does that make sense, Sam?” 

He shrank back. “I just think that we’re not that different,” he said and his voice was soft and quiet.

“Not that different?! They eat our sheep. They kill us!” I gulped down a sob. “And we kill them.”

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Sam retorted. “We don’t have to kill each other!”

He was wrong, and I told him so. “That’s not true. We do have to kill each other.”

He looked at me disbelievingly. “You can’t honestly believe that, Sophie. You didn’t use to.”

I bit my lip and said harshly, “Well, people change.” I turned away from him and faced the shadows.

It was several minutes before Sam replied.

“I know you didn’t want Mama to kill that demon yesterday,” he whispered. “You tried to stop her.”

I wiped away a tear. “It’s dead now, Sam. It doesn’t matter whether or not I wanted it to be.” I tried to swallow a sob, but it didn’t work. I started crying hysterically.

I could suddenly feel Sam’s small arms wrapping around my shoulders. “It’s okay, Sophie,” he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I cried into his shoulder. “It was my fault, Sam! I should have stopped Mama! I should have saved it!”

“She had pushed you away,” he replied. “There was nothing you could have done. Even if she didn’t kill it, someone else surely would have.”

“And that’s what I hate!” I yelled. A few small children turned to look at us, but no one else heard. I lowered my voice. “I hate how we always have to kill them! I hate how we have to live like this!”

“Me too,” Sam whimpered. “I do, too.” He paused. “I wish we could find another way.” He took a deep breath, then plunged on. “They only kill us when they have to. We kill them because we want to. Their species is obviously just as desperate as we are. I wish there was some way we could work together.”

“Now that’s ridiculous,” I told him, through my cloud of tears.

“I know,” he replied, sounding much more like the ten years he actually was than he’d been sounding like a moment ago. “I know it’s stupid. It just makes me happy to imagine it.”

Then we laughed, just a little.

Soon after that, Mama came over to us, her mouth set in a straight line. The other adults were sharpening spears. “Time to go,” she said.

***

Half a decade later, a sky demon landed in the garden in the back of the hut that my mother, Sam, and I shared. It squatted in the garden; its jagged tail swung, clobbering and toppling a young evergreen tree. It bent its feathered neck and nibbled on the purple thyme. My mother was sleeping on her cot, and Sam was crouched on a stone stool, weaving a scarf. I watched from the back doorway, silently. It didn’t see me.

A voice broke the quiet. “Go away!” our neighbor, Scott, shouted. The sky bird started, its wide, black eyes narrowing. “You hear me?” he yelled again, crossing over to the edge of our garden. He was holding a newly invented weapon in our village: a catar. It was dangerous, more dangerous than arrows or spears. It was made of stone and vine, and held razor-sharp rock knives. Inside of it, vines were woven together into a complicated catapult that could quickly hurl out the knives when the trigger was pulled.

Sam looked up. “Sophie?” he asked.

I glanced at him for a second, then turned around and edged out to the garden.

“Get away!” Scott yelled again, and the sky demon tensed, strands of shredded thyme hanging from its metallic beak. 

“Scott,” I said, quietly, “Stop. It’s not hurting anybody.”

Scott and the sky demon both turned to look at me, equally surprised. 

Scott let out a low sigh. “Look, Sophie,” he said in a much gentler voice than he had been using moments before, “it’s not often that we get one this close.” His hands clenched the catar, a finger nearing the trigger. The sky demon cocked its head and twitched its wings.

“Don’t shoot it.” I began to panic. He wouldn’t listen to me. He would kill it.

Sam stepped outside. At fifteen, he had finally gotten a growth spurt, and he was several inches taller than Scott, but too slim to be intimidating. “Scott,” Sam said. “Drop the catar.”

Scott grunted. 

I felt a pang in my chest. He wasn’t going to listen to Sam either. Sam and my mother and I were known for being different than everyone else in the village. If we had been more average, maybe he wouldn’t have shot. Maybe he would have listened. But we weren’t. We were the odd ones, and we would never be heard.

Scott’s finger locked itself around the trigger. The sky demon had returned to snuffling in the thyme. It didn’t see Scott holding the weapon. It didn’t know that in seconds its life would end. Without thinking, I jumped forward. Just as Scott pulled the trigger. 

As I was in midair, a knife buried itself in my shoulder, and right before I hit the ground, I could see the sky demon taking flight.

***

I woke up the next day in the town infirmary, lying on a cot with a bandaged left shoulder. Pale light streamed through the open window, highlighting Sam and my mother’s faces. They stopped whispering when they saw that I was awake. 

“Sophie,” my mother’s voice was gentle. “How are you feeling?”

It took me a moment to register her question, and another moment to remember what had happened. “The demon,” I gasped. “Is it okay?”

Sam and my mother exchanged a look.

“No,” Sam told me, eyes downcast. “Scott shot it.”

I sank back against the cot. I couldn’t explain why I felt that way, but, for some hopeless reason, I thought that if I could stop Scott from killing the sky demon, I would finally be able to forget about what my mother did.

“But your shoulder,” my mother pressed. “How does it feel?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. My shoulder hurt, but that was nothing compared to the fact that the sky demon was dead. It was dead. Just like the one that Mama killed. “It’s fine,” I told her. 

She frowned, worried.“Are you sure? The medic told us that you might be in pain for a while. You should at least stay here for the night.”

I pushed myself to my feet. It was painful, but I could do it. “I said I was fine! Please, just leave me alone.” I pushed past her and Sam and left the infirmary. I stormed to out hut and sat down in the garden, fuming. I stared at the broken thyme and the imprint of the sky demon’s body. The blood had been washed away. 

I don’t know how long I sat there, but I know that by the time my mother joined me, the sharp pain in my shoulder had receded into an ache. The sun had set, the stars twinkled merrily, and the bright, fat moon was hanging low in the sky. 

She sat down across from me on the dirt. I looked down, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

She took a long time to respond. When she did, her voice was quiet. “It’s okay, Sophie. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “What are you sorry for, Ma?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. Everything.” My mother took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that your father died. I’m sorry that you had to watch.” She paused. “And I’m sorry that I killed that sky demon that time, when you were scrubbing the stone. It was only a baby. And I shouldn’t have done it in front of you.” She tried to suck in a breath, but it caught in her throat. “I’m so sorry, Sophie,” she whispered.

I looked at my mother, really looked at her. For the first time, I saw how fragile she was. For the first time, I realized that she regretted killing the sky demon. For the first time, I realized that my mother made mistakes. “It’s okay,” I told her, and a tear dripped down my face.

We stayed together for the rest of the night — sitting on the stone and holding hands in the moonlight.

***

Anyway, I don’t want to be thinking about any of this now. 

My father died a decade ago. I forgave my mother four years ago. Three months ago, my mother was killed by a panicked sky demon. It had a spear stuck in its wing, and it careened down from the sky and landed on her, hitting her hard enough to snap her neck. 

Two weeks ago, Sam and I were sitting outside the hut that we share, and we watched a group of small children climbing the rock face. They were just doing it for fun, of course, but some of them got pretty high. Then one of them lost his grip. He tumbled down the stone, shrieking and kicking. A sky demon dove down, caught him, and brought him safely to the ground. No one knew quite what to make of it.

It sparked something in me, though. In Sam, too. I guess we thought, or I thought at least, if little kids are trying to climb the rock face, why can’t we? If the town is finally becoming curious enough to wonder what it beyond the rock, why don’t we climb it and see? 

Together, we gathered the unused rope that we wove with Papa when we were little. We added more to it and strengthened it. We practiced climbing parts of the rock face behind our hut. We packed knapsacks with food and water and wool sweaters and blankets. Now, we are ready.

Sam and I woke up early this morning and walked to the rock face. We started to climb. It was difficult at first, and I was so nervous that my muscles tensed, and I started shaking. It got easier, though. We took small breaks throughout the day, sipping cool water and eating sheep’s cheese. 

It is evening now, and we’re still climbing. A group of children have gathered beneath us, shouting words that don’t reach our ears. I think it’s encouragement, though. They jump up and down and run around in circles, heads tilted back, watching us in the fading light. We’re so high up now that the children are barely there. Just little dark shapes beneath us.

Sam and I settle in a small crevice in the rock for the night. We strap ourselves in and lean back, rubbing our exhausted hands. My shoulder healed years ago, but it has started to hurt again, a dull throb. 

“So, what do you think, Sam,” I say. “Do you still believe that the sky demons were born from the same star we were?”

He looks at me, startled. “Of course, Sophie. Of course I do.” He lets out a small laugh. “Do you agree with me yet?”

“Maybe,” I reply, because I still don’t know if I even believe in the legend.

I pull a blanket from my knapsack and wrap it around Sam and my shoulders. We squint our eyes to watch as the parents come to collect their children. It’s hard to see them, but I can just make them out. 

“Look,” Sam points, “a shooting star.”

I look up, not down, and I see it, too. 

Streaking across the black, leaving spurts of silver in its path. I look around at the children and their parents, and me and Sam, and the dark silhouettes of the sky demons circling in the clouds.

The shooting star brightens the sky, and I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but it looks like it’s coming straight towards us. 

And just for an instant, we are all encompassed in light.


The Silent House

Chapter One: The Questioning

There is a moment of silence, and, of course, there is a silent tension in the room. It seems to cling to the air, just like death would cling to a person. Slowly eating its way out, from the inside.

“Are you ready to start?” There is silence in response. Everyone seems to hold their breath as if something unexpected would happen. “Ahem, okay, first question… ” Michael glares at her from across the table, his handcuffs digging into his bare skin.

“What was your weapon of murder?” The reporter hurriedly grabs her pen and awaits a response.

“Excuse me?” Michael asks, with a clear hint of irritation in his voice. “What do you mean ‘weapon of murder?!’” The reporter nervously looks around, shifting uncomfortably in the dusty, gray prison chair.

“There was no weapon of murder. This is a waste of time. I’m telling you. I did not kill my girlfriend.” Michael looks at the reporter. Her beady eyes eat up all the information hungrily. She scribbles madly in her notepad, leaving Michael only to his thoughts.

The reporter stares at him intensely, as if there is something there that she is missing from him, as if she is trying to crack a code. She then licks her lips and says through a smile, “Yet, you mention the death of your girlfriend… I didn’t ask about that. I simply sai — ” 

Michael, all of a sudden furious all over again, stands up abruptly and swiftly. The anger in his eyes makes the reporter’s heart beat at an alarming rate. “Riddle me this! Why?! Why do you think I would kill my own gi — ” He couldn’t finish, feeling the tears swell up in his eyes. Remembering that night… that horrible dreadful night.

He takes a breath and starts again, “Why would I kill her… she was the love of my life… ”

The reporter smiles, her inside info, is no match for him, or so she thinks. “Well… Michael, isn’t it true that even before her death she accused you of cheating… ” Michael’s jaw drops as the color drains from his face, “… and even after her death, didn’t you have an affair with another woman?”

Michael’s heart stops. The only thing on his mind right now is Sadie. There’s no way she could have been involved. Not after what she’s gone through, and not after what they’ve gone through together. 

Michael looks over to the guard standing by the doorway and mouths him something. “I don’t have to be here doing this right now. In fact, I’m not doing this right now. Your stupid newspaper is the least of my concerns.” Michael gets up and walks over to the guard, who leads him out of the small room, leaving only the dumbfounded reporter and her little notepad to sit on the ugly, little, gray chair.


Chapter 2: March. 23. 2006

Michael’s feet pedal hard, and sweat is running down his forehead. He pedals like a madman, as if he is riding off anger. But the look on his face says otherwise, as he turns the corner to Julie’s house.

He chuckles to himself, ready to see the look on her face when she sees what he’s done for her.

The house Julie lives in is a small yellow one. Comparing it to a Florida home would be silly, but it’s not tiny. The smallness of the home is more cozy than uninviting. The familiar tiling of the roof is a burgundy colour, and the small rounded windows make the house look bigger than it is.

Michael dashes to the door, almost forgetting his purpose of coming. He sprints back to the little basket in his bike quickly, seizing the present he has, and runs up to the doorbell. But after hearing silence in response, he remembers that the Walsh’s doorbell is broken.

Remembering this, he starts knocking crazily, until he sees through the side glass that someone is coming. Julie’s mom appears at the door suddenly, wearing nothing but a tight satin dress. 

“Michael.” They look at each other like two snakes would.

“Mrs. Walsh.” 

“What a surprise to see you here… ”

Not knowing what to say, Michael responds with, “You too… ”

After realizing what he said, he’s saved by, “Claudia! Who’s at the door!?” He can hear Mr. Walsh now yelling from the living room.

“Nobody of importance, dear! No reason to come over he — ”

Too late. Mr. Walsh is already standing in front of Michael, smiling ear to ear as if they’re old buds at a reunion.

“Michael, son! How long has it been? C’mere!” He grabs Michael and puts him in a headlock and starts noogying him hard. Michael laughs along with him, trying to hide his real pain.

“Not long enough, sir! Just visiting because it is a special day for Julie after all.”

Mr. Walsh pats Michael on the head gently and says, “Boy, didn’t I tell you to call me Dave? It’s only appropriate… ” Michael looks up at Mrs. Walsh, “… Come on in. I won’t take no for an answer!”

Michael, now smirking, looks directly at her while saying, “Will do… Dave.”

“That’s the spirit, son!” He chuckles and leads him into the bright home.

The walls are decorated with all types of green decorations and a sign that reads, ‘Happy 17th Birthday Jules!’ Michael also spots a family portrait of the Walsh’s on the wall. And it’s the only picture they have with Julia in it.

She looks about 12 in it, her hair a brown-black with a tinge of orange that lays on her shoulders in neat sections. The unique thing is that it’s naturally straight. Her blue eyes complement her dark skin, and her full lips are apart, revealing a set of pearly teeth. Next to her is her little sister, who is a baby in this (one to two years old) who looks a lot like her, except her straight hair is gone, and replaced with gorgeous curls, which complement her round face. And instead of wearing regular clothes, she’s dressed up in a frilly baby dress, with a tutu, and fancy little socks that come out of her white shoes.

Michael smiles at the photo without realizing, studying every detail, as it dawns on him that Julia was just as pretty when she was a child. But he’s snapped back into reality, realizing that Dave’s been talking to him the whole time. “And then I said, well, buddy! Then you shouldn’t have eaten it if it made noises!” He bursts out laughing, so Michael laughs along, completely unaware of the joke’s purpose.

But their laughing stops as they both hear, “No! No! No! I’m telling Mom!! Mom! Mom, where are you!! I want a dress like Julia’s!

Michael looks over at Dave, startled by all the yelling, who takes a sip of his coffee and sighs. “Trouble in paradise… ” He takes another sip of the coffee and winces. “Strong stuff.. want some?”

Michael turns down the coffee politely, but doesn’t bother hiding the disgust in his voice. 

Thump, thump, thump…  They both turn to where the sound is coming from, and it’s all three of them.

Zelda is first with a salty expression on her face that tells Michael she never did get that dress she was so hopelessly yelling for. Next is Claudia, but Michael isn’t exactly looking at her. He is looking at the elegant swan that is coming down after her. Julia finally… He sits there for moments breathlessly, as she approaches him.

“So? Aren’t you going to say anything? Or at least hand me my gifts?” She bats her eyelashes at him. Zelda stares at the lovestruck two angrily.

“Mommy, first Julia gets to wear a pretty dress, and she gets a Prince Charming! That’s just not fair!” She pouts and looks up at Claudia, who lifts her into her arms and kisses her forehead. 

“Don’t be upset, Zelda,” she tells her, reassuringly. “You always have a chance to find your Prince Charming. You just haven’t found yours yet.” She sets her down, takes her hand, and they head for the living room.

Julia looks at the two men, mouths gaping. “Well if you don’t say anything, Michael, than I’m sure Daddy will.” She looks over at her father who takes another sip of his coffee.

Putting one hand over hers, he says, “The only thing that I have to say is, look at my little girl all grown up!” As he pulls her into a tight hug, he nuzzles his face in her hair. As he lets her go, he turns to Michael and says, “Stop drooling, Prince Charming, have her back by curfew, say… 10:30… 11, max. And no funny business.” He glares at Michael, only leaving him to do nothing but gulp. “Just kidding! Have fun, kids!”

Julia and Michael look at each other anxiously and force a chuckle.

“Let’s go, babe!” Julia starts pulling Michael off the little kitchen chair, but before she can, he brings her in and plants a big kiss on her. She grabs his face, and they make out. It feels as though both are flying, he pulls on her hair gently and groans. She pulls out.

“What? Too much?” Michael says, and the expression he wears is one of hurt.

Letting her hair finally go, he retreats in shame. She slides her hand into his and leans against his warm chest. Feeling his heartbeat is calming, and it makes her feel safe.

“It was perfect. There’s nothing in the world that could have ruined that… ” She looks up at him, smiling. Michael suddenly gets that flying feeling again, as he intensely stares into her deep blue eyes. He feels like they’re a pool he can jump right into, head on, and never get enough breath out of.

“Oh, Julie, by the way… Happy Birthday!”

He pulls out a little box wrapped in bright green wrapping paper, the little bow is scraggly, and wonky, the wrapping is horrible and there’s tape everywhere, but Julia beams as though she’s just won the lottery. 

She takes the little bow and undoes it. The bright green wrapping paper comes off next, and soon she’s left with a small, velvet-covered box. She stares at the box with such immense intensity, that Michael looks down at the box, and at her, worriedly. The truth is she already knows what’s in the box.

“Why don’t you just ope — ” He gets cut off to Julia jumping on him. She squeezes him tight enough for it to be a chokehold.

“You remembered… ” she whispers into his ear. “You remembered the beautiful butterfly brooch we saw at the store… the thrift store. It’s just so… ” She sighs deeply and turns to him. “Breathtaking… ”

Of course he remembered. He could never forget. Her reaction to the brooch is priceless, and although it seems like an old, rusty, little brooch, she saw something in it, and so did he. He saw her in it. The little butterfly moving in fast motions, graceful, and a deep blue, just like her eyes who at the moment were dancing with glee.

“C’mon let’s go! Quick!” Michael grabs her by the arm, and they fly out the door.

Julia laughs heartily, “Where are we headed to?”

He stops. He looks down at her and suddenly scoops her into his arms, into a warm embrace. He smiles and looks down at her. “It’s a surprise… This is your second present! And I’m sure you’ll like it, but I reckon we’re going to have to take a ride to my house, to get my dad’s car first.”

Julia runs a hand through her short hair as Michael looks up at her. And for the first time that day, he really looks at her.

Julia’s short hair stands up behind her, the slight orange tone in it intensifies as she steps into the light. Although her relatively wide eyes make her look awake, you can see the bags she tries covering, with poorly applied concealer. Her lips, round and plump, are in a straight line, not moving from their position. Her little green dress makes the blue color in her eyes sparkle, and her perfume stinks of death as she gets on the bike with Michael.

Chapter Three: Gun Powder and Dynamite

  As Michael and Julia pull up to his house on his bicycle, Julia gets a good look at his house. 

A small gray duplex, the lawn clearly hasn’t been mowed in a while. The trash is in a heap at the entrance. The overgrown vines do little to benefit the small space. As they pull up into the garage, Julia gets off first, making sure to steady the bike so it doesn’t topple over. Julia is fascinated by the odd smell and the uncleanliness. Although this isn’t the first time she’s seen his house, it is the worst state she’s seen it in.

As Julia eagerly approaches the doorbell, Michael stops her. “Wait! Stop! Hold up!”

Julia stops dead in her tracks, and turns around to see an out-of-breath Michael, running towards her at full speed.

“What?! What is it?! Michael, are you okay?!” She holds him by the shoulders, peering at him.

He sighs deeply and looks her in the eyes.

“He… my dad, he’s been… um… laid off…”

He looks behind Julia, away into the distance wearily. She looks up at him confused, and concerned.

“Well, I mean… so? Why do you care so much?”

Michael looks at her, not bothering to hide how disgusted he is at her. Julia stares at him slowly, still confused.

“He’s my father,” Michael, now furious, yells at Julia, oblivious to the fact that he’s standing right in front of the open window. “Of course I care! I don’t want him to turn into a good-for-nothing bum! And I want him to find a job… ” Voice now quivering, he continues, “He is an unemployed 53-year-old man… and when Mom died it was so hard on him. He turned to drinking as an escape, like most do. And he just completely fell apart… and I don’t want him to turn into that again.”

Looking now straight at Julia, he puts the back of his hand on her cheek. Softly rubbing up and down. 

Julia smiles into his hand, her mind racing, and heart pumping. She nods silently, and rings the doorbell. Michael looks at her and smiles, thinking to himself, How lucky I am to have someone like her… 

The door stands, not budging. The paint is chipping at the sides, and the bolts are ready to pop out any second. They stand there for what feels like ages, finally hearing a loud groan, followed by slow shuffling. Soon, a man stands at the doorway, beer in hand. His stomach slightly exposed, spilling out of his pajama pants. He looked disheveled, fresh stubble covering the lower part of his chin. Hair graying in patches, the other parts of his hair are a fawn-ish colour. His hair lay in messy curls all across his head. His eyes are a deep chocolate brown, and the bags under them not any lighter. He has small dark freckles splattered across his whole face. Julia takes a deep breath, stepping forward.

“Mr. Greene, Hello… it’s Julia.”

There is a pause as he studies her. After moments of examination, he smiles.

“Please, call me Robert. Michael hasn’t mentioned you before.”

Michael looks at Julia in shame. Turning back to his father, he says, “Actually I have, you just might be too drunk to remember.”

Michael marches past him, pushing him out of the way, leaving Julia to stand outside with Robert. He stands there smiling, his eyes hungry at the sight of her.

Beckoning her inside, he asks, “Would you like to see my gun collection?”

Eyes sparkling, he smiles at her, leading her into the room where the guns are kept.

“What about Michael? Won’t he be — ”

He cuts her off, waving his hand, “Nonsense. Don’t let some silly boy stop you.”

They walk through the minuscule hallway. Cracks in the bare walls make Julia shudder. She thinks of her small, nicely furnished home. This place is such a wreck compared to it. No wonder Michael is worried about his father. 

They stop in front of a small door… Well, Robert stops. Julia just follows him. 

Robert suddenly starts feeling around in his pants for something. Finally, his hand dives into one of the pockets, returning with a single key, which he uses to unlock the heavy-metal hard duty lock, that’s on the old door. He pushes the door open, sending a cloud of dust out. Julia scrambles back, waving off the dust as if there was a fly. Robert steps in first, leaving her to do nothing but follow. 

“One sec… just got to find the light switch.”

He coughs loudly from somewhere in the room; Julia hears little scrambling sounds shortly after. Stepping back, she feels a pinch on her right butt cheek. Startled by this, she cautiously starts backing away. Suddenly the light turns on. Robert smiles a toothy grin, still holding the light switch in the back of the room.

“Fou — ” he coughs… hard. It sounds as if though his lungs will give out any minute. His face red, he lifts his head back up and says, “Ahem, sorry about that. I meant to say found it.”

Julia shudders in relief, but in the back of her mind she can only think about what she felt in the dark. There’s a tension that follows.

Robert must feel it too because he says, “So… if you look right here you can see a 49.367 gun, a classic… ”

Julia quickly gets distracted by something in the corner of the crowded room. She walks over, and sees a little crate standing on the corner. On it is a pocket knife, and what seems to be a little figurine of a year ballerina. Part of it carved out and the other part of it is smooth. 

“That was supposed to be a present for Donna… ”

Julia turns around to see Robert looking at her. But he isn’t exactly looking at her. His eyes are there, but he actually seems very distant. Suddenly he turns back to the guns as if nothing happened. Julia walks up behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“Who-who’s Donna?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

Not turning back to even face her, Robert says, “She is — was… my wife. She was a ballerina, and so I assumed it was only appropriate… ” He chuckles. “She had, um… she was very fond of small things. So I decided to carve her a little ballerina… but she’s gone now, so I… I’m not going to bother finishing.”

Julia sympathizes with him, putting one hand on his shoulder.

Julia turns his face to hers; Robert looks at the ground. Julia notices the wetness under his eyes. She lifts his chin up. His eyes meet hers.

“Listen… death is a natural thing. The sooner you learn to get over it, the sooner it’s easier for you. And plus just because she’s gone… doesn’t mean that you should grieve. You should celebrate her moving onto the other life.” Julia’s surprised at her own response. Still looking her directly in the eyes, Robert moves back, forcing Julia onto the counter behind her. He leans against her so close, that she feels his breath on her chest. Afraid to make any sudden moves, Julia sits still, awaiting his next move. Robert’s hand goes up slowly, as he touches her cheek gently. He closes his eyes, leaning closer and closer to Julia until — 

Julia!” Michael comes into the room, completely unaware of what he was about to see.

Julia gets off the counter as quickly as she got on. Terror in her eyes. Michael stands at the doorway, confused and disgusted, more so than when he came home.

“Aherm… ” His father walks out the room, pushing Michael to the side.

Robert’s hand is up at his nose, making it look like he is thinking hard about something. Sprinting over to Julia, Michael wears a worried expression. 

“What the fuck was that? Why were you two literally inches from each other… ”

Michael looks like he’s about to blow a fuse, which is a realistic outcome considering his extremely short temper. Julie’s eyes widen, and her mind races, and she quickly tries to come up with an excuse, or at least manage words. Would the truth be better? Or a believable lie? Either way, she is in for it with Michael.

“Listen, Michael… ” She slowly hops back onto the counter, and sits, just looking down at her fingers. “He… he just needed some closure… He just lost Don — his wife. And he just got fired! I was just trying to help… ” She looks up at Michael, hoping to see the tiniest bit of sympathy and understanding in his eyes. But the expected reaction came. 

“What were you thinking?! Why do you… ” He puts his head into his hands. Julia could hear him trying to calm himself, as he took a deep breath. Looking at Julia is unbearable for him, especially in the moment, but he loves her. Making one mistake doesn’t change who she is, and he won’t let a bump in the road mess up their relationship. While Julia is anticipating an answer, Michael finally looks up.

“Can we just… forget about this?” Julia vigorously nods, as Michael laughs a hearty laugh. “Okay. Okay. You know your mistake, and I want to just forget this… Let me just take you to your birthday place.” Smiling at her, Michael feels a warm glow inside of himself seeing her smile in response. 

As Julia gets off the counter top, Michael takes a long look around the room, before shutting the lights off. He shudders, thinking about how he can only be in the room with the thing he hates most for one person… Julia. Remembering the reason the room was on a lock, the only thing that scares him more than opening up is guns. Guns scare him. As he grabs the keys to his dad’s old pickup truck, he thinks about his dad… He would kill him.

Chapter Four: T.O.D

  The car ride is tense, but as soon as Michael turns on the radio, Julia’s just jamming out to Adele. Michael can’t sing for anything, but when he hears Julia sing, it’s like the gateway to heaven is opening up. He turns it up extra loud, looking over to the passenger’s seat, hoping to get a glimpse of his dearest singing her heart out.

Julia knows Michael is looking at her while she sings, but it’s nothing new. She knows she’s a great singer, and she knows Michael himself would agree. She smiles to herself knowingly, as Michael watches her sing “Rolling In the Deep.”

“I love Adele.”

Michael looks at her. “Huh?” 

“I said, I love Adele… ”

Michael turns down the volume a bit, just as it goes to an ad.

“She’s so powerful, you know? Like there isn’t a single thing that holds her back. If she started an alliance, or even a cult… I think I’d join… ”

Michael laughs at her little joke. Minding the road ahead of him, making sure to drive carefully.

By now it is late, and the moon is out. The rectangular window of the dashboard has fluorescent numbers that read, 9:25. They aren’t late… yet. Julia’s dad said to have her back by 11:00, max. They’d still have plenty of time, and Julia would be able to enjoy her surprise.

Michael starts driving faster, eventually arriving at the woods. Julia looks around, confused. She was waiting for a surprise for so long, and all she gets is to see some boring old woods?!

Baffled, Julia starts complaining to Michael. “Is this really my surprise. Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s very… beautiful? I was just hoping for something… more.”

Michael looks over at Julia. She has been complaining about it nonstop for 20 minutes, and kept asking him if they’re there yet. Of course they weren’t there yet, but Michael wasn’t about to ruin his surprise for her just yet. So he gets out of the car silently, leaving Julia to do nothing but follow… Again.

“C’mon, Michael, I don’t want to be walking around for half an hour!” She sighs and frustradely looks at Michael, who still isn’t talking.

Seeing as Michael hasn’t cracked yet, she sighs heavily and trails behind him. Finally she walks in front of him and faces him. She stops and scowls. How can he make her go through all this? It’s terrible, it’s evil, it’s — 

“Beautiful… ” Julia breathes out the words.

Michael spins her around to face the marvelous waterfall that’s hiding just between two tall trees. She steps out to look closer. He makes his way behind her, slowing with every step. They both stand there marvelling at the beauty, mostly Julia. Michael has been here many times before. It’s where he went when his mother was first diagnosed with tuberculosis. And the first place she went after they buried her body.


The Diner

Shining Lights

The old diner’s lights flicker. The lopsided S has been broken for some time, so all that shines from the roof above is deedy’s Diner. Her hair is pulled back, the furious curls of red angrily shoved into a reluctant ponytail, because Frank is insistent after a customer demanded a refund after finding an angry curl in his soup. She quietly washes the table, too exhausted to try and make conversation with the drunk who ordered pie at midnight. 

“Honey, grab me another slice, would you,” he says, handing the empty plate to her.

She looks down at her nametag where it plainly says Amy, and even though there is no Honey currently working at the diner, she shoves another slice into his greedy, grubby hands. No ‘thank you’ comes out of his mouth. Only pie is crammed in, but she is used to it and continues to scrub at the stain that will never come out.

The door swings open. The cheerful ding makes her eyes droop even more, and her tired body almost collapses into itself at the thought of more customers. Laughter comes from a throng of black T-shirted theatre kids who plop down into two different booths. She makes her way over to the booths, her feet dragging behind her. 

“What can I get y’all,” she drawls. 

“We’ll have five orders of french fries, six milkshakes — two vanilla, three chocolate, one mix of both, three burgers, two veggie burgers, three hot dogs, and one tuna melt,” says the obvious alpha of the theatre kids. Not so alpha out of all of high school, but this kid certainly thinks he’s the shit. 

“Jeremy, I wanted a veggie burger too,” giggles a pretty girl with an irritating voice. 

Jeremy turns back to Amy, “And we’ll have one more veggie burger for Mary Anne,” he says, as if she was stupid and she had not literally just heard Mary Anne order for herself.

Mary Anne giggles again. 

“Gotcha, okay I’ll be back in a little.”

She slides the order over the counter into the kitchen to Danny, who is either asleep or playing video games on his phone, either or, those kids wouldn’t be getting their orders for a while. She looks back at the drunk and sees him mumbling to himself. God, maybe he’s high, not drunk.

A boy sitting next to Jeremy starts to talk about the stage lights. That they were so bright he was half blind, half distracted during his performance. She remembers the feeling of the shining, blinding, too bright lights. They sat, and they laughed. And talked. And laughed some more. And they shared their dreams, so drunk off their sugar high and the old scotch that Jeremy probably stole from his dad. She knew too well that hangover after having too much fun and eating too much, and that immortality that you think you have — a shield covering your whole body, and anything that tries to get through is immediately blocked by the thought that nothing could ever take away from that night. She knows that feeling the second the lights go off and you bow and everyone claps and you stand there hand and hand with your friends that you think are your soulmates, but they go off to college and you never see them again. She wants the feeling of the hot lights on her skin again, the feeling of sweat along with pride pouring out of every fiber in her body again. She still longs to see the flickering lights of the sign Broadway, and she knows that the B would never be broken. She longed when she was young as well, with those lights, and had those shimmering dreams she can see in the souls laughing in the booth across from her.

Her shift is over, so she grabs her bag and leaves without saying a word. Outside, she stands in front of Speedy’s Diner, but the lights don’t tingle her skin the way those stage lights used to. She got her dream in a weird way — she is standing in front of the shining lights like she always hoped she would some day.

A Little Haven

Twenty minutes down the highway, an exit at 32b, you pull a right and you find yourself in the most heavenly place in the world. A place filled with midnight magic and away from the stretching hand of reality. A place filled with solitude and cheap beer to pour down the drain into your already dying liver. 

The waitress tonight looks like Carol. Carol had beautiful hair, scarlet waves cascading down her back, almost touching her waist. The waitress also looks like shes in a bitchy mood, so maybe that’s what I find so familiar.

“Honey, grab me another slice, would you,” I say, pointing down at my empty plate.

A bitter grimace forms on her face. Yeah, reminds me of Carol, her sour complaints, whining about my laziness. 

No, I am not lazy, I work day and night writing beautiful words and sentences, while you know what you do? You go to work and shove a needle in someone’s arm and do it over again. That requires no creativity, no imagination. A boring, monotonous life filled with absolutely nothing!

Oh, and then she grinned. A crazy grin formed on her face, and her wild waves bounced up and down as she almost started jumping with the mad energy that sentence filled her with.

“You think you’re a genius, don’t you? The next up-and-coming William Shakespeare, ladies and gentlemen. God, I hit the jackpot with this guy. He’s such a genius. Yeah, this guy right here, when he gets drunk, writes a few nonsense poems, and calls it a day. Oh so lucky, I am the luckiest girl in this god forsaken world as he provides for me writing shit while I go work an eight hour shift, come home, make dinner, clean the house. You know, just simple tasks while he does the real man job. A genius needs his time to work alone. All the great ones did, so I think you should leave. It will let you have your space to ‘work.’ Hope you remember how to cook, ‘cause I am sure not going to do it anymore.”

A piece of pie plops down in front of me, and I start to shove it in. I can’t seem to remember the last time I ate. I should go home and get dinner. Carol is probably there, already starting to cook something like pot roast. Yeah, she would want me to be home right about now. She will tell me to set the table, and I will do it on the one condition that she wears the apron that makes her look so sexy. I can already smell the pot roast in the oven.

I slip a few bills on the counter and head out. The waitress that looks like Carol is outside staring at the sign, paying no attention to me. I head into my car and get back on the highway, making my way to the motel, my boxes rattling in the back of the car. Two measly boxes can fit a whole life.


The Beginning of the End

Chapter One

In the beginning there was peace in the world, everyone was getting along, and there was no violence.

Yet one day, an outbreak broke out. A woman named Susan Walker thought that she found the cure for cancer.

For a few weeks it was working. Then the people started feeling the symptoms of the cure. People reported headaches and nausea.

Then people started feeling weakness and tiredness. When they slept, they woke up, but not as the same person.

Yes, Susan Walker found a cure for cancer, but by doing so she caused half of the human population to turn into bloodsucking zombies.

This is where our character comes in. Her name was Rachel. Rachel’s mother had cancer. When she heard that there was a cure, she dashed over to the hospital and got the cure, but soon the same thing that was happening to everyone else happened to her. First headaches and nausea, then weakness and tiredness, then becoming a zombie. For Rachel this was the beginning of the end.

Chapter Two

Rachel was only 17 when it happened. When her mother turned into a zombie, her heart shattered into a million pieces.  

Rachel had suicidal thoughts because, without her mother, she had nothing to live for. 

She knew she was nothing without her mother. The government ordered a quarantine over the island, and they left the survivors.

She knew that if she was going to survive she needed to find other survivors like herself. She had a few friends, and they all had a walkie. That way they could communicate. There were three, including herself. Only one picked up the walkie. Her name was Hope. They had planned to meet up at their normal meetup spot. When she got there, she heard Hope shout. By the time she got there, it was too late. Hope was gone.

Chapter Three

Rachel felt empty inside. Everyone and everything she ever loved was gone. She felt like there was no reason in living anymore. She thought that if she died she would be reunited with the people she loved. That’s when she went outside to a crowd of zombies and was about to let them eat her alive. Slowly but surely they kept on getting closer and closer. Who knew dying would take this long. Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore. She ran as fast as she could. As she ran, she thought, what was she thinking. When she finally got far enough away, she bent down and caught her breath. When she stopped, she knew that the people she loved wouldn’t want her to die. She knew that if she were to survive, she would need a base of operations and a good supply of food and water. And she also knew that it was impossible that she was the only survivor, but her main priority was to make a base of operations. 

She got started on the base. She thought that her base should be a tree house because zombies can’t climb, so she would be safe. She also had the food situation down. She could just make a farm. The only problem she had was the water supply, but she would come up with something. When she finally finished the base of operations, she started on the farm. But that was the dangerous part, because that was where the zombies were. Before she got to making the farm, she had some metal left over from the base, so she built a fence around the farm. When she finished the fence, she felt she had enough to start the farm, but to have a farm you would need to have water to water the plants. So she would need to find a good amount of water. She knew that there were gallons of water at the store, but the store would be crawling with zombies, so she needed weaponry, and her uncle owned a gun store. His name was Uncle Sam, so she could just go there and get some guns and maybe her uncle might be alive when she got there. She decided to take an automatic gun and some side arms, maybe a Mac-11 would do. She decided to take a FN SCAR-H and a Mac-11. Just when she was about to leave, she heard rustling.

She looked and said, “Uncle Sam?”

Something slowly started to come into vision. Then she saw a man’s outline. Rachel screamed with joy.

Uncle Sam!

But when she saw his face, she realized he was just like the rest. She knew what she had to do. She raised the gun and took three shots. The walk back to her base was quieter than usual.

Incoming Red Giant

What happens when you die?

Will we live forever?

Will we be immortal?

Why do we die?

Incoming, incoming… 

(This whole story is written from a narrator’s point of view on the city crisis when a red giant is coming.)

Beep Beep Beep. That is all that was heard around the one mile radius of NASA headquarters in Houston. This robot voice was saying, incoming. Incoming. Red giant incoming. This was in the middle of the night, so the sleepy janitors in NASA’s hallway suddenly woke up. The janitors here only knew rocket science, so they didn’t really know what a red giant was, so all they did was run. They ran as fast as they possibly could to go outside to see what was happening. Every man and woman was outside and looking at the sky, trying to find the red giant. Indeed, very high up, opposite of the sun, they saw a little red dot getting bigger by the minute. All of the NASA control center freaks who experienced Apollo 11 hurried back to their study and discussed how to stop this massive thing from hitting Earth. One said that they should send a rocket that would blast the thing to pieces. That idea was quickly turned down, for Neil Armstrong shouted, “that wouldn’t do a thing to the red giant.” 

After all, the one who suggested blasting it was a janitor that snuck into the room and skipped his rocket science class. Michael Collins scurried into the room and said, “we can send a rocket that will have a nuclear bomb and a bunch of explosives in it.”

So everyone agreed and got to work. The red giant was outside of Earth’s atmosphere, so if a nuclear bomb went off outside of the atmosphere, it wouldn’t affect Earth. The Buzz Aldrin was quickly at work, figuring out how much time there was left until the red giant hit Earth and how far away it was


30 hours, 48 minutes, 29 seconds, 120 miles away

The top engineers at NASA ran to take a shot of coffee and quickly went to work building a nuclear bomb/rocket and putting a ton of explosives in the rocket. The rocket wasn’t going to get to the red giant too quickly. It was going to be going the speed of an airplane because of how heavy the load would be and how little time they would have to build this. 

22 hours, 56 minutes, 38 seconds, 100 miles away

By the morning, the engineers were finished with the rocket and were starting to make another one because they thought one rocket wouldn’t be enough. The first one was being towed to the launch site. The launch would happen in half an hour


Blast off rocket number one

Once the rocket was ready to launch, a crowd had gathered around, and a 15 minute countdown had begun. When it was time for blast off, the engine stuttered for a moment, and the crowd oohed and ahhed. Once it was about ten feet in the air, the rocket dropped back down, but suddenly a really loud blast caused the rocket to start ascending toward its target. The rocket was ascending at the speed of an airplane, which caused the crowd to worry. In a few minutes, the rocket was the size of the red giant, a small dot.


20 hours, 13 minutes, 01 seconds, 90 miles away

Everyone who witnessed the take off of the rocket was now about to witness the rocket crash into the red giant. A few moments later, you could hear NASA’s loudspeaker telling the crowd that the red giant was unharmed. Half an hour after the news, you were able to see the next rocket being towed to the launch site. 

Blast off rocket number two

A larger crowd had gathered this time, because these people’s lives depended on NASA’s decision. But, right before the 15 minute countdown was about to start, every human being in the USA saw that far to the east there were a whole bunch of smaller rockets being set off into space, and, soon enough, the people at NASA were able to see this rocket trajectory, and it looked like it was heading for the red giant. In a matter of minutes, others at NASA were able to see the launch site of these rockets… It was the USS Armstrong. The USS Armstrong was known for its rockets that, in times of war, could launch little rockets that went so high enemy ships wouldn’t be able to see them in warfare. NASA was quickly trying to contact the USS Armstrong. Soon enough, they got in contact with the ship’s captain, and the captain explained to NASA that the USS Armstrong heard that NASA was sending rockets to the red giant, so they thought that they could too. Maybe more than one rocket at once would be enough to knock it back. So the countdown started, and before you knew it, the rockets were all about five minutes away from their targets. Once the rockets hit the red giant, there was more of an impact. Many tiny pieces were seen coming off of the rockets.

“This is progress, people, this is progress,” shouted a voice from the NASA loudspeaker.

By now, NASA was preparing a third rocket. The USS Armstrong was also planning to send more rockets, which were going to be in sync with NASA’s rocket. Soon enough, the third rocket was already at the launch site, and the countdown started. Sixty… fifty-nine… ten… night… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one… blast off. The rocket made a roaring sound, and to the spectators it sounded like the loudest launch. Off to the west they also saw a bright red light that looked like another rocket. They realized that this was a nuclear rocket going off in Japan. Quickly enough, the Japanese airspace was contacting NASA, saying that they hacked into NASA’s countdown and launched their nuclear rocket at the same time. So now they had three different sources of rockets.

And on and on this went, both countries and warships sending up rockets until the red giant entered the Earth’s atmosphere.


10 hours, 21 minutes, 43 seconds, red giant entered Earth’s atmosphere

Now, all over the world, TV stations and radio stations were given instructions by NASA to teach their viewers and listeners how to build small rockets and launch them. So, all over the world, elders, newborns, people in wheelchairs, and people in the emergency room were all building rockets. This was life or death here. The surgeons who were doing life or death surgeries equipped the patients with the right supplies to build rockets. All of these rockets would be the size of those rockets that you would make for a science fair project. They made all of the rockets sync up to NASA’s control center, so they would all launch at the same time. Once all the rockets in the world were launched, the whole world looked up in astonishment. Half an hour later, they saw many millions of pieces coming from the red giant. But there was still one big rock, bigger than all the other ones.


6 hours, 43 minutes, 09 seconds, red giant 30 miles away

By now, the only person with an idea was the astronaut from NASA’s latest mission on Mars, Martian 22. His name was Sir Isaac Newton. He had come up with a miraculous idea, but it may have been the only chance the world had. NASA and all the world countries had sent out alerts to every electronic device telling people to turn on their blow dryers and fans which would hold up the rocks from the Red Giant. NASA would provide 3,000 mile extension cords to all cities, towns, and farms, so they could all keep the blow dryers going. And if the people didn’t do what they said, they hacked the blow dryer and fan companies. Once the rocks were hovering all about 10 feet in the air, a bunch of Robotic Concordes with huge trash cans would come around and collect all of the rocks. And NASA didn’t have to worry about the oceans, because all oceans were dead, for they all died out because of starvation. For this was happening in the 29th century.


30 minutes, 1 mile away

Now all of these things could be easily seen from the naked eye, and the Earth was now at about 200 degrees. This might be scary for you, but it was pretty normal for people living in the 29th century. All the world could do was wait and watch


Red giant 1,000 feet away

You’re probably thinking, why are countries that are opposite North America helping? Well, it was because the aftermath of all of this would wipe out the whole Earth, even though it was mostly going to hit North and South America.

Old man Steve Jobs walked out his front yard, and he saw a bunch of iPad sized rocks plunging toward Earth. He just woke up from a five-day coma, so he didn’t really know what was going on, and he just started yelling at his kids and all of their kids for not informing him about what had happened, so we just thought that all the iPads he ever made were now going to waste. The reason he stopped screaming is that (you will never believe this, but keep reading) all of the “iPads” hovered above Earth, and soon enough, they were collected and put into the dead ocean. But the sad thing was Steve quickly went into another five-day coma.

At the same time as Steve Jobs was experiencing those traumatic things, a little boy was thinking this:

Twelve-year-old Caleb Brokerstein was thinking about death in his room. He was thinking how he wouldn’t want to die along with all the other people in the world. All his childhood death had haunted Caleb. He had always wondered, what happens when he dies? Can we ever be immortal? Why do we die? And now all these thoughts were racing through his mind. Until the thought struck that he was going to die.

When that thought occurred to him, he ran out the house screaming, “I don’t want to die, ‘cause if I do I will never be reborn again!”

These were the precise thoughts that were running through his mind and coming out of his mouth. After a minute of all of this screaming, he looked up at the sky and saw that the particles were all hovering 10 feet above the ground.

When he realized this, Caleb retraced his steps and ran screaming, “We are alive!

The End

Elemental

Heather sat in the corner of her room, hearing the fire crackle. Around her, near her, behind her, in front of her… 

Inside her.

The purple walls of her rooms seemed to envelop her, consume her, as her breathing hitched.

She hugged herself tighter. She couldn’t be, right? No, there was no way. No way. No way. She was a fire elemental, right? Of course right. Her dad is a fire elemental, her mom was (at least she assumes she was), her whole family was, for as long as she could trace.

So why hadn’t she developed some fire-related power yet? Why? All the other kids had. She had to as well.

She thought back to her mom. 

Something inside her heart stung like a fresh wound. Her mom had disappeared right after she was born, run off to somewhere. Her dad couldn’t join her yet, but he always promised Heather that it was soon. They’d be rejoined soon.

Heather had a question burning inside. Literally.

She pulled herself up, pulling open her window and sliding out and onto the ground outside. 

In the Fire Side, everything was red. Or brown. Fire crackled at her feet as she softly tread over burned ground. She had to get there.

Get to the middle.

She was silent when she finally got there, looking up at the almost-impenetrable glass that separated the designated areas for each element. She stared right at the water zone.

She wished she could step right through and escape.

A drop of water escaped her fingertips, sizzling and steaming on the burning ground. 

She was a public danger.

She was a water elemental. Everything in her life started to softly click together. 

She was a water elemental. She was a water elemental. She was a water elemental.

She was a child.

She was lost, confused, and a scared-for-her-own-safety child.

And most importantly, if she got caught as a water elemental, she could die.

Heather wasn’t really scared though.

She was excited.


Hunted

I ran through the forest, feeling the tickly grass on my paws. I felt weightless, speeding toward a tiny, unknowing squirrel in the roots of a tree. I was moving quickly, but I made sure to tread lightly and quietly so as not to alert the squirrel. As I got closer, I slowed down and crouched. The squirrel was still nibbling at its nut, completely unaware of the danger it was in. And then I sprang. My claws sunk into the squirrel’s flesh, and I took the first delicious bite. I ate hungrily, happily tearing into the squirrel. I supposed it had felt pain when I killed it, but I didn’t care. It was just prey. 

One day something different happened. I was crawling slowly toward a mouse, careful not to make any noise, when I heard the sound of beating wings, and a loud screech. I looked up, and I saw a gigantic eagle, with a wingspan so big it made my blood freeze. I screamed so loud I thought I scared off every animal in the forest. I tried to run, but it was too late. The huge golden eagle picked me up effortlessly and carried me high into the sky, ignoring my terrified squeals. Agony filled my bones as the eagle’s claws tore into me, slowly killing me. I wailed in pain, but if anyone heard, they didn’t care enough to help.

***

I ate hungrily, happily tearing into the cat. I supposed it had felt pain when I killed it, but I didn’t care. It was just prey.


Trees of Albuquerque

I had been watching birds since the age of nine. Owls, finches, herons, and song sparrows were my favorite. The variety in species and function in the finches were fascinating, but what really caught my eye, or in this case my ear, were the song sparrows, the way their notes flowed into each other in complete harmony, going from do to re to mi to fa in beautiful consistency. The song sparrows were my favorite birds to observe, as their action of singing sounded so simple as a word but so magical as a sound. But the song sparrows didn’t last. By the time I was 25, my days of listening to sweet harmony were over, as a new power plant opened up, and with its smoke and ash and cracks and pops, it drew all the birds away. I learned by that time I wasn’t a bird watcher. I just liked the sound of song sparrows. Yeah, there were other birds I looked at, but who doesn’t think some birds look nice? This migration plunged me into sadness. I would never hear that beautiful flow or that consistent harmony ever again. I tried everything to recreate that sweet sound, every stroke of the hand or a blow of the horn or on an instrument, every audio recording, but none could replicate it, not exactly.

At this treacherous time I had come across an old nest with a peculiar egg in it. I thought to myself I might as well try to hatch the little thing. Its shell was so thin that it could be crushed by a flea. I took it in praying it would be a song sparrow, praying that I would hear those sweet symphonies again. It had been two weeks in the incubator. Even with its warm light at a nice 72 degrees, there were no cracks. Four weeks in the incubator with its steamy air, no cracks. I had given up. I had decided that I would follow the song sparrows even though I had lived in my town all my life, but I couldn’t take being apart from the harmony. I decided to crack open the egg and make a good breakfast with it, if it wouldn’t give me a song sparrow. Right before it hit my bowl to crack, I heard a noise. It was a perfectly consistent flow from do to re with a harmony unreplaceable. It was the voice of a song sparrow with its tranquility. I canceled every flight, unpacked every bag, and put back every plate because I was staying. The egg then continued to crack over the next three days. I had a song sparrow. I wasn’t going to use this bird just for its beautiful voice but also to show the power plant what its emissions were doing to the area. It was my duty to these sweet birds that were forced to leave. I had readied my case towards the court of how the power plant was driving away wildlife. When presented towards the court, it looked like a one way street with me going the wrong direction. The defendants argued that shutting down the plant now wouldn’t save the birds and there was no point. But I still had to try. I then gave my most persuasive point. I let the court hear the sweet symphony and melodies of the song sparrow even though it wasn’t allowed. I let them hear the beautiful flow from note to note, hoping it would be enough. It wasn’t. The power plant company had a better argument and a better lawyer. It was sad. My song sparrow was sad. I had used it, and now it wanted to be free. So I let the bird go, and with it I let my fight go. There was nothing I could do to stop it except let it free to the trees of Albuquerque.


Natalie, Luke, and Michelle

Natalie

There’s a lot that you can buy with a stolen 20 bucks. Especially if your mission is to sneak to CVS from school and see how long it takes until your mom notices you’re missing. Then you get to walk down every aisle. When you have $20, anything is possible. Well, anything that you can do with 20 dollars. But there’s a certain kind of freedom that comes with being on your own with money. I browsed through the aisles, getting whatever caught my eye. Oreos, mallomars, . I spotted the aisle with gum and backpedaled before snatching two packs off the shelves. Ooh, nail polish. You can never have enough nail polish; there are millions of shades that can make or break an outfit. While looking out of the massive glass windows, however, I spied a red Tesla pulling into the parking lot. It was Mom’s car! There was no one in the line at the checkout though.

I awkwardly stumbled over to the checkout. I hope no one saw that. I surreptitiously glanced around. No one in sight except for the bored looking checkout clerk who I think was a senior who had nothing to worry about. His faded shirt didn’t look like it had been washed recently so I tried to breathe through my mouth, but he asked me if I wanted a bag. He would have thought I had some sort of problem if I only nodded, so I had to answer.

“Um, yes,” I answered, trying my best not to seem rude, but really? I had seven items (yes I counted correctly for once; the only math skill I seem to possess) of course I wanted a bag!

While the clerk silently put my items into the white plastic bag, I spied my mom walking into the store with a purposeful stride and an ice cold glare, her stylish fall jacket accentuating her silky auburn hair. I knew that my mom would never make a scene in public, so I raced to think of a way to delay the checkout clerk.

“Hey, um, so how much were the Mallomars?” I asked, purposely drawing out the question.

“Uh… they were $3.99,” came his slightly suspicious answer. I don’t think he got asked many questions in this job, and my question definitely came as a surprise to him.

“And if I were interested in joining the rewards program, would I have to pay for it?” I squinted at his cheap plastic name tag with a barely legible scrawl written on it. “And, Alex, what benefits would I get?” My mother had caught up to me by now and was standing next to me. I could practically feel the anger rolling off her in waves.

Alex was definitely confused now. “Well, you don’t have to pay to sign up, but I’ll need your email and or phone number.” He was speaking in the perfected speech that all store employees probably had memorized. “You will get storewide benefits, and rewards such as discounts on everyday items.”

By now, the hairs on the back of my neck were raised from the furious look my mother was giving me. I think Alex had figured out what was happening, based on the surreptitious glances he was giving my mom’s face.

“Would you like to sign up today, or would you like to hear more about the many benefits of the CVS ExtraCare rewards program?” he asked with a pointed look and a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s ok, we can get going now,” my mother cut in smoothly with a voice that would seem polite to everyone but me. She whipped out a credit card from her clutch with perfectly manicured nails. Alex fell silent while she inserted the card and waited for it to process, tapping her high heeled boots on the floor obnoxiously loud. The slow machine finally finished, and my mom swirled the pen on the screen for a brief second before snatching up the bag and giving a curt nod to Alex. I hesitantly followed her, pausing only to ogle at the Jolly Ranchers on display near the exit. My mom stalked to the car, skirting around a particularly murky puddle. She unlocked the doors and gracefully settled herself into the leather seat.

I could feel the tension in the air; you could have cut it with a knife. Some awkwardly silent minutes later, I took a break from tapping my nails on the dashboard and shattered the silence.

“So….” I started guiltily.

My mom’s shoulders visibly tensed up, letting me know that I was in for it. We had reached home by now, so I pretended to be preoccupied with untying my laces and putting away my jacket. I silently padded up to the kitchen, plopping down at the island to wait for dinner, my stomach grumbling painfully.

Luke

There were fifteen minutes of peace in the house. I could usually be found in my bedroom, slaving away at my homework, but given that no one was home I took the chance to lose myself in some quality TV. Then I heard the garage open. Mom was back with Nat. I hurriedly shut off the screen, and made a mad dash to my bedroom, diving onto the bed and taking a nonchalant pose just as the door to my bedroom swung open to reveal a stressed looking Mom in the doorway.

“Hey, Luke. I got her- she was hiding in CVS,” she said tiredly.

I nodded, sighing inwardly. Natalie was being rebellious. Again. Why did you sneak out again? I think. Do you know how much Mom worries about you? Of course you don’t… you think Mom doesn’t care at all. She does, though. A lot. And you really freak her out when you do stuff like this.

Me, I’m the perfect child. After Dad left us, I kept it together, for Mom’s sake. I did what I was told, I didn’t argue with Mom, and my grades stayed constant. But my sister, didn’t. Her grades started slipping, her focus went onto all the wrong things, and she lost her motivation to do anything important. Mom and Nat have been at one another for the past year. Mom will scream at her for being on her phone too much, and then the next thing you know, they’re yelling about how Natalie is a disgrace to our family. Our broken family. It’s in little pieces, scattered around like glass shards on the street. Natalie’s waiting for Dad to come and pick up the pieces and glue them all together. Mom’s waiting for Natalie to attach herself back to us, and pretend that the bottle is back to normal, ignoring the way cracks that are inching up again and the fact that even the slightest gust of wind will send us into little pieces again, meaner and sharper than before. And me? I’m trying to work out how to put the shards back together, but I don’t want to get cut, but the pieces are oh so sharp, and one slip of my hand and I’ll get blood on me.

Michelle (Natalie and Luke’s mom)

I took out my anger by ripping off my unsuspecting stockings. I stood there in my bedroom, with my fists balled. Dinner had been icy, no one talking. Natalie never even made eye contact with me. Slowly, with every minute that passed without conversation, my heart had broken a little.

I automatically looked over at my dresser, at the framed drawing that filled me with love as I examined it. I gently stroked my fingers over the bright, childish colors of the crayon. Nat and I. My daughter and I.

Nat had drawn it, when she was five. She was sitting in her room, drawing it, not even letting me inside her room for fear that I would see what she was doing. The next day, Mother’s Day, I was awoken by small feet climbing over me. She had a frame grasped in one hand, and a plate of bacon and eggs, perched precariously on the bedside table beside me.

“Hi sweetie!” I had said, while stroking her hair away from her face.

“Hi Mommy!” she replied, so lovingly, so happily. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!” She grinned, brandishing her drawing and suffocating me in a hug. It was me, wearing the red dress that she knew was my favorite (a beautiful red triangle), and her, beaming, hugging me with stick figure arms. Framing it was a baby pink frame, bearing the words ‘I love you’ and a teddy bear on it. I had kept it on my dresser ever since, and every day I looked at it before I left for work, to remind me that I loved my daughter and my daughter loved me. Loves me.

But lately, I had to constantly reassure myself of it. I often found myself questioning the fact, and my suspicions were only confirmed further when we had another argument. I reminded myself that my daughter was downstairs, sitting at the island. Safe. Home. But what did home really mean? Was home a place to relax and feel happy? For any of us? Luke, or Nat, or me, even? I would be kidding myself if I said yes.

Natalie

My mother walked into the kitchen, and upon seeing me on my phone, immediately snatched it out of my hands.

“Wha..?” I was about to start complaining but I knew better than to fan the flames of an inferno waiting to be unleashed upon me.

“You aren’t getting your phone for two days, young lady. And if you have a problem with that, then maybe you should use your phone to text me your location once in a while!” My mother ended in a furious tone that left no room for argument. But, of course, being me, I found some.

“That’s so unfair! Why can’t I have a little freedom without you having to know where I am all the time?” I cried out, making the situation worse.

My mom’s eyes looked murderous. “I am your mother!” she yelled. “And I have a right to know where you are at all times in order to keep you safe! If you sneak off to CVS then how do I know where you are? There could be a terrorist attack in that building and I would think you are safe at home!”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes but I couldn’t hold back the sarcastic retort that had been circling around in my head.

“Really? Would you really be worried? You don’t even love me.” I challenged vehemently. “I bet you would be glad that your stupid, worthless daughter is dead.”

She glowered at me, but her eyes looked glassy. “How dare you speak to me with that tone? I can’t believe you would think-” her voice wobbled and I couldn’t stay after I said that to her.

I stalked out of the room and slammed my door shut as hard as I possibly could. I curled up on the floor, regretting everything I had just said. Those aren’t words that you could just take back.

My mind kept replaying the way her eyes had looked, when I said that to her.

How could I?

All she had wanted was to know where I was!

One side of my mind tried to convince me that I was justified, and she was being overprotective. But it was fighting a losing battle, as my anger ebbed away and the weight of my words sunk in. I was trembling on the cold floor, with tears running down my face. Trying, trying not to think of my mother doing the same.

Before I could give the topic any more thought, the signature thumping of my younger brother came from outside the door.

“Nat?” came my brother’s voice through the crack at the bottom of the door.

Quickly wiping my face and pasting on a smile, I got up and opened the door to allow him in. With an awkward chuckle, he stepped in and flopped on my beanbag.

“That was…” he trailed off.

“You heard that?” I grimaced. I had forgotten all about Luke in my anger. I was afraid to meet his eyes, knowing they would be frosty and filled with hate. He would never love me again. Not after hearing me say that to Mom.

“They probably heard that in China.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “But they wouldn’t understand anything because they don’t speak English; they speak Chinese!”

I rolled my eyes and laughed a breathy laugh of relief while messing up his hair.

“You know for an eleven-year-old, you’re pretty stupid, Luke.” I grinned at him.

With mock indignation, he turned away from me and buried his face in my throw pillows.

“No!” I shrieked. “You’ll get all your face oil on them!” I yanked them out from under his face.

“Face oil? Really? That’s the best you could come up with?” He laughed and slid to the ground, landing on my plush white rug. “So, anyway, what’s the deal with you and mom?” he asked, turning serious.

Deflecting the question, I squealed instead “OMG, this is one of those rare occasions where you’re serious!”

Pouting at me he went back to his usual goofy state. Phew. I didn’t want to have to talk about that with him. Didn’t want him to think of me as a monster.

“Can you help me with my math homework though? Probability is weird.”

“You must be truly desperate to come to me for help,” I said, imitating Loki, my favorite Marvel character.

“Yes!” He laughed loudly. “Loki is awesome!” He bounded out of the room laughing and cheering all the way.

Giggling, I followed him into his messy room. I nearly tripped over the dirty laundry on the floor, catching myself on a low shelf, which in turn released a torrent of comic books onto the floor.

“Luke!” I howled.

He grimaced. He kicked the comics under the bed with a sheepish grin.

“How is it even physically possible that your room is so filthy?” I exclaimed.

He rolled his eyes and waded through the trash on the floor to what could be considered a desk. Hidden under a mountain of clothes, the custom designed desk was wedged into the corner of his room. On the other side was his bed, heaped with candy wrappers and his homework. I took a flying leap to the bed and I landed on top of him, unleashing a yell of indignation from his lips. I had loaded up on dinner, stress eating, and I probably weighed as much as a baby elephant. Half an hour later, Luke’s homework had been conquered, and I had almost forgotten about the war I waged with my mother. Almost.

Michelle

My breath trembled as I exhaled. I was in my bedroom- I hadn’t bothered to shut the door, and I could hear everything that was happening in the room next to me. Giggles emitted from Nat’s high pitched voice.

She had probably forgotten about the whole meltdown in the kitchen. I hadn’t, though. Her last words still echoed around my head. I wasn’t sure if this was Natalie being her usual melodramatic self, but the words stung all the same. Was that really what she thought? That I didn’t love her? Had I shown that over the past three years? We certainly had had more disputes than bonding moments… in fact, we had exactly one mother-daughter talk in the past year. Truth be told, Natalie had always been a daddy’s girl. And when he left, to go with a stupid, brainless, bimbo who-

I exhaled sharply to stop myself. I shouldn’t let myself let carried away.

Natalie and her father could always be found together, giggling about something, making something. One week, they had decided to make a treehouse. Natalie had been ten years old, insisting that tree houses were cool. They started building it, and a few weeks later, Natalie had gotten bored. The wood lay, discarded in the tree, the rope ladder dangling uselessly in the wind. Then, the dreaded talk. We sat down both the kids and told them that their lives were about to be flipped upside down. Natalie cried. I heard her, every night, muffled sobs coming from her room. The second I went in there though, she would order me to leave her alone. Luke didn’t talk about anything. He would pretend as if nothing had happened. Every time I had insisted that we talk about it, he had responded with the same answer; “I understand, Mom. You and Dad didn’t get along. It’s okay.” Never being able to get anything out of him, I had slowly given up. Soon after, we became a three-person family. I caught Natalie in the garden, trying to build the treehouse on her own, hauling wood across the yard, drooping under the weight, but I didn’t want to interfere.

Natalie went to her first day of middle school. Luke went into fourth grade. Natalie caused trouble. Luke got amazing grades. Natalie was popular. Luke stayed a role model. And I didn’t think to talk to either of them. Not Natalie, the struggling teenager. Not Luke, the quiet elementary school kid.

Wow. Divorced, and isolated from your children. Not where I envisioned myself to be at this time in my life. With that cheerful thought, I rolled over and tried, unsuccessfully, to fall into the vacancy of sleep.

But I couldn’t help thinking about my kids. Take Luke for example. We had always been closer than Nat and I, going on expeditions to football games and parks together. When the divorce happened, I had spent more time with Nat, trying to pry out feelings and emotions. I had talked to Luke too, of course, but I had never given much thought to the fact that Luke’s answers never seemed realistic. It was always, “Yeah, I understand that,” and “I’m alright, you don’t have to worry about me.” Never answers that we had to talk about at length. And when he saw that I reacted positively to the answers he was feeding me, he realized that those kinds of answers would make me happy. So that’s how he always answered. Trying to please me, not wanting me worried.

Natalie

I woke up with much difficulty. I lay in bed for a while, listening to the sounds of my mom in the kitchen. The sounds sent a shock through me as I remembered yesterday evening. Heaving myself out of the bed, I began my morning routine slowly. Glancing at the clock as I considered what to wear, my eyes widened in horror. It was 7:25! My bus would be here in less than five minutes! I quickly grabbed an outfit out of my closet, still shoving my arms through the sweater as I ran downstairs. I grabbed a protein bar and yelled a quick goodbye to my mom and Luke, then I slammed the door behind me and speed walked as best as I could with a backpack on to the bus stop.

I arrived just in time, noting the yellow bus turning the corner in the distance. The other kids eyed me, but I was too relieved to worry about them judging me.

It was Monday morning. Most people hated school. I didn’t. Not because I was super smart; I was not, to the despair of my mother. But in school, I was a different person. I was no longer Nat, who was a disappointment to her mom because she wasn’t responsible enough or hard-working enough. I was Natalie Mercier, the most popular girl in school.

My friend’s voice shattered my thoughts, and I came back down to earth in time to hear her say “So then she said no! She said she doesn’t want rejects from the queen bee!” Beth was looking right at me, obviously expecting a reaction.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed too late.

Beth, not realizing my lack of focus, continued with her rambling talk, trailing off when she noticed me still staring behind her.

She snuck a look over her shoulder and blushed excessively when she saw who it was that I was staring at. A small smirk played at the corner of my lips in anticipation.

“H…hi Ryan!” Beth stuttered, her embarrassment showing on the tips of her ears as she beheld her crush.

“Oh…hey.” Ryan scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, looking for a way to get out of this conversation.

Deciding against my better nature, I intervened.

“Hey, Ryan!” I exclaimed excitedly.

“Oh hi, Natalie!” He responded with a confused smile. Why was the most popular girl in school talking to him?

“So what are you doing after school today?” I asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Uh, nothing, why?” He asked me hopefully, thinking he knew what was happening.

“Well, Beth’s free too, and she’s been talking about you for a while, so…” I smirked at the disappointed expression on his face, and sashayed off, a crowd of wannabes already swarming around me. They began to talk about mundane, trivial things, not noticing when I zoned out.

Everyone knows me but no one knows me.

No one knows the insecure struggling teenager who goes by the name of an insect. No one knows the girl who only lives with her mom. The girl who was told to go visit her dad every month, but refused, because she wouldn’t swallow her pride. The girl who lost her relationship with her dad, and didn’t try to mend it before it was too late. The girl who doesn’t talk to her dad at all. The girl whose dad left her and now has another kid. The girl who only loves one person in the whole wide world. The girl who doesn’t love her mother, but loves her brother.

No, they know me as the sarcastic, stylish, pretty girl, hated by few, loved by most. And I’m confident. No one tells me what to do. No one can make me feel like the little child I know I am.

Michelle

Nat,

Hey. It’s me, Mom. Mama. Mommy. Do you remember when you used to call me that? Seems like a long time ago now. Another lifetime, really. The last time you called me that was when you were eight. You were still in that innocent age where everything is exciting and cool, and you didn’t really care what other people thought. Well, that’s a lie. You’ve always cared about what other people think of you. It’s one of your best and worst qualities. Don’t get mad at me for saying that; hear me out. It definitely makes you a better person. You’re different around others, and you strive to be the best so that others will like you. But sometimes you care too much. And you’ve become such a different person that I feel like I hardly know you anymore.

You think that I don’t care about you except for your grades. You think that all I want from you is a good daughter who also gets a great job and becomes successful in life. That’s true, I do want that for you in life. But I still love you, care about you, want to be there for you. I wish you knew that. I know that I’m not always there. I know that you and Luke have to be there for each other when I’m not. But if we all trusted one another, then we could be a better family, and we could all understand each other better.

Urgh. No. I couldn’t just write a letter for my daughter to try and make up with her. I balled up the letter and tossed it into the garbage. I should just tell her that, to her face. But would it be enough? That was the question. Would this be a solution for all our problems? Would the issue of her father just go away, like that? Would the broken relationships? The icy walls that everyone had put up? No, of course not. We still hadn’t confronted the whole issue together as a family. In fact, I had never really had a serious conversation with Luke about the whole topic. I grimaced inwardly. I hadn’t exactly been the star parent, ever since I became a single parent unit. You would think that it would be easier in some aspects; no other parent to go crying to when the other’s screaming at you, one tyrant- sorry, parent, in charge. Well, no better time than the present, right? I set my shoulders and lifted my chin up high. Today I would talk to my children. Properly.

Luke

The front door swung open and I glanced up in time to see my mother enter the room. She looked around and seeing that I was in the living room she smiled at me, before frowning at the TV.

“Luke! I told you no TV on weekdays, until you’ve finished your homework!”

“Sorry, mom,” I said guiltily, not meeting her eyes. My mother was a formidable force when she was angry, and no one wanted to experience that.

Nat walked into the room just then, excitedly exclaiming.

“Luke! I have time now if you want to play that game we were talking about before.” She noticed our mother standing in the doorway and immediately became stone-faced.

“Never mind.” She said with a bitter tone. “I shouldn’t be having any fun; I should only be doing work. Definitely not on a Monday afternoon.”

“Natalie,” Mom sighed exasperatedly. “We are going to have a family meeting at seven, so be ready in fifteen minutes.” Mom turned to leave the room but Natalie interrupted her.

“You mean like how it was before Dad left?” My sister’s voice had lost its meanness, instead it was filled with a sort of sadness and longing. Within seconds, however, she realized that her mask and slipped, and hastily rearranged her face into the stone cold look of anger again.

Mom sucked in a breath. I could tell she was remembering, and it pained her.

“Yes, exactly like how it was before Dad left, Nat,” Then Mom turned away, up the stairs, and into her bedroom.

I looked up at Nat from my position on the soft white couch.

“What do you think it will be about?” I asked her.

She opened her mouth, about to answer, before she realized that she was still fuming at our mother.

“Nothing. I don’t care.” Natalie left the room, leaving me with my thoughts, as usual.

I speculated the cause of the meeting. As Natalie had mentioned, we hadn’t had a family meeting since …the divorce. The separation. The splitting of our world. The disaster that destroyed our family, never letting it be whole again. When for the first time, as a young, sheltered eight-year-old, I had been overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with feelings.

I never shared them of course. Who would I share them with? My father was out of the question. He was gone, living with his girlfriend and his son in a little house in California. My mother, well, my mother was going through a lot. I couldn’t dump this whole load of feelings on her, could I?

So I didn’t answer her questions. She had asked me if I was doing okay. I always answered, “Yes, of course, I am.” She had talked to me about how life was going to change. About how Dad wasn’t going to be there anymore. About how it was ok to be angry, to be sad. I always answered, “Yes, I understand.”

Now, after watching movies, and reading books, I realize that I should have confronted my feelings. But, there was no way to do that. Sure, my best friend, but what would he know? His parents were getting along great. They were even expecting a baby. He could never relate to me. His family was perfect. His mom would offer us snacks, and then his dad would come home from work, and then they would hug, and the mom would ask the dad how his day was and they were all happy.

Who else could I talk to? Natalie, my sister. I don’t know for sure, why I never talked to her. But, truth be told, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell anyone how I was feeling. I don’t have secretive issues, like Nat, but sharing such a deep, important, personal part of my soul felt… weird. Those are my feelings, thoughts. Why should I share them with anyone? They couldn’t help me by talking. At least I didn’t think so, even though the evidence from movies and books were blaring in my face. But they would never apply to me.

Talking; does it help? Maybe for other people, but not me. I prefer to listen. To listen to other people’s stories, whose stories are more interesting, more exciting, more important. It keeps me safer. I don’t have to worry about people knowing my personal thoughts. Learning about other people, that’s what I like. Not telling people about my life. I would like to think it’s genetic. My mother bottles everything up, rarely talking about her feelings. And Nat is loud and unapologetic, but when it comes to things that matter, she’s secretive and no one can tell what she’s feeling. It’s a recipe for disaster, according to the laws of a family. We’re all supposed to be open with each other.

I read somewhere that family is the most important thing…

Is it really?

Natalie

My nails dug into the couch, where I sat next to Luke. Family meeting…family meeting. The words haunted me. The last family meeting I attended had left me destroyed. I remember the swirling storm of despair and loneliness and anger, all bottled up inside me, coming out of me in teenage rants and rages. Only at home, of course. At school, I was a cool kid. I talked back to teachers and students, earning respect from almost everyone. I was cool, and everyone envied me. Few know that my parents are divorced, and the topic has rarely come up in conversations among my peers and I. No one at school knows how my home life is. They know I go on expensive vacations, and that’s it. They don’t know how my dad abandoned us, abandoned me. He promised me that he would always be there after I had a nightmare. But he lied. He did leave. And he wreaked a storm on our family.

Mom strode into the room, and I immediately snapped my head down and inspected my socks studiously.

She hesitated for a moment, before opening her mouth to speak.

“Luke, Natalie,” she gazed into our eyes respectively. Me second, of course I thought to myself angrily.

“We need to have a talk. As a family. I know that all three of us are naturally secretive. None of us opened up to each other, when…” she trails off for a moment. “When Dad left. And I know that none of us confronted our feelings, and we didn’t get over it-”

“Get over it?” I interrupted, angry tears springing to my eyes. “What do you mean, get over it?”

“That’s not the right word-” my mother tried in vain to explain to me. But I was on a rant now.

“We can’t get over it! Don’t you get it? Dad left! We’re not the same family we were before! Now we’re just three! We aren’t the same as we were before!”

My mother wasn’t saying a word, she just stared at me with an unreadable expression in her eyes. It seemed, almost…satisfied?

“Do you know how I felt when Dad left? Do you?” my voice dropped down to a shaky whisper. And then I opened my mouth again, and there was no damming the flood of emotions. And five years of feelings came rushing out.

Michelle

I gaze at my daughter with a mix of admiration and wonder, urging her to go on.

“Why did he leave us, Mom? He said that he would always be there for us, but now he’s gone. He said he would never leave!” Her voice breaks, and my breath catches in my throat with the emotion in her voice.

“How did it make you feel?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My mind flickers back to books I had read on children and divorce, remembering to not make any assumptions about what she’s feeling.

She hesitates, not sure if she could share these emotions. The familiarity of keeping secrets bottled up was a familiar feeling for me. I silently plead with her to answer the question, to release the feelings that she’s kept tucked away for five years.

She blurts out, “Sad.” she looks at me with tears welling up in her eyes.  “So sad. It was like half of my life was gone. I would come back from school, and no one would be waiting there for me. I would come home to an empty house, all alone. Luke was coming back from school, and you were at work. I couldn’t talk to anyone. And I used to go into your bedroom, and just sit there on the bed and cry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I ask gently, not wanting to break the spell.

Her head snaps up and the tears are gone, the only evidence that they were ever there are her puffy eyes.

“You divorced him! It was your fault! If you two had just gotten along, he would have stayed here! We wouldn’t even be having this conversation!”

I’m shocked into silence by the sudden mood change. I blink slowly at my daughter, standing in front of me, trembling with anger and the remnants of sadness. Her fists clench together tightly, the skin a pale white. She suddenly releases them, and her palm is indented with crescent moons.

“We can’t fix this without Dad! If he came back, everything would be sorted! We would all be happy, and we’d be talking and laughing all the time, instead of screaming and crying!”

“Natalie.” I interrupt, with a sudden sharpness in my voice. “Look at me. Dad can’t come back. So we’re going to have to find another way to solve this, without Dad. We can be a family, just the three of us. But to do that, we need to talk about what happened, so that we can put it behind us.” Natalie opens her mouth to interrupt, but I quickly finish my sentence before she can input any more into the conversation. “And go back to talking and laughing and being a family.”

“Yeah, we don’t need Dad to help us!” a voice chimes into the conversation. “We can do this on our own! We need to talk to each other, and help each other move on!” I try my hardest not to stare in shock.

It’s Luke.

Luke

I can feel Natalie’s icy cold eyes on me, and they’re daggers of intense hatred and disgust. I’ve never been the receiver of this frosty a glare, seeing it in action on others instead. It’s as terrifying as my mother’s withering look.

I gulp, nervously, before I continue.

“We don’t need to have Dad here to solve this problem. We can do it ourselves. If we all talk about how we feel, then we can help each other!” I quote directly from a book, not meeting my mother’s eyes, not wanting to see her incredulous expression.

“Did…did you get that from one of my books?” she watches me with creased eyebrows.

“Yeah…I used to go read them after…,” I take a harsh intake of breath. “I figured that I should find out all the information on the topic. I’d have a better success rate-”

“Success rate?!” my mother cries. “What do you mean, success rate, Luke? This is life!” I cringe at the harsh words.

“Well…” I stutter. “There was a problem; the divorce, and so I did my research; reading your books.”

“But Luke, that’s not how it works! Didn’t you pay attention to anything that the books said? We need to talk to one another!”

“But will that really help? I mean, what does talking ever do for anyone? Other people can’t help you solve your own problems…your own feelings!” I answer, doubting my logic even as I say it.

To my suprise, it’s Nat who speaks first.

“Luke,” she says, and my head whips around to look at her.

“I understand I’m a little hung up over Dad,” she corrects herself “a lot hung up over him. But, if we all talk about him, and how it wasn’t going to work out, I would get over it a little.” she seems to be talking to herself, realizing the truth of her words.

“When you talk to other people about your problems, you share what seems scary to you with someone else. And, yes, that’s a little terrifying. But…in the long run, it helps. They can help you, teach you. And in general, it just helps you cope with it. Hearing the words come out of your mouth, you realize things.” She finishes her little speech and she seems…lighter somehow. Her shoulders, once slumped, are now set back proudly. A small smile is growing on her face, and I haven’t seen it in so long that it makes me realize the truth in her words.

She’s right. It does help. I can see the evidence right in front of me. Not from a book, not from a movie, but from my sister, and for me, that’s all the proof I need.

Natalie

As I say the words, it dawns on me that I’m not just spouting nonsense from one of Mom’s books, or one of the stupid assemblies on bullying. What I’m saying is actually true. With this realization, the weight that had been residing on my shoulders, dragging me down everywhere I went, lifted. The black cloud hovering above me lifted too. My lips started to turn upwards, the ghost of a smile playing on my lips.

I meet my mother’s shining eyes, and she’s smiling at me. Her eyes are so full of love, it’s almost radiating out of her. I offer a hopeful smile back in her direction, and her beam widens even more.

My eyes dart over to Luke, gauging his reaction. His face is morphing, from a timid, unsure expression to one of realization, probably mirroring my own.

And he opens his mouth and words come tumbling out, rushing, falling over each other in a mad rush to get out.

“Nat, you’re right. Thank you. For…” he decides to ditch the sappy speech and cut to the chase- what he’s really been feeling, all these years. His words pierce my soul, the meaning behind them, the emotions behind them having been shoved inside a forgotten closet, one no one bothered to check, but if they had it would have led to Narnia.

By the time he’s done, my eyes are wet, and Mom’s long gone; tears rolling freely down her face leaving sticky tracks.

“Luke, sweetheart, why didn’t you ever tell me any of that?” her voice breaks on the word tell, and I feel a tug at my heart.

“I… I didn’t want you to waste your attention on me,” I see my name start to shape on his lips.

“Luke!” my mother cries “It wouldn’t be wasting! Your thoughts deserve and need to be heard. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise!”

He opens his mouth to respond, no doubt something selfless again, then he hesitates and shuts it. When he speaks again, the word inspires such sadness in me that a lone tear runs down my cheek.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really,” my mother answers, her voice torn between disbelieving heartache, and a joy that I’ve not seen on any of our faces in a long time.

His eyes flicker up to both of us, and a small tentative smile breaks through. I smile back, a genuine one, filled with all the love I have in my heart and a little more than that.

Puppies of the Airport

My name is Pupsie Barns, named after Bucky Barnes and my creator Pupsie San Drought. I am here to tell you about the puppies of the airport. It is based on true events.

Our story starts in Canada. The airport in Canada is called the Canadian Airport. First, you must know that once in the year 3000, a scientist called Pupsie San Drought made the first talking puppy. These pups spoke and communicated just as well as humans, and they are almost completely cruelty free. One day, a huge shipment of these dogs were being shipped from Canada to the US, while hundreds of people in the airport forgot to wipe their tables while they were traveling during the dreaded flu season. Because of this, they all contracted the flu. They brought the disease with them into the airport.

Soon after, the airport staff figured out that they all had the flu, and they shut the place down. But sadly, they couldn’t call for help because my little pister (sister) Pupbecca cut the wire for the Wi-Fi, because hostess Juli turned their right to Wi-Fi down, because after all, they were just pups. Pupbecca thought if she couldn’t have Wi-Fi, no one could have Wi-Fi.

After hearing the humans collapse upstairs, we began to make a plan to save the humans. Maybe, just maybe they will give pups all around the world the right to airport Wi-Fi.

Then I realized just what we should do. We shouldn’t make new phones for them to call help. We should be the phones to call for help. You see, Pupsie San Drought made it so that in times of emergency, we pups may be used as communication devices. So, we called for help with my cousins, uncles, sisters, dads, brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephew. Paramedics heard our cry for help and rushed to the airport, and because of our smart thinking, we saved all the humans, therefore giving pups the right to not only use airport Wi-Fi, but restaurant Wi-Fi too.

Motto: Don’t fly during flu season.


Elementary Years

Content Warning: The following content includes symptoms of eating disorders

First grade:

She put on the T-shirt that was on the top of the drawer and threw on the sweatpants that were in the hamper. Bright and happy, excited for the day ahead. She runs down stairs to eat the bacon, eggs, and toast her mom prepared. Leo Matthews called her a nerd at school today, and she happily embraced that word, tucking it in for bed next to her as she read the second book that day.

Second grade:

Her mom promised her she could wear the new dress she bought at the mall last weekend. She put it on, checking all angles of it in the mirror and spun around in it. It was beautiful — a shining yellow, proud and exuberant. She felt like a princess until one of the boys lifted it up, and she felt like a slut. She didn’t know that word yet, but all she knew is that she felt like one.

Third grade:

The glasses the doctor said was a result of all that reading in the dark. She was kind of excited to wear them to school and see what her friend would say. All the greatest writers and brainiacs wore glasses, so why shouldn’t she. Her friend told her she looked dopey, and Leo Matthews called her “four eyes.” Those words cut deeply, and when she tried to throw it out in the trash that night before she went to bed, she could still see the dark shadow of those ugly words haunting her dreams.

Fourth grade:

Finally, finally she would get to redesign her room. She decides on some soft pinks and grays and a gold-rimmed mirror in the middle — perfect for mirror selfies her friend had said. And that same mirror she looked in before swim practice that day, her short bitten fingernails digging into her skin, trying to shove all that fat to the very dark corner in her body. But she lets go, and her skin drops down to where it was before. A floppy T-shirt that is too big for you — that is what her body feels like. She does not eat breakfast that morning. No matter how her mom complains, she insists she is not hungry. She is starving.

Fifth grade:

She has started to take a hairbrush to school. It is an operation — asking the teacher to go to the bathroom to trying to sneak down to her cubby to grab the hairbrush before walking out. She always wets the hairbrush. This makes her hair straighter, so it looks like Lily’s: sleek and shiny. She comes back into the classroom just to hear Ryan say she looks like a wet dog. That night, she cries in the mirror while trying to smooth down her hair until it is soaking and the old mascara she found in her mom’s drawer is dripping down her face.

Sixth grade:

The boys in the grade have started to look at the girls differently. Leela wore a black bra under her white polo, and she had to be pulled over by the teacher. Leela went to the office because she started to cry, but the boys kept laughing. She didn’t know why Leela was crying until the PE teacher called her into her office to talk about wearing bras to school, and she felt like lying on the floor face down. The teacher gave her an extra large sweatshirt to wear in PE so no one would notice; everyone noticed.

Seventh grade:

She tells her best friend that she is fat; the response she gets back is, “I am too.” Her friend is the kind of girl whose ribs pop out when she raises her arms, and she has abs just because she’s that skinny. She bends over the toilet that night and looks down at her belly for the first time and pinches the four rolls of fat that cover the stomach. The next day when she goes to the mall, the saleslady recommends the men’s department because even the biggest size doesn’t fit her. Her mom tells her it is because she is tall, and she swallows this answer, but she is gagging inside.

Eighth grade:

She and her friends have those deep, meaningful talks where they spill all their secrets. But they don’t because they still keep a little of the drink in the glass, the sip that they know they will never share. A story about a friend has spread around, and one of the girls calls her the word that she knew she was in second grade. No one says anything even though they all nod their heads and agree, really screaming at each other inside. They cry and say they are fat, and then they all give a big hug and call each other beautiful. Then they all go home and really cry — their big, ugly, gulping tears that no one has ever seen, and half of those girls stick a finger down their throat.


Gone with the Sun

Mornings are the most enchanting time of day. Light streams through the windows, hugging my home with its bright tentacles. When the light hits the colorful crystals hanging down from the rainbow maker taped in the kitchen, tiny spurts of color dance into my bedroom like fairies. Waking up to those cheery rainbows always told me that it was going to be a good day. Who knew light could be so deceitful. I slide into my kitchen on the ends of my blue pajama pants still two sizes too big. Mom sits still as a statue at the dining room table. Her lips are a straight line. Slowly, she looks up to meet my gaze, her face pale as if she’s seen a ghost. Mom asks me to sit down, gesturing slightly to the chair across from her. Tears have left her eyes ruby red. I cringe when I hear the slight rasp in her voice. The waves of pain shake our home like an earthquake. My legs are paralyzed with fear. I glance down to see my feet melting into the ground, two candles waiting to be burned. I refuse to be privy to whatever is weighing down my mother’s heart. As long as I stay showered by rainbows in the safety of the kitchen, then nothing has to change.

Somehow I manage to tear my feet from the floorboards and sit down across from my mother at the dining room table. I try to mentally prepare myself for whatever’s coming next, making an internal promise that it cannot be as bad as what I am imagining.

Why do we lie to ourselves?

To my distress, I begin cracking my knuckles, a habit I quit months ago. Tick tock tick tock. The red clock keeps careful count of the tense seconds as we sit in silence. Then my mom begins to speak.

Her words rush around my head as I try to save myself from suffocating under their weight. “There’s been an accident.” I wait for her to tell me everyone’s okay, but those words of sweet reassurance never reach me. Instead I hear a horror story: a man breaking into my aunt’s house with a blade. My aunt running and fighting him off with an axe. A hospital treating her stab wounds.

A cloud ambushes the sun, and the rainbows vanish.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can block out the truth. This is the nightmare that happens to someone else. Anyone else. It is the story you read in the paper and feel a few moments of remorse before flipping to the next page.

“I am flying out to see her tomorrow.” I nod. “She was so brave.” Another nod. My brain has stopped functioning. Illana helped me climb my first tree when I was just four years old. She stills calls me “Averybear” whenever we visit her. Illana can’t be the person in my mother’s devastating account. Everyone is wrong. They must be. They have to be. I feel the need to sit before I remember that I am already seated. Then I am standing up. In a trance I get dressed, brush my teeth, and continue with my life. But something stopped in that moment. My world is blanketed in a shield of security. But that morning I reached up and realized there is no shield at all, just the endlessly vast universe. We have no protection.


Magical

The magician drowsily woke up to a sunbeam shining directly into his eyeballs. Rolling out of his tent, he picked up his wand and conjured a single dollar, then he headed to the dollar store like he did every day.

It was a long walk, and he almost got hit by a car. He walked in the dollar store quietly and picked up a bag of chips. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group of teenagers watching him and giggling at his purple and white magician spandex. He summoned a flash of blinding demonic light to scare them off; it did the trick. He then walked to the cashier and put the bag of chips on the table.

“That’ll be a dollar,” the cashier said.

“Thanks, Billy,” the magician said, handing him the dollar.

“How do you know my name?” the cashier respond.

“I come here every day. And by the way, that dollar is going to evaporate in an hour,” the magician responded, turning away.

“What?!”

“You won’t remember this,” the magician said finally, waving his wand with a flash of light and exiting.

It’s funny how even magic obeys the laws of thermodynamics. The dollar turns back to air because you can’t get more than what you put in. The magician strutted to his next destination, the side of the highway. There he collected a bag full of rocks while people speeding past gave him weird looks. Every once and awhile, someone would throw a cigar or something out of their window at him. He always responded by cursing them with the eternal wrath of the half-demon half-god Maerceci the Vengeful, who would slowly and painfully devour their souls while tormenting them with their greatest fears. It was the magician’s way of taking out his anger irrationally.

After collecting a sufficient amount of rocks, he headed of to his final destination. With pain in his heart, he saw that his work had been vandalized and destroyed again. His blessing had come with a curse because the devil never gives more than he takes. For 42 years he had been trying to build a house by converting rocks into bricks, but every time he got somewhere, his humble creation was mercilessly destroyed, as was his curse, forever keeping him in his sad and insufficient tent. Holding back a tear, the magician sighed, salvaged what he could from the wreckage, and began rebuilding.


Creation of Earth Parody

I need to create an earth, but what is earth? How do I know what earth is? Who created me? I have lived on this earth long enough. Will I never know who my creator is? I have been living in here for I don’t even know for how long. As a matter of fact, where am I? Wait, how am I writing this? I am hungry. Wait, what? What is food? How do I know that word? I just wake up one day. Day, what’s a day? Okay, forget it. I just wake up one day realizing that I can write and that I know words. I need earth. Wait a second, bloody hell. How did I sleep? Wait, what is sleep? I need earth. C’mon, god, help me create earth. Wait, God. How? What? No, no, no, no. This can’t be. The pressure is on. I need to create this. What is that? That’s earth. Wait, how did I do this. Now how do I get there. Let’s run. Okay, now this is getting scary. How do I know all of these words without learning them. Is there a flash drive in my brain — flash drive, brain, what is that? How do I know this? I need to get there. C’mon now. What is this a bridge? Okay, now this better stop. Yes, now I can get to earth.

After finally making earth…

What is this green thing. It is enormous. Oh, I can climb it. Damn, this earth is big because it is the only one I have been on. Made you laugh, right? Haha. Wow, I say in amusement.

Earth day one…

I am on Earth. I mean, how would I come up with any other names? In the last hours I have been chopping down wood to make a house, and I don’t understand how I got that idea but yeah. I am pretty shabby looking now that Earth had actually started because I really don’t know how to get clothes, so you really don’t want to see what I look like. I hope to find other humans in this huge Earth thing, so maybe they are smarter than myself. When writing this, I saw a human striding toward me.

Is this the end, or is there more???


The 84 Block Journey

I rushed across 2nd Street in a blaze and rapidly approached the stairs leading to the train station. I looked down at my watch, and then realization dawned on me; I was already 15 minutes late for my very first job interview! I scurried down the stairs, careful not to touch the dirty railings, and made my way to the platform. I looked at the bright neon sign above my head that said I had to wait three minutes for my train. Three entire minutes! I couldn’t believe that I had to stand on this dreadful platform and watch the clock slowly tick by. In the meantime, I was wondering how I was going to deliver the news of my tardiness to my annoyed interviewer. While I hoped that they will empathize with me, and even take pity on me, I knew that in the end I would just be wasting their precious time. I started to tap my foot out of worriedness and frantically check my phone. Suddenly, I heard a loud wailing sound, the most beautiful, glorious sound I had ever heard. My train, my savior, had finally arrived!

I turned around and looked at the big sign above my head. As I looked closer I realized that I had been standing on the wrong platform the whole time: the train coming was taking me to Brooklyn, which was nowhere near the interview. In that moment I wanted to bang my head against the unsanitary train walls. How could I have been so blind? In a hurry I sprinted up and down several flights of stairs to my platform, and I looked up at that menacing sign yet again, only to find that the train wasn’t coming for another 10 minutes. I didn’t have the time to wait around for some dumb slow train for a whole ten minutes. Worry filled my body, and I started to break a sweat. I started considering taking a cab instead because the trains had become extremely frustrating, but then realized I only had 10 dollars in my wallet, because I had spent the rest buying pasta, chicken, and fruit for my little sister who was home with the flu. My mother was in Florida working with her tech startup company, Gigawtz, and attending a series of women in coding conferences along with that. I checked my jacket pocket for any more leftover change and to my dismay only found two dimes. I looked back up at that looming shiny sign that read two trains were coming in two minutes, but could only take me to 60th street when I needed to get to 84th. I decided to go with my gut and take the train heading uptown. I subtly speed walked toward the small platform and boarded the train.

The woman’s voice saying “Stand clear of the closing doors, please” seemed to mock me. Her robotic voice irritated me to a point that brought all of my insecurities out of the dark: pinpointing my failure, reminding me of the fact that this wasn’t just any internship. I don’t know why something like that would trigger me so much.

I reminded myself that even if I wasn’t late, the probability of me getting in wasn’t very high. Even though I had taken coding summer courses for years, done coding projects on my own, and visited my mom’s office occasionally, my confidence was at rock bottom. Two of my friends were also very into coding, and one got in because her uncle was the manager of that Microsoft office. My other friend was a coding prodigy and got straight A’s but wasn’t good at public speaking or communication in general and sadly didn’t get the internship. I couldn’t tell how I compared with them, my connections, my public speaking, but either way I knew it wasn’t good.

I smoothed out my cream-colored blouse and wondered if I chose the right outfit to wear for today. I had been anxious about what outfit to wear for days, and the thought of appearing to be trying too hard or not caring enough scared me nearly half to death. I had chosen a light gray skirt that wasn’t too short or long that took me ages to find. It had been laying at the bottom left corner of my closet alongside my old dolls and my favorite stuffed penguin. That put together penguin with his beautiful tuxedo, top hat, and glossy shoes had been my best friend for years, but now it was dusty, worn out, top hat tattered and broken laying alone at the bottom of my closet.

The conductor’s booming voice on the loudspeaker announced: “We are approaching 48th and Sixth, next stop 53rd!”

53rd! I thought. Surely we can’t be moving that slowly. Sure enough it had been 11 whole minutes stuck on the train.

I looked up from my phone to see a tall, tan woman yapping on her phone, blabbering loudly to her friend: “Ceci, I simply can’t deal! I was supposed to buy the hors d’oeuvres for the party in five mins, but I’m going to be late. What are they going to do without me.” She paused for a few seconds and then dramatically sighed and sadly said, “Ceci, I can’t. This party, they need me.”

She sounded like a conceited war hero, and everyone else stuck on this dreadful train felt the need to slap this girl in the face to get her to stop talking. She finally hung up, and I thought to myself, She’s worried about being late to a party. My life is on the line here. Well, not my entire life, but I mean it would help a ton for college, and it would be a cool experience.

I looked up from my phone to find a nice-looking old man giving me a repulsed glare. He sighed loudly and looked away, leaving me feeling extremely insecure; the people on that train were looking at my self-absorbed self and becoming annoyed with me too. At least I had these kinds of opportunities. I mean, it’s not every day that you could be working at Microsoft. Looking at my preppy little outfit, crossed legs, and stressed face, I probably seemed like I felt above everyone, like getting to this interview was far more important than anything going on in there lives.

The conductor’s booming voice on the loudspeaker broke me out of my trance, and to my relief we made it! Only twenty blocks to go, and then I had to find some way to get a cab really fast and make my way to the interview room. In a hurry I stepped off the train and began to casually run by the multitude of people in my way! I began to notice how slowly everyone was walking, and I just wanted to scream with frustration. Finally I made it out the train station on onto the street. I stepped out on the sidewalk in search for a glorious yellow taxi, my salvation, only to find that about ten other people were waiting for cabs! I decided to walk two or three blocks up to find (hopefully) more cabs and fewer people. After walking three blocks, I came across a cab. I wanted to jump for joy in that moment. Finally something had worked for me! Then I looked behind me and saw a tiny old woman waving her hands in the air frantically, obviously trying to get the cab I was about to get into to. My first instinct was to leave. Who cares about this old woman? This is your job on the line. Go!! But then my more mature instincts kicked in and told me to wait and find out where the old lady has to go, and compare the two circumstances.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said as politely as possible.

“It’s fine, dear,” replied the old woman. “I was just trying to get my poor dog Lulu to the vet. She has come down with a dreadful cold, and I feel terribly for the poor thing.”

Immediately I apologized again to the woman. Dogs were a huge soft spot for me, and I let her take the cab. I can’t say I didn’t regret it at all, but a sick animal is also a time commitment that requires immense attention, just like my sick sister. I continued to wait on the curb and hail taxis and hope and pray a free taxi would come. I looked up at the sky and noticed how perfectly calm it all was. The clouds just seemed to float by gently in an orderly fashion, never colliding or crashing into each other. In that moment, being a cloud sounded like the nicest thing to me: no responsibilities, no stress, freedom and peace. Just as I was about to walk up another block, I saw a gleaming yellow taxi come my way that appeared to be unoccupied! I quickly jumped in and told my driver the address, and we set off. The only thing stopping me now was traffic, which could make my 10 minute trip go on forever. I clenched my hands and knees my nerves on the edge, but to my surprise I arrived at my destination in a matter of minutes.

“Thank you very much,” I said and hopped out the car in a flash.

I looked at my phone to check the building number, and after combing through my texts I finally found it. I looked across the street and saw the building, modern, sleek, and made entirely out of glass. It was one of those really calming yet intimidating buildings, extremely tall but reflecting the blue sky.

I approached the door and stepped into the lobby of the building. This it it, I told myself, everything you hope for in this one interview, everything your mother and father wish for, everything your friends have already. You need this job.

I stopped at the lobby desk and asked, “Do you happen to know what floor the Microsoft intern interviews are taking place?”

The sleep-deprived receptionist gave me the very unenthusiastic answer, “It’s on the 12th floor. Just take the elevator that way.”

I pushed the big golden button and saw that the elevator was on the 12th floor at this moment. Had someone else been doing my interview? Would I lose this opportunity because of my lateness? Suddenly my stomach felt like there was a butterfly parade in it, and as I stepped in the elevator, my knees became shaky. What if they don’t like me? I thought. What if they take one look at me and decide I’m not cut out for this. The fear of failure and judgement crippled me and slowly my emotions collapsed. The big, shiny elevator doors opened, and I timidly stepped out. I felt like a tiny fish setting out into that big blue sea all alone. The floor looked exactly as I expected it to be, unexpected. The walls were bright white and looked incredibly clean, like not a single smudge covered their surface. The floor was also extremely clean, and I could see my own fearful reflection. There were glass doors branded with Microsoft’s colored logo, and without thinking I pushed the heavy doors open with the little strength I had. I looked around, and the first thing I saw was an open room full of desks and focused people typing on computers. They all looked incredibly professional, and I looked down at my outfit with dismay.

“Hello there!” said an enthusiastic voice behind me. “I’m Barbra, and I will be interviewing you today, and please do not worry about being late. We were able to fit someone else in before you.”

Her happiness overwhelmed me and caught me off guard. Her booming voice, like the loudspeaker lady in the train station, was mechanical, giving me the chills. I suddenly processed her words, and a river of emotions flooded my system.

Relief but also fear and anger filled the pit of my stomach, and I half heartedly replied, “So nice to meet you! This is such a cool place.”

Barbra started walking, and I walked behind her, well more like ran; her strides were huge! We approached a room numbered 445, and she closed the door behind me. As I walked in, the first thing my eyes gravitated towards were the giant windows at the back of the room with an amazing view of practically the entire city! I tried to take in the simplistic beauty of the room and sat down in the sleek white chair in front of me. I realized that my overall appearance was quite disheveled; I was covered in sweat, and one of my heels was about to fall completely off. What was I doing here? I thought, Why did I ever think I could work in a collected place like this? I heard the scrape of my chair as I sat in it and saw the shimmer of disappointment in Barbra’s joyous face. Her smile was plastered, her eyes glittered with deceit, her perfectly ironed outfit reeked of her character bluntly lying to my face. As I sat down, Barbra took at a green shiny folder and crossed her arms.

“Now.” She paused. “This place is big and intimidating, but what we are doing for women here is more important than some childish fear and insecurity we all have. The question is: are you willing to conquer that fear and stand up to it or let it take over?”

That question has resonated with me ever since, and I have never forgotten her wise words. It’s like a mini battle of selfish needs and powerful fear, or the importance and realization of what you are doing is not for yourself or anyone in particular. It is for the bettering of society.

I suddenly realized that I had left the stove on, and I ran home to my sister.


Bus Thoughts

The boy I look at every day always sits in the same seat on the bus. The one in the very back and next to the window. He draws flowers in the window when it’s fogged up, like today, and he always moves his head with his music. I haven’t seen him smile once.

I see him only on the bus, never really elsewhere. Occasionally I see him in the neighborhood, but very rarely. He must go to the private school a little further away if he’s still in school because he’s not at mine.

He has red hair and a soft face. His eyes are kind, but there’s an unapproachable aura behind them. Maybe it’s just me.

I’ve made a habit out of staring at him, I realize.

I’m sure it would be worth it to start a conversation with him. I’ve wanted to talk to him for a while now, but I’m too awkward, I think.

Shit.

I wonder if he’s noticed me staring at him before. I panic. I hope that’s the first time he’s noticed me. I don’t ever remember making eye contact with him.

I still can’t figure out why I’m so attracted to him. I guess everyone has a person too far out of reach for them. I’ve never spoken to him to before. He just looks… perfect.

Maybe I’m overthinking. Teenagers have a tendency to do that.

I, hypocritically, hate it when people stare at me on the bus. But I do it anyway. I like staring at bus boy. What if he stares at me when I look away? He would probably see nothing. I don’t want him to look at me.

For about two months since school started I’ve made up an entire character of bus boy. I don’t know if he’s actually an artist or even if he’s nice. But somehow he seems content, grounded. I bet he’s passionate. Bus Boy, although never smiling, is happy.

He interests me the most — more than the woman with a bad dye job, or the small cluster of seventh graders who complain about their homework, or the loud old women in the back, or the unshaven man who looks really angry all the time, or the other sleep-deprived kids in the neighborhood.

Bus Boy is better than these ordinary people.

He is an artist. I know he’s creative.

His sweater is too big for him. It looks like his grandma knit it, but it works. Over the sweater, he’s wearing a puffy bubble-gum pink jacket. I couldn’t imagine him in jeans and a polo shirt that other guys wear. He looks just right.

But Bus Boy doesn’t care about what other people think of him. His hair is all messy and cute like he doesn’t even need to try. Somehow he looks put together and carefree at the same time.

It feels like my eyes blur out everything around him the way a camera does when it focuses on a subject. I was in a slight trance, forgetting that I was further away from him than it felt like. The same way objects in a mirror are closer than they appear.

The bus didn’t exist anymore. The cluster of seventh graders didn’t exist anymore. Bus Boy was still drawing flowers in the fog, but they looked real.

I start to hear faint whistling. Maybe it’s Bus Boy. Maybe it’s someone else. Bus Boy is moving his head along with the tune.

Suddenly he stops drawing flowers and reaches into his bag. Most would assume he was taking out a notebook or a water bottle, but I become even more enthralled when he takes out a huge swirly carnival lollipop and starts to unwrap it.

The lollipop colors all spin into one red pink color. The flowers start to float, and then they get sucked into the colorful, swirly whirlpool that now encompasses everything. Bus Boy’s face blends into the swirly colors, and it all looks like a Van Gogh painting.

The bus screeches to a stop. As I get out, a cold burst of wind hits my face. The bus drives away leaving me to the cold, no longer warming me up from the vent. I should’ve worn a better jacket.

The Judge

David slowly walked to school. Dragging his feet along the pavement, he arrived at school as the first bell rang. He dragged himself up the stairs to his locker.

He started to put his books away when he heard those tormenting words, “Hey, David!”

He winced and turned around. The three jerkateers. The school bullies known as Darrall, Michael, and Steven. They had been tormenting him since he started at Berrybrook Middle. You see, David has always been a bit of a know-it-all. But at his new school, they considered him more of a “teacher’s pet.” That had made him a target to bullying. The bullies did the normal routine. Slapped his books out of his hands, spilled water on his pants, etc. After all the normal stuff was done, the bullies were about to leave, when all of a sudden, they saw David’s notebook on the floor.

“Hey, what’s this?” Darrall said as he picked it up.

“No… ” said David as Michael put his hand over his face.

Darrall smirked. “Oh… Smarty Mc. Smarty is doing some extra dork work, eh?”

“Give that back. I can’t have my precious science formulas being held by some dumb mutt like you.”

Darrall, nostrils flaring, took a swing at David’s head. David, fortunately, dodged the punch, but to only receive a kick in the stomach. David curled up in a ball, but no luck. More attacks came quicker and harder and did not end till Principle Quinton came.

“Darrall, Michael, Steven! What is the meaning of this!” They looked over at the principal.

“Come with me!” He grabbed them and dragged them away.

“And Mister Ren, get to class please. If you’re bleeding or bruised, go to the nurse’s office, but you look good to me.” Dave sighed and grabbed his formula book along with his others and dragged himself to class.

***

In the middle of class though, the principal called him through the intercom to come his office. David blushed and headed out to the hall.

“David,” said Principle Quinton. “Darrall, Michael, and Steven said you started attacking them from the hall, and you started up a fight with them.

David’s mouth dropped. “But, sir, you have to believe me. They’ve been bullying me for months. I bad-mouthed them once, and they started attacking me.”

The principal smiled. “I never said I believed their claim.”

David smirked. “Very true, sir.”

“But,” he said moving his mouth near my ear, “their parents have invested a pretty amount to the building of this building. So I just think we should get along. No more bullying, that I promise. But try not to tell anyone. Let bygones be bygones, eh?”

David’s jaw dropped. “But, sir, they deserve to be punished. I mean, they bully other people too. This is a problem. It needs to be dealt with. It needs a judge.”

Principal Quinton’s little smirk went away. “David, it’s either no punishment for the bullies, or a two-month suspension for you.”

“But why me, sir?”

“Well, as I said, they said you started the fight. I can believe them or leave all of you off the hook. The choice is yours. Take your time to decide.”

David swallowed, and tears came to his eyes. “I trusted you,” he said before he left the room and slammed the door.

I’m going to take that as the better idea!” the principal yelled as David left his office, walking fast, and in tears.

***

After school that day, David went to archery class. This was his second day, and last week, all they did was go over safety rules and did not have time to try the actual bows. Now, this class, they were going to try shooting some arrows at the targets. After 30 minutes of teaching them how to hold the bow and how to shot the arrows, David had the bow in his hand. He reached down for an arrow and put it on his bow. He took a deep breath and looked at the target. But, in its place, he saw the principal shaking hands and taking money from his bullies’ parents. David’s eyes filled with rage, and he let go of his arrow go. He suddenly saw his arrow flying towards the target and hitting it in the middle. He picked up another arrow.

“Bravo, David. Bra… ”

David turned around and hurled his arrow in the air. It sailed in the air, right into the instructor’s chest. The instructor fell back in the wall, dead. David, surprised, grabbed his bundle of arrows off the floor and ran out the room. No one stopped him. Not even security. They most have been wondering how an arrow thrown lightly by a weak, scrawny 13-year-old made it into a person’s heart 100 feet away.

Early the next day, David came to school and started unpacking his backpack.

“Well, well, well,” said Darrall from behind him. David turned around and was picked up by the neck.

“I never got to finish the fight yesterday. Well, there’s always time now.”

He let David go almost automatically, partly just from the fact David’s Swiss Army knife made his way into his stomach. Darrall dropped to the ground. Yesterday, after the archery incident, David wanted to see if he had some sort of power. He started practicing with the arrows again, but then discovered he could throw any object and aim it at anything. He saw automatically that the other bullies were right behind Darrall, with surprised looks on their faces, and picked up his Swiss Army knife and threw it at the other bullies. It whipped through their bodies. The principal started running down the hall screaming. David sighed.

***

Thirty minutes later, David came out of the school building with his shirt soaked. After he figured out that he had a special power, he decided that if no one would be his judge, he would be his own. He saw that there were SWAT helicopters coming towards him, screaming at him to surrender. He sighed and threw up his knife once more, only after a bullet clipped him in the neck. On his way to the ground, he thought of how some sharpshooter hit him in the neck right before he threw the knife. He heard the helicopter falling above him and knew he had succeeded. The judge had thrown down his hammer.

***

“David, are you still with us?” David’s eyes blinked, and he looked up at his archery teacher.

“Well, class, we’re about to start with the bows and arrows. Please feel free to grab some from the bucket.” David realized this is when he had discovered his special power. It had all been a dream. But then, he thought, What if I actually have that special power? What will my path be? Will I follow the same?


The Chronicles of Tulupinia

I was on the mere verge of descending my perfect Tulupinia. I had carefully scavenged a hole in the dirty and moist dirt. The perfect circle, 9’ by 5”. I had been infiltrating the perfect low cal, sugar free, organic, pasteurized water. And for a whole excruciating month, I ate nothing but vegetables and protein to secrete the perfect turd to lay upon my perfect little Tulupinia.

Everything was going as planned. Tulupinia was like a child to me, and she needed to grow as much as a prepubescent teenager. Every day I nurtured her with intense love and care. Some call it creepy, I call it life. Christmas was coming around the corner, and Tulupinia and I were happier than old Blue laying on the porch chewing on a big old catfish head. We decided that we wouldn’t get each other any gifts this year, as I had an obvious advantage over her to get a present. I had a steady job. But I could not resist from getting my Christmas bells ring, so I decided to secretly get Tulupinia a present. I had the perfect idea in mind. The ultra 50000 non GMO fertilizer. Filled with goody richness. And guess what, it is from Japan! So I told Tulupinia that I was going to be gone for a gardener’s convention in Tokyo. At first she didn’t believe me. Typical skeptical Tulupinia. So I came up with something quick and told her that I even had ordered a legitimate businessman suitcase. Tulupinia stood still. She was so hard to read, but I knew she believed me. I’m such a clever liar. I hired a professional gardener, one of my colleagues, to take special care while I was gone. I made sure that he understood the responsibilities and consequences I had given him.

A few minutes before…

“I swear to god if Tulupinia has one less leaf than when I first saw her, I will hunt you and your family down and bury you alive in soil, and not even the good kind.”

I could never let Tulupinia go through what Marijuanita went through. She was the light of my life. Being with her always made me feel so good. Then my neighbor found out about our relationship and called the cops on us. They said it was illegal to obtain marijuana, but is it really illegal to love??? They took her away from me. Forever. But that’s a story for another time.

On the plane to Tokyo, I noticed a magazine in front of me. It was the Garden Gazette. I decided to take a peek. I flipped through the magazine pages to see thousands of flowers. Poor flowers, unacknowledged by their parents, forced into the show business. There was one specifically terrifying photo of a sunflower with a squirrel eating out of its center. The pain it must have gone through! The picture made it seem as if the squirrel was the victim of pesticides, yet people were deaf to the agonizing screams of the poor, now seedless, sunflower. I flipped the page one last time, already bored by looking at these dirtbags (pun intended) and came to see a tulip. Oh my, he looked just like Tulupinia! Although, Tulupinia had kinder eyes. I suddenly saw the ad at the corner of the page. They were selling this exquisite being at the gardener’s convention! What a fortunate stroke of serendipity! Maybe I would get Tulupinia two presents this year. She hasn’t been making many friends lately, and her romantic life isn’t very active if you know what I mean. Yes yes, I know that times have changed. Planned marriages aren’t very in right now. And of course I am quite the feminist, and I believe that all female plants can decide their own future, but I believe Tulupinia will thank me for this. You know, since I became a parent, a lot of things have come into perspective. All I want to do is make Tulupinia flourish and photosynthesize the heck out of life.

After I had finally managed to go to sleep, I woke up to go to the bathroom. I got up to go the bathroom, but some man was asleep, and his dog beneath the seat in front of him was growling at the very sight of him. Why wasn’t that dirty dog underneath the plane. People who treat dogs like humans are stupid. Ugh. I got a flight magazine and started to tap the guy with it. I sucked in my stomach and passed by in front of the guy barely surviving the big snarling teeth from the small white dog. I got to the bathroom and did my business and washed my face and hands. The worst part about going to the bathroom on a plane is the horrid, loud noise the toilet makes when you flush. When I came back from the bathroom I couldn’t go to sleep, and I already finished all of my sleeping pills. I decided to watch something on the little TV in front of me. I watched some Friends. Poor Rachel just found out that she was pregnant with Ross’s baby and didn’t know if she could be a single mom. I could totally relate.

Finally, after 12 hours on the plane, I heard that sweet angelic voice of the Japanese pilot.

“Hello, this is your Captain Sum Tin Wong, and we will be landing shortly. Please fasten your seat belt, and thank you for flying with Crane airlines.”

After getting out of the airport, I arrived at my three star hotel. Personally, I thought it was very underrated. These towels actually dried you instead of getting you wet compared to home. I couldn’t wait to tell Tulupinia about my wild adventures. The next morning I got all trim and proper and made my way to the gardener’s convention. The moment I stepped through those glorious, sketchy underground doors, I finally felt at home. The location was magnificent. I had never seen such a — big basement. To my surprise, there were 50 people. What a turnout! I immediately saw the bright logo for the Ultra 5000 non GMO fertilizer standing on proud stand. Once I had acquired the best Christmas gift of all time, I made my way to the adoption center. I entered to see magnificent colors and healthy flourishing stems. And then I made eye to petal contact with the one. The hot stud from the ad. I went over to his pot and looked closely at the description. Florencio Tulust was his name, originating from the spicy side of Argentina. All I read was hot, single, and ready to mingle! I signed off the papers of adoption and Florencio Tulust’s freedom. I thought that my time at Tokyo would be prolonged, yet I was too excited and eager to go back home to Tulupinia that I decided to come home early. On the way back home, I could not stop myself from ranting on about how life was back where Tulupinia lived and what future Florence (he lets me call him that now) and Tulupinia will have. He was such a good listener.

On the taxi back home, I started to spiff Florence up. He looked particularly dehydrated, but I made it work. I added a nice red bow for that additional wow factor.

I couldn’t wait to see the look on Tulupinia’s greenery when I showed her my multiple surprises. When the taxi driver, Anass Rahammar, finally stopped the car, I opened the window to smell the familiars of home

Ahhhhh, mother nature’s fertilizer!”

“That will be $19.57 please”

“You know what, Anass, I’ll do you one better.”

I gave him my priceless, one of kind tomato seed.

“Take care of this one, she’s a biter.”

He looked like he was mad, yet he calmly and peacefully told me to get the hell out of his car.

With great excitement, I skipped unto my pavement opening my door with one jolly swing.

“Honey, I’m home!!!”

Surprisingly enough, there was no response.

“I gently put Florence down on the counter and made my way to the garden in my backyard. I opened the sliding doors only to reveal my greatest nightmare.

“Tulupinia! What in the name of mother nature and all that is green are you doing?! I wanted to come home early to surprise you, and this is the thanks I get?!”

I found Tulupinia, high and mighty, tangled by the stem of another plant, a male one to be exact. And not just any plant. No no no no, a weed! And to top it all off, as I took a closer look, I saw seeds growing on Tulupinia’s flowers!

“Tulupinina, what has become of you?! Who is this? Are those seeds or dew drops? Tell me now, young girl. What is going on here?”

Before it was too late, I noticed that my voice had risen to the highest of altitudes. Tulupinia stared at me without saying a word, out of astonishment of course.

“Don’t you start that silent treatment with me, young lady!”

It had started to rain, which only made my anger increase, along with the volume of my voice.

“This ends now!”

I went into the kitchen with a fit of rage and came back to the garden with a set of gardener pliers. The wind was getting stronger now and the rain more than ever.

“You’ve left me no other choice!”

I started to grab at the maleficent boy’s stem and started to pull at the ground. Tulupinia threw herself onto him as if thrown by the wind, as if she was begging for me to stop. But it was too late to stop. Weed was gone.

“There we go, Tulupinia. Everything is better now. No need to be upset. And you’ll be so excited by what I’ve brought you from Tokyo!”

“Why aren’t you saying anything, my dearest Tulupinia. It was all for the better.” I reached out for her, when all of a sudden, I got pricked by one of her thorns.

“What has gotten into you, Tulupinia?”

I once again reached out to her, yet this time one of her thorns gashed through my whole palm, leaving a stinging gash.

“That’s enough!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was in rage. “You don’t deserve me or Florence!”

I looked like a monster in the rain, hovering over my frightened child. But my anger was too hard to control. I yanked Tulupinia out of the ground, leaving some of her roots to die. I grabbed her leaves and started plucking one by one, each more painful than the other. I could almost hear her screams thrusting away with the wind. When I had finally regained consciousness from my blinding rage, it was too late. I was at the last petal of Tulupinia’s poor shriveled body. It was then that I finally heard the pounding at the door. The police, something about a disturbance call. By then they were already breaking the door open with guns at hand. I saved the last petal of Tulupinia that would ever remained and saved it in pocket. I looked at her small body, drained of life.

I pulled her close to me and whispered, “I’m sorry.” I gently kissed her, feeling her rough thorns cut through my soft lips. After that, everything went dark.

It was dark and cold, all alone. Seedless. “What have I done?! No no no no no. Bad Hank!”

I heard my voice echo back at me in the jail cell —

“Oh, shut up, Hank. What do you know.”

It was as if the echo was talking back at me. I started pulling my knotted hair out, a similar action I had done before. The great, sinful crime. Plucking.

“She deserved it, you know.”

“Who said that?” Looking at the walls with the broken mirror, I saw something. Pieces of a broken man. A murderer. I reached into my pocket and smelled the increasingly brown leaf in my hand.

“What have I done, Tulupinia.” Just then, the guard passed by with my food and a thick newspaper.

“Lookee there, you’re on the front page”

The newspaper read, Teenage Girl savagely murdered and quartilized by kidnapper, a former attendee to the institution for the insane.


The Dream Sixteen

Today is the day of my 16th birthday party. It all started out as a normal day. I was just taking my birthday party outfit out of my closet. I’ve been waiting for this party since forever. All my friends will be there. I just can’t wait.

This party will probably be the best party I’ve ever had. My guests are just starting to walk in. “Hey, Aspen,” my friend Jordyn says. “Are you excited for your party?”

“Yep,” I say. We decide to hang out at the snack table for a few minutes.

“So who did you invite,” Jordyn says.

“I invited you, Taylor, Peyton, Ashley, Amari, Jackson, Jamie, Lila, and a lot of other people.”

“Sounds like you have a big guest list. Are you sure that you’ll have enough food? Did you invite a lot of the boys?”

“Yeah. My mom said that the caterer is bringing more than enough food. So I can only hope that they don’t eat it all.”

“Did you invite anyone else?” Jordyn asks.

“Yeah. I invited Adonis, Marcus, Lexi — ”

“Wait, you invited Lexi?”

“Yeah,” I say. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You know that if you invite Lexi that Tori will come. And you know how Tori is,” Jordyn says.

“Just because her twin sister is mean doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t be invited to parties too. I genuinely like Lexi. And you have to admit she is really cool.”

“Yeah, she is really nice. I feel so bad for her though. She’s stick with a twin sister that’s so mean. I wonder if she’s really mean to her.”

“I know,” I say.

I know that if I had a twin sister that I would want her to be nice to everyone, including me. I honestly feel so sorry for her. At that moment, a large group of my friends arrive. My older sister, Ashanti, just brought them into the party room. The theme of my party is lights out. It’s a major dance party with neon lights. Everyone gets a glow bracelet or glow necklace when they walk in.

My mom, Aunt Chantelle, and Ashanti helped me come up with the theme of my party. Ashanti and Aunt Chantelle helped me plan where my party would be. We rented out a country club ballroom and decorated it to look like a dance club. There are flashing strobe lights everywhere, and there is also a disco ball. The lights are bouncing off the walls. Music is going. You can actually feel the beat of the music.There are white, shiny marble floors. The lights are reflecting off the floor. Different color balloons and confetti are all over the floor. There’s a long white table on the right side of the room with different finger foods on them. There are little sandwiches, cakes, fruits, and punch on the table. In the left corner of the room, the DJ is getting ready to play music. It’s kind of awkward right now because nobody is here yet. But once the party gets started, it will be a whole lot of fun. People won’t be able to help dancing and having fun.

“Hey, Aspen,” they all say.

“Hey, guys,” I say.

Ashanti shows them the table where they can put my gifts. I can’t believe this is finally happening. A few minutes later, more of my friends come in. A little while after that, more of my friends come in. After about 20 minutes, everyone is there. The party was just about to start when all of a sudden Tori and her friends, Marcy and Samara, walk in. Right behind her are Lexi and Denise. Everyone stops to look at Tori and her friends. There is complete silence, and I feel completely awkward. Now I’m starting to understand what Jordyn said.

“Happy birthday, Aspen. Great party,” Tori says with a smirk. Marcy and Samara start laughing maliciously.

I’m really starting to regret inviting Lexi. But at the same time, it’s not Lexi’s fault that her sister is extremely mean. Hopefully Tori doesn’t try to make a scene and humiliate me at my own party. That would be awful. But then again, I invited some of the boys. I know she definitely wouldn’t want to embarrass herself in front of them. She already knows what a laughingstock she would be if she did that. She should know because she’s already embarrassed plenty of people before.

“Thanks, Tori,” I say. “The party will start shortly.”

Suddenly, the music starts. People start coming out onto the dance floor. The lights come up. The disco ball starts to spin and reflect its lights. Everyone has glow sticks. Music is playing. Everyone is dancing, but I just can’t make myself join in. I wander off into the hallway to go to the bathroom. Just as I get ready to open the door, my sister Ashanti comes out of the bathroom.

“Is everything okay? You look a little worried.”

“I guess I’m okay.”

“Isn’t that Tori?” she says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“What is she doing here. The last thing we need is someone to ruin your sweet 16. It’s the most memorable party of your life so far. Do I need to go and say something to her?”

“No,” I say. “The last thing I need is for someone to upset her. That would just give her more reason to try to humiliate me. You understand right?”

“Yeah. I get it. You remember Andrea, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She was like a Lexi to me when I was 16. She always tried to do whatever she could to humiliate someone.”

“Your point being?”

“Don’t let one person ruin your party. Look around. All these people came here to celebrate you. They all came because they care about you. They’re not concerned about Lexi and what she could do to them.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Anyway, these people came to celebrate you. Now go have fun at your party. I’ll peek around now and then to make sure that everything is okay. If Tori tries to even start to make a scene, I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry about anything.”

“Thanks,” I say. We give each other a hug. I go into the bathroom to check my reflection one last time. Then I decide that it’s time for me to go back to the party.

The party is going great. The music is loud. A rap song has just ended, and a dance song has come on. I’m able to feel the beat of this song. Everybody is dancing. Everyone is having fun. I decide to start dancing. I start to lose my worries in the song. Suddenly, I notice that the party is actually going great. Maybe it’s just me being paranoid. I mean, a party is supposed to be calm, right? But something doesn’t feel right to me. I see Jordyn standing by the food table getting some punch. I pull her aside. We leave the party and go into the hallway.

“Jordyn, have you seen Tori?” I ask.

“No, not recently. The last place I saw her was over by the food table. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that the party seems normal.”

“What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that what a party is supposed to be?”

“Yeah, it is. But it’s still weird that Tori is here. You don’t think she’s going to try to ruin something, do you?”

“I sure hope not. I’m pretty sure that you got some really cool presents. My present is so pretty that you’ll never want to leave it alone.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“Nope. That would ruin the surprise. I want your breath to be taken away when you open my present.”

This sounds so much like Jordyn. She’s such a caring, sweet, and kind person. But you don’t want to get on her bad side. It’s really scary. But all in all, Jordyn is one of the kindest people I have ever met.

“Okay. I guess I can wait.”

“Now come on. Quit worrying, and have fun at your party.”

“Okay.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my party is going great. I’m enjoying myself and so is everyone else. But I still have this sneaking suspicion that Tori will do something. I decide to push this thought to the back of my mind. This is my party, and I’m going to celebrate.

I walk over to the food table. Everything looks fine. Nothing seems suspicious. My presents seem to be safe. Suddenly, I hear a rustling noise over by the DJ. Then I hear something drop right near the table where my presents are. I wonder what’s going on. I hope Tori isn’t trying to ruin anything. I have a really bad feeling about this. I decide to go over to the DJ.

“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen anybody come over this way recently?” I ask.

“Nope. I haven’t. Sorry.”

“Thanks anyway,” I say.

Well, the DJ seems to have not seen anything or anyone come over there. So I wonder what that noise could have been. Now the worst thoughts are starting to come to mind. What if an animal wandered into my party and is going through my presents? What if one of Tori’s friends is going through my presents? What if Tori paid someone to go through my presents and ruin my party? Or worst of all, what if Tori herself is going to do something so mean that it’ll cause me to start crying at my own party?

“Come on, Aspen,” I say to myself. “You need to get yourself together and stop assuming that the worst is always going to happen.”

Eventually, I talk myself into walking over to where the rustling noise came from. As I grow closer to the table where my presents are, the noise grows louder. The noise keeps growing louder and louder and louder. I can’t take this suspense anymore. I decide to finally see what’s making this noise.

As I walk around the table where my presents are, I find Tori going through my presents. I stand behind the table frozen with fear. I’m brought to tears. I can’t help not crying. There’s presents everywhere. There’s pink, purple, red, and a lot of other colors of tissue paper all over the floor. Some gift bags are strewn all over the floor.

“This present is okay. Uh, what is this present? Who would ever want this as a present? This is so lame. People can really do better with presents these days,” Tori says. Marcy and Samara are with her.

“Why would anybody want this as a present? It’s so dorky,” Marcy says. She’s waving a gift bag in the air.

“Honestly, I don’t know. But then again, these presents are for Aspen. Why wouldn’t you expect them to be lame. She’s really, really lame.”

“I know. But still, anybody could give her a better present. I kind of feel bad for her,” Marcy says.

“Why should you? Obviously, a lame person deserves lame gifts. Aspen is a completely lame person.”

“I still can’t believe that you were friends with her when you were younger,” Samara says.

“Really, I don’t even know either. I guess we all made mistakes when we were younger,” Tori says.

“You certainly did, Tori. I really can’t understand why you were ever even friends with her either,” Marcy says.

I can’t take this anymore. I shouldn’t have to listen to this anymore. I decide to come out from behind the table.

“I can’t believe you, Tori. How could you do this to me?” I say in disbelief.

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Crybaby. What’s wrong? Did someone steal your blanket?” Tori says sarcastically.

Now everyone has turned to stare at the table where my presents are. The music has been turned down some. Everyone starts laughing at what Tori just said.

“For your information, I’m not a crybaby, and I don’t have a blanket. What are you doing over here in my presents anyway?” I say with an attitude. My hands are on my hips.

“I just came to check and make sure that your presents were okay. I wouldn’t want you to receive any horrible presents. But lucky for you, they’re all horrible presents.”

“That’s exactly why they aren’t yours. Now how about you do yourself a favor and get away from my presents,” I say.

“I don’t think so. You can’t tell me what to do. Marcy, what do you think about this present? Isn’t it so stupid?” Tori asks sarcastically as she looks into a gift bag.

“It’s so stupid. Why would anyone want to own such a stupid gift? Would you want to own it, Samara?” Marcy asked.

“Leave me out of this,” Samara says.

“Why? What’s wrong? Do you think it’s good enough for you? Marcy says sarcastically.

Everyone starts laughing. The boys are making “ooohhh” noises.

“No,” Samara says.

“Then what’s your problem?” Marcy says.

“My problem is you. You and Tori are always picking on innocent people that have done absolutely nothing to you. I’m tired of being around people like you who always put people down.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re trying to stand up for Aspen, Samara?” Tori says.

“Yes, I am. I’m so sick and tired of being around cruel people like you and Marcy. Aspen has always been nothing but nice to you, and yet you still treat her horribly,” Samara says with boldness.

There’s a long period of silence in the party room. Even the music stops. Everyone is staring over at where Tori, Marcy, Samara, and I are.

“Well, you know what, Samara? I can’t be friends with people like you. People who think its okay to be friends with losers.”

I’m tired of hearing all of this. It’s getting on my last nerve. I can’t take it anymore.

“Guess what, Tori,” I say. “I’m not a loser, and you can stop talking about me.”

“And she’s right,” Jordyn says. “We all know that the whole reason why you even came to this party was to ruin Aspen’s great party. Well, guess what, you failed to accomplish your goal.”

“I don’t understand why you would do such a thing, Tori,” Lexi says. “It’s Aspen’s party, and this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Why don’t you just leave?!”

“Because I don’t want to,” Tori snaps. “Look, Samara. Here’s the thing. If you want to be friends with us, then you have to not be friends with Aspen, and if you want to be her friend, then we won’t be your friends.”

Everyone is staring intently at Samara. For some reason, the DJ is playing action music.

“So what’s your choice, Samara?”

“I choose Aspen. I don’t want to be remembered as the mean girl like you and Marcy.”

“Very well then. You made your choice. I hope it was worth it to lose your only friends that you have,” Tori says sarcastically.

“Why are you doing this?” Marcy asked sincerely.

“Because I’m ready to move on and be around actually nice people,” Samara says.

“Whatever, Samara. Come on, Marcy, let’s leave this lame party. We’ve got better places to be,” Tori says.

“Tori, Marcy, do you need an escort out?” Ashanti says.

“No thanks. I’m good,” Tori says.

“No thanks,” Marcy says.

They both storm out of the party.

Finally, they’re gone. The music has been turned back up. Everyone has resumed dancing and having a good time. The strobe lights have come back on. Samara is still here all by herself.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Not really. It feels kind of weird to not be around Marcy and Tori,” Samara says.

“Its okay. It must’ve felt really weird to actually stand up to Tori for once.”

“Yeah, I know. But it eventually had to be done.”

“That was really brave,” I say.

“Thanks.”

“Look, I know that we’ve started off on the wrong foot, but I’m willing to start over and be friends if that’s okay with you,” I say.

“Sure. I mean, I haven’t been exactly nice to you either.”

“So friends?”

“Friends,” Samara says.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ashanti says.

“For what?”

“Standing up to Tori. You really are growing up.”

“Thanks.”

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned after tonight, it’s that people may actually come to surprise you in the end.


The Old Man

There was a man. The man was lonely, sad, and old, so he went into the forest to die. He wandered for hours, dwelling on old memories, until he came across a cottage in the woods. The man thought that the cottage would be a good place to die. He entered the cottage to find a toy makers kit, sitting on a desk. The old man had always loved toys and had made them for a living. He decided to die doing what he loved, so he sat down at the desk and started to inspect the tools. He opened the toymakers chest and was startled to see that the tools in the chest were extremely old, but in amazing quality. He had never seen such good tools and was happy to have access to such grand instruments, so he got to work quickly. Hours passed, a storm of creativity flowing through the man.

In the morning he awoke to see a massive amount of toys all around him. There were dolls, and toy soldiers, teddy bears, and a few rocking horses. He was happy and content to see his efforts and was shocked and surprised to see that his creations were moving around and repairing the broken down cottage. He jumped up in surprise, and they all turned to look at him. The toys grew giant smiles and began to run over to him. The man, terrified, stumbled over the chair and fell to the ground as the toys swarmed him. He screamed, until he realized that the toys were hugging him.

He sputtered out, “W-what? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

A clown walked out from behind the mass of toys. “Why, you made us of course! Can’t we be happy to greet our creator?”

The old man rose, startled, and proclaimed, “What? But how are you alive?! I know I made you, but how are you living?”

The clown shrugged, unconcerned. “Does it really matter? We are, and you made us. Now we can play with people!”

The old man was concerned, but also overjoyed that his life had come to something after all. He was a nobody, with a job nobody paid attention to and a boring life with no family or friends. He was so excited to show everybody what he had created, he didn’t notice that the clown began to smile behind his back. He gathered all of the toys up and marched them into town. A crowd of people gathered by the commotion, and he began handing out all the toys there were. The toys went gleefully, as their only aspiration was to play with children. Finally, all the toys but the clown were given out, and there was only one child without a toy, the mayor’s daughter.

The clown walked over and picked her up, who laughed gleefully. “Are you my new owner? O boy, I can’t wait to play with you! Let’s go!”

And they ran off. The old man was very happy to have done something good in his life and walked back to the cabin to spend the night.

In the morning he woke, stretched, and got dressed. When he walked outside, however, he saw smoke, rising in the distance. He grew worried and decided to go check it out. He made his way back to town, and when he got there, all hell had broke loose. There were fires everywhere, mangled bodies strewn like neglected dolls, and a massive demonic ferris wheel in the middle of town, with screams eminiting from it. The toys were all laughing with glee, chasing people, torturing people, and the clown was the worst of all. He was on top of the ferris wheel, with a terrified girl crying near him.

Are you having fun, darling? I know I am! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

At this point, the old man was absolutely petrified. He had no words to describe the horror that lay before him. As he stared, he had a sudden realization. Everything he made did the exact opposite it was supposed too. Things made to entertain, tortured. Things made to comfort, terrified. He ran to the cabin as fast as he could. Meanwhile…

The mayor ran, terrified, away from the center of town and the laughing clown. He ducked behind a nearby wall to catch his breath and peeked around the corner to get his boundaries and immediately pulled his head back. There was a teddy bear a couple feet away, tearing up a corpse. His heart pounded in his chest, and he held his breath and listened. A couple minutes later, the teddy bear walked away, and the mayor tried not to look at the body as he made his escape. He ran and ran, never stopping until he reached the next town down the road. He collapsed at the town gate, and when he came to it, he told his story. His story about an insane toymaker and a devil banding together to cause chaos spread like wildfire, and centuries later, would develop into a fairy tale to scare children.

Now then, back to the old man. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, all the while hearing the devilish carnival music behind him. He slammed open the cottage door and scrambled inside. He shut the door and sat down on the bed to catch his breath. He began to realize what he had done and cried himself to sleep.

When he woke up, he felt determined to fix his mistake. He picked himself up and walked over to the desk and its cursed tools. He sat down and put his head in his hands. He began to think of ways to fix this with what he had at his disposal and if he could fix it at all. He thought and thought, until an idea struck him. If the toys he created did everything in their power to do the opposite of what they were supposed to, then what if he made a toy that was intentionally bad? If he needed something that disobeyed and hurt others, then a dummy would do the trick, wouldn’t it? He began to craft his masterpiece, making it as scary as he could possibly be, giving it knives and weapons a plenty. When it was done, it sat motionless.

He gave his first order. “Y-you m-may speak. A-and move on y-your own will if you will c-cause no harm to o-others by doing so.”

To his surprise, the dummy immediately sat up and jumped off the table.

“I thought you’d neva ask. I been conscience eva since you started packing me with weapons, ya hear. Now, what can I do for ya?”

The old man was quite startled at his abruptness, but he got over his surprise quickly. “I, uh,” he began, but the dummy interrupted him.

“Wait wait, lemme guess. Youse did something youse regrete with the doohickies that made me, and ya want me to clean up your mess? No problem, lead the way.”

The dummy jumped off the table and made his way to the door. The old man was very confused and concerned, but followed the dummy outside. The dummy was waiting for him, and the old man began walking towards the town. He turned around when he noticed that the dummy wasn’t following him and asked why he wasn’t following him.

“Well, I forgot ta mention dis before, but if ya want me ta do anything, ya gotta give me veeery specific instructions, so get on dat, would ya pal?”

The old man walked back over to the dummy and began to speak out his specific instructions.

“You are going to destroy everything that I have made and make sure that they stay dead. If any escape, you will hunt them to the end of the earth. You must never intentionally hurt a human being, and you will come back to me when you are done with these instructions.”

The dummy nodded once and took off towards the town like a flash. The old man watched him disappear back into the forest and walked back into the cabin, where he promptly hanged himself. Well, onto the next main character.

The dummy ran the forest with unending stamina and broke through the forest with a flying leap. He landed heavily and looked around. He saw a platoon of wooden soldiers heading his way and sprinted towards them. They turned to look at him and got into a firing line of maniacal smiles. He jumped right into their midst, with a knife in hand, and turned into a whirlwind of carnage. Body parts flew everywhere, and before long, he stood along in a pile of firewood. He took a breath and turned his attention to the ferris wheel and the clown. For some reason, the dummy could feel the clowns eyes on him, and started to head in that direction. Before long, he had reached the base of the ferris wheel and stared up at the tower of torture before him. He waited for the perfect moment, then jumped onto the closest compartment.

In a matter of seconds he was at the top, directly confronting the clown. “So then, you da boss, huh?” the dummy remarked. “I gotta say, I was expecting someone taller.”

The clown continued to sneer at him and said, “While I appreciate the sense of humor you’ve got, it seems a little misplaced! I’m the clown! I should be making the jokes! Meanwhile, I’ve got something to laugh about!” He pointed at the sniveling pile of flesh at his feet and promptly kicked the girl off of the ferris wheel and watched her plumet.

The dummy sprinted towards the clown, seeing that he was distracted, and pulled out a wooden club with nails on the tip. He slammed it with all his strength into the back of the clowns head, and to his surprise the head went flying! However, to the dummy’s surprise, the head bounced back on a spring and slammed him across the face. The dummy flew across the top of the ferris wheel, and the clown was on top of him in a flash.

“I got plenty more tricks in store than that! You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to kill me!”

The clown pulled out a scythe from seemingly nowhere and swung it at the dummy’s head. The dummy barely had enough time to pull out a hammer to block and swiftly counter attacked. The clown jumped back, but not before dropping a jack-in-the-box on his chest. The music played very quickly, and the dummy was blown over the edge of the ferris wheel.

He hit the ground with a thud and immediately got back up. The clown had jumped down after him, and he pulled out a massive club and took up a fighting stance. The clown hit the ground with a sproing and immediately ran towards the dummy, his scythe at the ready. When the clown was within the dummy’s range, the dummy swung with all his might, but the clown jumped over and sliced of the dummy’s head. The head flew from the body, landing several feet away. The body slumped over, all signs of life gone.

The clown let out a laugh. “HA! Is that all you got? To think that the one thing I was a little worried about would be this easily defeated!”

He walked over to the head and picked it up to gloat. To his surprise, the head said, You’re not da only one wit tricks! as the dummy’s body impaled him with a broadsword. The clown sputtered and went limp, falling off to the ground.

The dummy walked over and picked up his head and screwed it back on.

“Dat’ll teach him. All I gotta do now is ta take out da remaining small fry, and I can meet up wit da old man again.”

Unknown to him, the other toys were watching the fight, and when the clown was defeated, the toys were surprised that the clown lost. Half of the toys wanted to run and spread out. The other half of the toys wanted to band together to defeat the dummy. They decided that the toys that wanted to band together to defeat the dummy would buy time for the other toys to get away. Meanwhile, the dummy was retrieving his greatsword from the dummy’s body. He had just gotten the sword free when the toys pounced, catching him off guard. He was exhausted from his fight with the clown and put up little resistance. He took out the majority of the toys before they subdued him, and before long, he was on the floor defeated. The clown had given the toys a protocol to follow if they defeated him, and they followed it to the letter. The dummy was immobilized and tossed into a box, and then buried the box underground. After his escape was impossible, the toys all scattered around the world, their one adversary trapped, for centuries to come.

END PROLOGUE


Necromancer

The necromancer fiddled with his knife, running his fingers along its edge. The ocean surrounded him absolutely, and land was nowhere to be seen. The sun beat down on him and his boat, gleaming off his knife. Sometimes, the necromancer stared directly at the sun for extended periods of time just to relieve his boredom. He contemplated whether to start another wood carving project. So far he’d made three birds, four dogs, and five Angelas (his wife). He decided to start one more, going through his bag and finding a block of wood. When he carved, he seemed to become one with his environment, the rocking of his raft, the splashing of the ocean, the gleam of the sun. Thoughts of the plane crash seemed to fade away. Just as he was about to start his project, his peace was rudely interrupted.

“You’ll never finish it,” it said. Turning around, the necromancer saw its face, rotting in the sun, tattered clothes, and greenish gray skin, his companion zombie.

“You’ll be dead.”

“How do you know?” the necromancer replied defiantly.

“You ran out of water days ago, and you’ve been out at sea for weeks hoping you’ll miraculously end up on land and get back to Angela, but it’s game over.”

“I’m a necromancer. I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, just leave me alone and let me carve.” To this, the zombie simply leaned back in the raft, staring intently at the empty sea.

“Necromancers don’t exist,” the zombie replied. “They’re fantasy.”

“What! How could you say that!” the necromancer protested “You’re living, or rather dead proof that they do!” The zombie turned his head to the necromancer and stared him, dead in the eyes.

“I’m not dead or alive. I’m just a fantasy, a figment of your imagination.”

“No! You’re real. You must be real. I’m looking at you with my own eyes!” the necromancer countered, a definitive panic in his voice.

“Think about it for once! How am I in your boat one minute and the next you’re alone at sea! What, do I jump in and out of the boat to swim?!” The necromancer opened his mouth to argue, only to close it again without saying a word.

“That’s right! There’s no logical explanation for my existence. You’re just going mad. You’ve convinced yourself you’re a necromancer, and now you’re going to die without a shred of sanity.”

“I’ve been a necromancer all my life. I know who I am!” the necromancer screamed.

“Tell me then, when your mother died, why did you not resurrect her?! Did you not love her, or were you simply not able?!” The necromancer looked away, his hands shaking.

“If I were calling the shots, I’d make my amends, take that knife, run across my throat, and die with a little honor!”

“JUST SHUT UP AND LET ME BE!” the necromancer screamed, turning away.

The zombie scowled, taken aback.

“Fine,” it muttered spitefully. “But think about what I said.” When the necromancer looked up, the zombie was gone, and he was left alone at sea. The necromancer picked up his knife slowly, hands shaking. In it he saw a reflection. The reflection of a starved and unrecognizable man, a man with tattered clothes and jutting cheekbones, a man without a life worth living.


Water

I am running down the street, panting, and I turn around to look behind me, but don’t see the giant hole right in front of me.

“Ahhhh,” I yell as I fall into the hole.

It looks like a series of tunnels. But it’s not dirt. It’s stone? They are super fancy with engravings in them, so I start to follow along them to see if there is another exit, because clearly I can’t go back the other way.

After what feels like a half an hour of walking I see a slight, rosey-ish glow in my vision of the tunnel. I run towards it, and there’s a staircase. It leads to the basement of a house from what it seems. I walk up the stairs, and I walk into what looks like a basement or a cellar of some sort. I don’t know what this is. It might be a house? I walk up the stairs, and I slowly open the door. I walk into the kitchen, and I’m wondering where I am and whose house this is. From the looks of it, it doesn’t look like a small house.

All of a sudden, a girl walks into the kitchen. She looks a few years younger than me.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“My name is Rose,” I reply. “Something mysterious happened, and I don’t know where I am. Where are your parents?”

“They are out here on the terrace,” she says. “Come on, I’ll take you to them.”

She grabs my hand and skips all the way to the terrace where her parents are. While I’m walking through the house, I notice it’s so beautiful, with marble floors in some parts and a grand staircase leading up to the second level. We step out onto the terrace, and her parents are sitting on lounge chairs talking and drinking lemonade.

The little girl says to her parents, “Mom, Dad, this girl showed up in our kitchen.”

“Um, Lily honey, can you go inside please?” they say.

The little girl whose actual name is Lily skips inside and up the stairs and out of sight.

“Where did you come from?” they ask.

“I fell into a hole, and there was a tunnel with a faint glow at the end, so I followed it, and I ended up here.”

“Hold on,” they say.

They started whispering to each other, and I only caught a few words like, Who is she? What should we do?

“Where do you live?” they ask me.

“Well, I was a runaway, so I didn’t really have one place,” I told them.

I kept quiet, not because I didn’t want to tell them, but because I couldn’t remember all of it.

“Okay, go inside, and Lily will show you a spare room until we get this figured out,” they say.

“Okay,” I say.

“Lily!” they shout to Lily who’s prancing around inside.

“Honey, can you show Rose a spare guest bedroom?”

“Okay,” Lily says.

“You can stay in one of our many guest bedrooms until we figure this out?”

I follow Lily inside, where she leads me up the grand staircase to a guest bedroom that is very extravagant with lots of fancy things.

“Here you go,” she tells me.

“Okay, thanks,” I say back.

I sit down on the giant bed and think of why I got here. I was taken from my family when I was little and kept for many years there, at that house. I finally escaped from the house and have been a runaway ever since.

And that leads to now, falling into a hole and ending up here. Wow. I think to myself how it has been rough for the last couple of years. Maybe this nice family can help me.

I am so tired I lay down on the bed, and the soft, comfortable comforter lulls me into a deep sleep.

While I am sleeping, Lily’s parents come up to make sure I was situated.

“Rose seems like such a nice girl, but who is she?” they ask each other, but I don’t hear them because I am still fast asleep.

I wake up the next morning in the soft, comfortable bed and sit up. I can’t believe all that has happened to me. And I can’t believe I ended up here.

I walk into the kitchen, and Lily says hi to me. Lily’s parents say good morning to me also.

“Oh no, what happened to your arm?” Lily’s mom says suddenly to me, as she noticed I am clutching my arm.

My arm had a long deep cut on the side of my arm that was starting to turn blue, black, and purple. I must have not have seen it yesterday because I was wearing a jacket.

“When I fell into the hole I must scraped it on a nail that was sticking out as I fell,” I say to Lily’s parents.

“Well, we must take you to the doctor and make sure it wasn’t a rusty nail and that you have your tetanus shots updated,” they say to me.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. It doesn’t hurt that much,” I say to them even though it did hurt, a lot.

“No no no, we must. When we find your family, we must return you with a good arm.”

I knew in my heart that they would never find my family though. I didn’t even know who they were.

“Okay, I will call Dr. Smith to schedule an appointment with her,” Lily’s mom says to her dad.


The Doctor’s Office

*Ring Ring*

Dr. Smith answers the phone, “Hello, this is Dr. Smith. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Judy. This is Penny from the Robinsons.”

“Oh, hi, Penny. It’s nice to talk to you again. How can I help you?”

“Well, this girl showed up in our secret tunnels, you know the ones that were the old maid quarters, and we have no idea who she is. She also has a giant cut on her arm that she says was cut on a nail.”

“Can you make sure she has her shots updated, and while you’re at it, will you take some blood and see if you can find out where she is from and who her family is?”

“Yeah sure, no problem.”

The next day…

“Rose, come on. We’re going to take you to Dr. Smith to make sure you arm is alright,” Penny says to me.

“Okay,” I say.

We get in the car and drive to Dr. Smith’s office, where she is waiting for us in the waiting area.

“Hi, Rose. My name is Dr. Smith. Let’s go to a room and make sure your arm is alright.

“Okay.”

We walk to a room, and Dr. Smith checks out my scraped up arm. She looks it over and then rolls over to the computer on her little wheely chair.

“Okay, Rose it looks like it’s just a very deep cut, but I’m going to have to take some blood so I can make sure it wasn’t infected since you don’t have your tetanus shots, correct?”

“Yeah, okay.”

I know I don’t have my tetanus shots updated since I’ve been on the run since I escaped.

“Okay, this is only going to hurt a little bit, okay?” Dr. Smith says to me.

“Okay,” I say back to her.

She takes a little needle out of the cabinet, and it only hurts a tiny bit.

“Okay, I will get the results back in a few days, but until then I’ll wrap your arm up so nothing gets in it.”

“Okay,” I say to Dr. Smith.

“Okay, thanks, Judy. See you later,” Penny says to Dr. Smith.

I really hope I don’t have anything wrong, so I don’t cause this nice family any more trouble.

We pull into the driveway, and once again I’m astonished of the view of house from the outside. When we get inside, I want to lay down since I just got some blood taken, so I’m very tired.

“I’m going to lay down,” I say to Penny.

“Okay,” she says.

I walk up the stairs and start walking towards the room I am staying in, when a spark of light catches my attention from one of the rooms over a few. I want to check it out to see what it is, so I walk over to it and peek inside.

It’s a beautiful mint colored room that has a light reflector on the window that makes rainbows dance across the room. I think to myself, Oh, this is probably Lily’s room or a playroom for her.

I’ll ask Penny about it later after I get some sleep. When I’m back in my room, I lay down, and my eyelids quiver as I fall into a deep sleep…


The Doctor’s Office

“Okay, let’s see what we can find out about Rose from her results and make sure she is okay,” I say to myself.

As I scroll down through the results, it looks like her arm is alright which is good. She will just need to bandage and watch it.

I look for any traces in her DNA which will help us find her family or any of her relatives.

Okay, blood type, blah, blah, blah. This is weird. “What is this?” I ask myself. Okay, DNA and genes. Wait, what?! O-M-G…

The next morning…

I wake up in the morning as the sun shines brightly into the window and walk down the stairs into the kitchen.

“Hey, Penny, is that mint blue room upstairs Lily’s?”

“… No, it’s not.”

“Whose is it?”

“It was our other daughter’s room. Her name was Aguamarine, or for short, Agua.”

“Where is she now.”

“She was taken from us at a very young age, so we don’t know. We searched high and low, but we never could find her,” she added.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say to Penny.

She just looked sad, so I brought something else up.

“Where’s Lily?”

“Outside, you can join her if you want.”

I walk outside to see Lily jumping on a trampoline up and down.

“Hey, Lily, can I join you?”

“Sure!” she says to me in a high voice.

I climb up the ladder and join her. I feel like a bird soaring through the clouds as I jump higher and higher. I feel like I could jump right to the moon. A few hours later, after a few games of tag, Penny yells from inside the house.

“Rose!!”

“Can you come inside please?”

“Yes!”

I skip inside, my stomach still fluttering from jumping on the trampoline.

“What’s up?”

Penny and Sam (Lily’s dad) are standing inside next to Dr. Smith.

“Dr. Smith is here with the test results about your arm, Rose,” Penny says to me.

“So the results came back, and your arm is doing just fine. You will just need to wrap it and make sure to take care of it,” Dr. Smith says to me.

“But… ”

“While I was looking through your DNA results, a thing popped up on my computer, and I thought it was one of my other clients, but when I clicked on it, it wasn’t. It was from you.”

“A DNA match… ”

“You are the missing daughter of Penny and Sam… ”

I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m about to faint. I can’t get anything to come out of my mouth. I can’t believe this just happened…


The Fox and the Forest

It all started with my cousin, Penny. She woke me up before the sun had risen, begging me to go hunting with her.

“Felicity, please come with me… Nobody else is up yet, and you know that I don’t like going out and about in the forest alone. Especially when it’s dark out,” Penny groaned. She pawed at me playfully.

“Penny, I really don’t want to go hunting right now.” I glanced at my aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, and parents. They were all still asleep. Unlike most foxes, my family lived and hunted in a pack. We were unique in that way. Anyway, the Den was cozy and warm, and I didn’t want to go out into the cold morning air.

Penny was relentless, though. After a while, I gave in. We walked to the entrance of the Den. The birds had just started their morning songs, and the sun was slowly starting to rise. I sniffed the air, which smelled like rain and flowers.

We walked in peaceful silence. When we got to the River, Penny found a worm and dangled it in front of my snout. I devoured it and dug around in the mud to find one for her. We had played this game since we were able to hunt. Soon, the sun was up, and our stomachs were full.

That’s when the storm arrived. I had sensed it when I woke up, but I had pushed it away, thinking it was nothing. A cloud blocked the sunlight. I looked up and noticed that it was dark gray, a sign that the storm would be big and really wet.

“Penny — ” I was cut off by a loud crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. A big, fat raindrop landed on my nose, and the rain started coming down hard. Penny and I scampered under the trees, hoping for shelter from the rain, but the trees were no help. The rain still leaked through the thick leaves.

“Grrr… ” I heard my least favorite sound: the growl of a wolf. I spun around and saw the leader of the wolves that lived in the forest, Winter. She was a huge wolf, with whitish-gray fur and gleaming, black eyes. Winter and her pack were horrible, any fox’s enemy.

Winter growled again, baring her sharp, white teeth.

“Felicity, run!” Penny howled. We ran in the opposite direction of Winter, towards the River. The River was now quickly flowing and sharp rocks jutted out of the water. Winter raced after us.

“Penny, we’ll have to try to jump across the River!” I shouted over the roar of the storm.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to!” Penny yelled back.

“You’ll have to try! I’ll go after you! Don’t worry, I believe in you!” Penny looked at the River with uncertainty and back at me.

“Okay, I’ll try!”

Penny took a running start. Then, she leaped gracefully into the air, but she didn’t leap far enough. Her paw grazed a rock and threw her off course. She fell into the River with a loud splash.

“Aagh, Penny!” I shrieked.

“What are you going to do now, fox?” Winter growled.

“I’m going to go after her,” I replied.

I jumped into the River. It was cold and disgusting. I hated water. I saw a flash of orangish-red fur and tried to propel myself through the water towards it. A log came passing by me, and I dug my claws into it so that I wouldn’t have to swim in the raging water. When I pulled myself out of the water, my head hit something. Then everything went black.

I opened my eyes and found myself resting on the forest floor. I had a sharp pain on my forehead, and my paws ached.

“Felicity! You’re awake!” I heard a familiar voice. I turned and saw my favorite fox in the whole entire forest, Penny. Her fur was dirty and matted, and I figured that I probably looked the same. I stood up unsteadily and looked around. We were in a part of the forest that I had never been to. The trees were taller and darker, the ground was a lot rockier, and there were a lot more spiky bushes. I was lying on a tiny patch of brownish moss.

“Penny, where are we?” I asked. My voice was a little raspy.

“I think we might be in the Dark Forest. It sure looks like it, from what Grandfather told us,” Penny said.

Our grandfather was a traveling fox. He traveled to many forests, and he would always come back and tell us what he had seen. He had once told us about the Dark Forest, the place that the River had taken us. He had said that it was particularly unpleasant and not a place for a fox to live. Apparently there were “things too terrible to speak of” in the Dark Forest.

“We’re in the Dark Forest?!” I shrieked.

“Shush… You don’t want to yell in this forest. The Creatures will awake, whatever they are. Remember how Grandfather said that they come out when the sun goes behind the horizon? We have to get back before then,” Penny said.

“Oh, sweet Mother of Rabbits. How are we gonna get back?” I looked up. The sun was already high in the sky. “We will have to find some sort of shelter before the sun is gone.”

We began running in the direction that seemed like the direction of home. I was running a lot faster than Penny, who looked quite tired. And hungry. I slowed down, so she could catch up with me. She looked at me wearily.

“You okay, Penny?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’m not used to running this fast and this far,” she replied, panting. After a while, we stopped running, attempting and failing to find food.

The clouds in the sky started to turn pink and purple. My heart raced. The sky was turning darker and darker every second. I guessed that we only had a small amount of time left of daylight. Then, there was no light left.

“Oh my — ” I never heard what Penny was going to say. There was a terrible noise, like a sick eagle being eaten by a growling wolf. Penny edged closer to me. Then, we saw the first Creature of the night. It was almost indescribable. The dark made it hard to make out exactly what the Creature looked like, but I could partially see it. It had the yellowest teeth; gleaming, red eyes; horribleness; pain; and the worst things imaginable. The level of sound increased, telling me that more Creatures were coming close. We couldn’t see them completely, but I had a good idea of what they could do to a fox. It was like the Creature could bring back the worst memories and take away all happiness. It was the worst thing I had ever experienced in my whole life.

“Run!” I cried. But Penny was frozen with fear, whimpering. I nudged her, and she didn’t move. She slumped against me. More Creatures emerged from the depths of the forest. We were completely surrounded. It seemed like there was no way out.

Unexpectedly, Penny straightened up and shouted, “Felicity! There’s a gap right there! Hurry!” She ran off, and I followed her. The Creatures swiped at us, but we squeezed through the gap and darted into the forest.

We ran and ran and ran for the second time that day. It was completely dark, and we couldn’t see a thing; the dense leaves overhead blocked out all the light from the moon and the stars. I bumped into a tree once or twice, which slowed us down a lot.

Eventually, we couldn’t run anymore, so we tried to find a safe place to sleep. Penny suggested just sleeping up a tree, but that made no sense since foxes can’t climb trees. I guess she was just delirious from all the running that we had been doing and all the stuff we had been through. We walked for a little bit until we found a dark cave that looked calm and deserted.

“This might be okay,” I said. I peered inside to get a better view of the interior. The walls were nice and smooth. There were a few dead leaves that looked damp and a few fuzzy lumps that I assumed were dead mice. “Penny, there are mice! We could eat them!”

“Yeah,” Penny said. We lunged for the mice and gulped them down. They were really lean, and they seemed as though they had been malnourished when they were alive. They tasted weird and sour; they were nothing like the delicious worms and rabbits of my forest.

Bellies only halfway full, we curled up in the unfamiliar place and tried to fall asleep. Penny was a fast fall-asleeper, but not me. I had never slept away from home.

I adjusted my position so many times, but the cave wasn’t the same as the Den. I then realized that I was lying on a sharp rock. I pawed at it, trying to get it out of the way without waking Penny. It bounced away with a loud clatter.

Only partially satisfied, I lay on my side and fell into a deep, uneasy sleep, full of weird dreams.

I was walking happily through the forest. I hummed an old fox melody that had been passed on for generations. All of a sudden, the sky blackened. I was surrounded by things that looked like Creatures mixed with wolves. Then Penny was flying above me shouting misleading directions at me. Then she turned into Winter, the leader of the wolves. Winter-Penny came down and stared at me menacingly. She bared her teeth and growled.

I woke up with a start. It had all been a horrible dream. Penny was already wide awake.

“You okay, Felicity? You were moaning and groaning in your sleep. And kind of shouting.”

“What did I… shout?”

“You were saying things about Winter and how she was attacking you. Well, the sun is up, so let’s go attempt and probably fail to find food.”

I laughed at this, even though it wasn’t a laughing matter. It just seemed crazy how my cousin and I were stuck in a creepy forest when just yesterday we had been joking around about worms. Penny frowned at me.

“Felicity, this isn’t a joke. We need to find our way home. But first, we’ve got to find the River,” she said, glaring at me. I was surprised. I’m usually the one who thinks logically and stays on task. Penny just goofs off most of the time. It was like we had switched roles.

“Well, okay then. Let’s go find food and then the River. Or find food by the River. I don’t know,” I said. Penny stopped glaring, but she still seemed a little stiff and distant. I wondered why. Maybe because I laughed? But Penny was not usually upset by things as small as that. I thought about that as we looked for food.

I dug around in the mud. Mud, mud, rocks, mud. Nothing but mud. Out of the blue, I glimpsed something pinkish and wriggling. Slowly, it came into view. “Penny, look! A worm!” I turned around. Penny was facing the trees, just sitting there. “Penny? You okay?” I walked over to her and pawed at her back.

She turned around and looked at me like it was her first time seeing me. Her eyes looked blank. Then, she bared her teeth and growled. She pounced, and I scurried backwards. It was terrifying. Penny had never acted like this, ever, even during our worst disagreements.

“Penny! It’s me… Felicity… ” Penny’s eyes looked full and normal again. But that encounter scared me. “I found a worm.” I split the worm in half and gave the bigger half to Penny. I had the idea that she had acted weirdly because of the lack of food.

I started to walk in the direction that I thought we had come in the night before. Penny followed me. Soon, she was acting mostly like herself, but she was a lot quieter. I finally gathered up the courage to ask her what happened earlier.

“Penny, what happened earlier? When you went kind of crazy. You know, you pounced and growled. At me,” I said cautiously. Penny looked confused.

“Wha — Oh, yeah. Sorry that I was rude about your dream,” Penny said. I looked at her weirdly. But before I could say anything else about it, I saw something shiny. There was a gushing sound, and I realized that it was the River.

“The River! Penny, look!”

“Yay. Awesome. I have to stay here, though. For the greater good of the Creatures,” Penny mumbled. It sounded like she was reciting a story, like it wasn’t actually real. My heart skipped a beat.

“The Creatures? Why?”

“Because. They need me.”

Something was very wrong. Penny, wanting to stay with the Creatures? She was obviously possessed or hypnotized or something like that. Grandfather had said that if one got too close to a Creature, they would never be the same. Unless they got help from someone unreachable for a fox. The Wise Old Owl, who lived up in a tree right next to the Den, and foxes can’t climb trees (obviously). The Wise Old Owl knew all the secrets of the whole world, even the human secrets and the wolf secrets. But she would only share the secrets if you were in critical need and even then, only if you paid. And she never, ever comes onto the ground.

Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. “Penny, where the river leads, the Creatures will be there. Remember? We’ve lived with the Creatures all of our lives. They are… um, our family.” Penny’s curse must have made her really unintelligent or willing to do anything that had to do with Creatures, because she nodded with excitement and grinned.

“This is an amazing idea.”

I started walking in the opposite direction from the river, but Penny’s voice interrupted my thoughts. It was still vague, and it still sounded hypnotized. “This place seems familiar in my memories of the Creatures. Are we close to them?”

This place did indeed seem familiar. Right at the edge of the Dark Forest, there were fox paw prints and a big patch of moss. It was the place where Penny had woken me up on our first day in the Dark Forest. There was that tree… and those rocks… and… a Creature? My heart leapt, and I bit back a yell. What was it doing in the daylight?

“Oh Creature, I am your humble servant.” Penny bowed down to the Creature and motioned for me to do the same. I wanted to give her a disgusted look, but I had to play along. Reluctantly, I bowed down next to her.

The Creature made me feel horrible, but its power seemed weaker this time. I held all of my feelings inside and tried to avoid gazing at its ugliness. It was huge, with twelve spiky legs and many teeth. It stood on all of its twelve legs, and it had one pair of gruesome pincers. Its small amount of fur was greasy and greenish-gray. It looked like it was sweating goo, and it was drooling reddish brown saliva. It was pure evil.

I gritted my teeth and said, “I am… totally your humble servant, Creature.” It was the exact opposite of what I wanted to say. Penny looked at me proudly.

Without a warning, the Creature jumped and tried to attack Penny. Penny just stood there, willing to do anything for any Creature. I acted quickly, pushing her away just in time. “Penny, we need to go! This isn’t a Creature, it’s something disguised as a Creature!” I lied. Penny looked shocked. She looked like she might be sick for a moment, then she bared her teeth and growled menacingly.

“Grr… You imposter!” She got ready to attack, but I nudged her towards the river.

“We are wasting time, Penny. We need to get home. This won’t solve anything.”

Penny let my words sink in for a second, then she let me lead her away. The Creature trailed slowly behind us, leaving an icky green sludge behind it. It was really weird how it wasn’t attacking us. It was like the lion that Grandfather had told me that he had seen once, stalking its prey before attacking.

I kept looking over my shoulder. Every time I looked, it was still there, but it never showed any signs of attacking It was really quite bizarre. Maybe, a thought occurred to me, it can’t attack during the day, and that’s why it only comes out at night. That is probably why it is so weak right now and creepily following us.

Gradually, things became more and more familiar. Less and less evil-looking. I finally saw a place the Mama had taken me and my sisters and brothers a lot when we were cubs. It was an hour’s walk from the Den, so we had to be close. I was worried, though. The Creature was still following us, and I didn’t want to lead it to my family.

I decided to do something dangerous. I tried to find a place, any place, where a dead tree had fallen over the river. The storm had knocked over a tall, skinny tree, so I hopped up onto it. It wobbled and swayed when Penny jumped up behind me. We crossed safely, but somehow the Creature did too, even though the branch would probably be too weak to support its weight, and it had no wings. This was part of my plan, though.

After a little while, we passed the Den. I looked at it longingly. I just couldn’t stand seeing it and not stepping inside. Unable to stand it, I told Penny to wait outside a little ways away from the Den. She did as she was told, with only the Creatures and the “Imposter” on her mind.

The Den smelled great. Like home. I was home. “Mama! Papa!” I called through the dark tunnel that led to the main room of our den.

“Felicity? Is that you? Where have you been?” Mama’s voice rang throughout the tunnel. I picked up my pace and found her and Papa and most of the family in the room. Everyone’s eyes lit up at the sight of me, but they noticed quickly that Penny wasn’t there. Because of that, most of their smiles faded and turned into confused looks.

My Aunt and Uncle both asked at the same time, “Where is Penny?”

So I told them the whole story, of how we wound up in the Dark Forest to seeing the Creatures to Penny being cursed to the Creature following us home. They looked more and more concerned every second. “So what’s happening now? Why are you here if you haven’t broken the curse?” my annoying little cousin Liza whined. But I couldn’t blame her. Penny was her sister, after all. “Do you even know how to break the curse?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. We have to do is talk to the Wise Old Owl. She knows everything, and she might be able to break the curse.” I felt like I was giving some sort of speech because everyone nodded and listened to me with thoughtfulness. Before, nobody took me seriously, and nobody listened to me.

We shared ideas of how to get the Wise Old Owl to come down. My brother even suggested pretending that the forest was on fire and her tree was burning up, but then we realized the she would know whether or not the forest was burning since she knows everything.

Finally, we decided on a boring, basic idea. It was to catch a fish and offer to give it to her if she gave us the information we needed. But we planned to do that after leading the Creature away from the Den. I knew just the place to lead it to. The Wolf Den. My family agreed that we should do that. Papa insisted on doing it by himself, but Mama refused.

“Either we all go, except for the little ones, or none of us go. That’s the way it is. We have to stick together,” she declared.

So we set off. The Wolf Den wasn’t too far; it was a short walk. My Aunt stayed home to look after the little fox cubs and the rest of us filed out of the Den one by one. We all walked over to Penny, who was still standing many steps away from the Den. “Penny, these foxes are our friends. They’ll… um, help us get home,” I said nervously.

Penny just nodded and kept looking at the “Imposter” angrily. Papa and Mama led the way to the Wolf Den, having been there many times to make deals. My Uncle and Aunt were close behind them, and everyone else was in between them. I was in the rear so that I could keep an eye on Penny. The Creature was behind us, still leaving a trail of green sludge.

After a short time, we reached Wolf Territory. The wolves had made a huge borderline out of fallen branches and pinecones. There were two muscular-looking wolves standing guard. One snapped at us, ready to attack.

“We… We have a gift for the wolf pack,” Papa said.

“What’s that thing in the back?” said one wolf. “The ugly thingy.”

“The gift, obviously. Can’t you wolves see?” Papa said. He was getting worked up and tense, which wasn’t part of the plan. Mama nudged him, and he calmed down slightly.

“Okay, we’ll take the gift. You can bring it to the entrance of our den and leave it there.” They let us pass, and we marched to the entrance of their den. Our loud marching alerted Winter and her sons and daughters that we were coming, and they met us next to the entrance of their home.

“What are all of you foxes doing here?” Winter’s oldest son, Orvar, grumbled. He glared menacingly at us.

Mama said calmly, “We’re here to deliver a gift. If you look behind us, it’s right there. See?” Winter’s eyes shifted from Mama to the Creature that was standing right behind me. “It will protect you. We have found it, and now we are giving it to you as a peace offering.”

Winter and her children stared at it for a few moments. Then they bared their teeth and smiled evilly. “Okay then. Give it to us and never return! You foxes are banished from our land! You were banished years ago!” Winter said. Everyone tensed, ready to fight the wolves. But we didn’t have to. The sky did it for us.

I looked up and noticed that my plan had worked. The sky was turning dark purple, and there were bright little dots scattered around up high. My family realized this, and we slowly backed away. This aggravated all the wolves.

“Where are you stupid savages going?” Winter’s daughter, Callisto, said. We said nothing and let the Creature do its job. It started running towards the wolves. Winter’s face was full of terror and so were Callisto’s and Orvar’s and all the other wolves’. But before I could see their terrible fate, Mama and Papa led our pack back into the woods, away from all the chaos.

When we were safe in Fox Territory, we rejoiced. We whooped and barked and howled, nuzzling each other and licking each other affectionately. I was only reminded of the Wise Old Owl when I saw Penny looking out of place among the others, standing on the sidelines with that blank look on her face.

“Hey, Penny. You okay?” I asked her with gentleness.

“I want to go home. I want to be reunited with our family, our real family. These foxes. are not the same as the Creatures. Take me to them. You have to,” Penny ordered. I could tell that she was restless and I sighed.

“Fine. We leave at… dawn, okay? Dawn.”

Penny nodded firmly. I told Mama and Papa that we were leaving at dawn for the Wise Old Owl’s tree. Mama agreed and said that it would only be me, her, Papa and Penny. She said that the more foxes we brought along, the less likely the Wise Old Owl would be to accept our plea. She also said to call the owl Ms. Kokka because she would never respond if we called her “Wise Old Owl.”

I woke up to Mama and Papa pawing at me. Penny was standing behind them, looking as vacant and cursed as ever. Mama caught a salmon from the river as payment for Ms. Kokka’s services. Then we started off toward the Wise Old Owl’s — Ms. Kokka’s — oak tree.

“Felicity, are you sure we can trust these foxes?” Penny whispered. She looked scared.

“Of course. I’ve known Mama and — er, these foxes for a while. They’re taking us to the Wise Ol– I mean, the Creatures now. Woah.” We had arrived. The oak tree was ginormous. I could barely see the sky because there were so many leaves. Close to those leaves was a big, hollow hole. I caught a glimpse of a yellow beak.

“What are we doing here?” Penny demanded.

“We just have to do an errand. Then, we’ll take you two to your home,” Mama said without missing a beat. She was amazing at pretending. “Oh, Ms. Kokkaaaaaaa!

The owl flew onto the closest branch near her nest and glared down at us. “What do you want, you idiotic, foolish, imprudent foxes?” Ms. Kokka’s voice was old and grumbly. She obviously hated her job, but the whole forest depended on her.

“We need your help! One of our dearest friends has been cursed! By creepy beasts that live in the Dark Forest!” Mama yelled.

“Surely you know there’s a price, after barking up my tree so many times,” Ms. Kokka said.

“Of course, Ms. Kokka. We don’t have much to offer you, except for a freshly caught salmon from the river. We hope you accept it in return for reversing the curse on our dear friend.”

“Well… ” My heartbeat quickened. “Since you went through all that trouble to get me a minuscule, infinitesimal salmon, I’ll help you. I’ll break the curse, but you must come up here.” The owl smirked. “I do not feel like flying down on such a hot, sweltering day.”

It wasn’t hot at all. Ms. Kokka clearly just wanted some entertainment. But I was willing to do almost anything to get my cousin back to normal. “Let’s do it.” Mama was determined, too. And so was Papa. He was already making his way over to the tree. Penny decided to stay on the forest floor (which was probably for the best, because once we got to the top, we could tell Ms. Kokka who was really cursed — Penny, not some dear friend).

I started to climb the tree. No, I started to scratch at the tree. It was impossible to get a grip on the bark. I inched my way up to the closest branch, which I hurled myself onto to catch my breath. Mama and Papa emerged a minute later, gasping and panting. They were older and larger, so this would be way harder for them than it was for me. We slowly made our way up the tree, which was amazing. We were probably the first foxes in history who had ever climbed a tree. Wherever I stopped for breath, Mama and Papa stopped too.

Climbing was excruciating. I had always envied squirrels and raccoons, but now I was glad that I didn’t have to climb trees. The sun inched its way up along with me and Mama and Papa. By the time we were halfway up in the tree, the sun was halfway in the sky. The leaves of the oak tree blocked out its bright rays, but I still felt like I was burning up. My mouth was parched. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in five days. When I got up to that despicable owl’s lair, I would tell her just how evil she was. But she’s helping us make Penny normal again, I reminded myself.

Finally, just as the sky was turning purple, we reached the horrible Ms. Kokka’s nest. It looked disappointingly normal. I had thought that she would have human tools and creations (like those weird glowing things that humans tap and they talk to spirits), but it just had a bunch of sticks and hay. There was a golden circle with markings on it, but that was the only special thing in there.

“Ms. — Ms. Kokka?” I asked. The old owl emerged from the shadows.

“Yes? Oh, my, You’re actually here? I thought you would never be able to do it,” Ms. Kokka said.

“We climbed your tree. Now, please break the curse on my cousin. Please. She’s the fox down there. She got cursed by the Creatures, and now she thinks she’s one of them. We really need your help. Please.”

“Well, I haven’t done magic in many years.”

“Come on. We’re counting on you!”

Ms. Kokka nodded mysteriously. Then she started chanting in a weird language. Purple dust with gold flecks in it started flying around her. Her eyes started glowing yellow, and she rose up without even flapping her wings.

The purple dust drifted down the tree. It swirled around Penny. Her eyes widened as her paws lifted off the ground. The blankness left her eyes and her shoulders relaxed. Ms. Kokka brought the dust back up the tree, and then it swirled around Mama, Papa, and me. It brought us down to the ground, right next to Penny, who rushed to me and nuzzled me.

“Felicity! I can’t believe that happened! Oh, sweet Mother of Rabbits! I’m so glad that I’m okay! And that time with the Creatures was insane! Mother of Rabbits! Wow!”

We made our way back to the Den. The whole family embraced us and smothered Penny with nuzzles and licks.

Later, Penny and I vowed, under the light of the fireflies, that we would never let anything bad happen to each other ever again.


Toys R Us Ripoff

When I was three, my parents went to a Toys R Us store, seeking to get me the best birthday present I would ever get. They could have went to any Toys R Us store and picked any present, but no, they picked a robotic dog, a robotic dog that would change everything… Duh duh duhhhhh!

When they brought it home and I opened it, I was overcome with joy. I had always wanted a dog! (Even though it was a robot, I honestly couldn’t tell the difference.) I begged my parents to help me turn it on, and when they did, my happiness slipped away. It didn’t turn on. It just sat there glitching, while I sat there crying. My parents took the dog into our closet, never to be seen again. Or at least that’s how I wish it went.

Because of those events, my family and I became cat people!!! We got five (alive) cats named Marmalade, Marble, Salty, BB, and Jinky. One day after I had come home from school, I realized I forgot to check on the cats. I raced up the stairs and into our cat room. I pushed by the doorway to count my cats.

“Okay, there’s Marbles’s here so is Jinky, BB, and Salty. Great, all four,” I said. Then, I stopped. “Don’t I have five cats.” I looked around. “Marmalade? Marmalade, where are you?”

I looked around my whole house, but there was no Marmalade.

Suddenly, I heard beeping behind me, while I was checking my parents’ bedroom. I spun around quickly, but there was nothing there. Over the next couple days, I did everything to find Marmalade, from missing posters to screaming “Marmalade” everywhere I went, which got me a lot of weird looks because most people thought I was screaming for jam. But things got weirder. Every other day, a cat would go missing, bringing more posters and more pain and more of those weird beeping sounds.

***

On the last day, I raced home from school. Only one cat was left, Jinky, my favorite. I ran up stairs as fast as one could, and I pulled the cat door open. It was empty. Jinky was gone. My heart froze. This can’t be happening. Then suddenly, I started to hear the beeping noise getting louder and louder, interrupting me from my thoughts. I looked to both of my sides, What is that?

“Jinky, is that you?” I asked.

Then I saw it. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. Our closet was open. I slowly turned around, and there was my robo dog… very much alive.


The Psychic

The psychic lived in an old house on the end of a deserted street. Her house was 200 years old and was situated on a volcano. She never left her house, and she only drank herbal tea. She believed that drinking herbal tea would make her live longer, so she drank 20 cups of it a day.

After the death of her husband, Mike, she had gotten 60 hamsters to console her and to keep her company. Many people who lived in the village below her thought she was weird, but at least she had three patients that came to see her every day. Jen, Madeleine, and Lola had been her best friends and patients since the age of five, and they spent all of their free time together.

On the psychic’s birthday, a beautiful, sunny day in November, the three patients decided to plan a party for the psychic. They were going to bring her on a hike to the top of the volcano for a beautiful picnic. Once the psychic found out about their plan, she was furious they had planned something for her. She had always spent her birthdays with her 60 hamsters and 40 cups of herbal tea. This was the one time she had to be alone with her prized possessions and not with her friends that literally spent every hour of the day with her. She couldn’t go up to her best friends and only patients and tell them that she didn’t want to go to her party, so instead she just kept her mouth shut.

At the top of the volcano, after two tortuous hours of loud screaming and singing had gone by, the psychic said to her patients, “Ladies, ladies, listen up. I am very grateful that you have planned all of this for me, but something doesn’t feel right… We should go back. I am getting a vision of my hamsters drinking all of my herbal tea.”

“Nonsense!!” Jen said. “This is our chance to do something nice for you. Forget about your tea and your hamsters for once.”

“Please,” she begged. “Oh wait,” she said, “I also just remembered today is the day of the month when I must clean the hamsters’ cage. I have to get back immediately!”

“Come on, Nadia,” Madeleine said, “stop making excuses.”

“But I’m not making excuses.”

“You need to spend some time away from that old, smelly house of yours. You barely go outside. You only drink herbal tea, and you wonder why people think you’re weird.”

Nadia just stood there shocked. No one had ever dared to insult her love for her tea. Her friends had just crossed a line. That was it. Nadia had finally lost her temper. Her face became as red as a tomato and her eyes as dark as the night. She was determined to save the loves of her life!

All of a sudden, clouds came out of nowhere and covered the sun, leaving the sky gloomy and gray. The three girls felt a rumbling beneath their feet, and a giant cloud of smoke rose from the peak of the volcano. This massive gust of wind threw them off of their feet. As they stood up, they found Nadia facing them with explosions of lava surrounding her.

As she spoke, her voice cracked at the beginning of every sentence, and her voice had become much deeper.

She grabbed her least favorite patient, Jen, by the arm and said, “Jen, in your future I see you dying by being thrown off the side of a volcano.”

She picked her up and threw her into the magma. Next, she reached for her patient Madeleine and gave her the same fate as Jen. As she went to grab her last patient, Lola, she felt the ground beneath her rumble, and before she could take another step, the rock she was stepping on had broken into millions of pieces, and she was falling into the volcano. The last thought that crossed her mind as she was getting closer to the end of her life was a vision of her hamsters drinking her herbal tea.


Taking out the Garbage

I yawn and look up at the pool blue ceiling, and then it hits me. No! Today’s the day. The day that I have to take out the garbage. I love garbage. I collect garbage, and I’ve been saving all the garbage I love most! For example, my rainbow tin can with a crab on it that’s from Mexico or my collection of Disney plastic bags. But my mami said that today the garbage is going in the garbage.

I roll over in my bed and cover my head with my fluffy pink blanket my abuela gave me when she visited.

“Nya, get up. It’s the day for you to take all the garbage out,” my mom says with glee.

“No, I won’t,” I grumble. “And for the last time, it’s not garbage. It’s my treasure!”

“Nya, for the last time, you have to take the garbage out, so you can collect more. Wouldn’t it be nice to have new fresh garbage?” my mami says, making an excellent point.

“Yes, yes it would, but this is my precious garbage. How can I just give it away like… trash?” I say.

“Nya Solone Rodrigues, get down here this instant. Or I’ll burn it, and you know I will,” my mami says with satisfaction.

“Fine,” I say and hop up on my too-hard bed and trudge very slowly down the stairs. I’ll do what she wants, but I won’t do it fast. When I get downstairs, my mami has a wide smile on her face and a huge garbage bag in her hand.

I grab the garbage bag and give her my best stink eye. I walk out the door with my mom trailing closely behind, to make sure I don’t hide the bag somewhere and use a decoy like I did last time on garbage day. I walk up to the garbage bag and kiss my garbage knowing this is one of the last times I ever will. My mami opens the blue lid, and without looking, I slowly lift my garbage bag up and kiss it one last time and sling it in.

I immediately start crying. I blubber like a baby as I say, “It’s my garbage.”

My mami, now with sympathy in her eyes, says, “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you know this is the only way.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”

My mami says, “At least you’ll have your memories.”

I exclaim with delight, “You’re right. I’m gonna go make a poem!”

And I write this:

I Remember

A poem by Nya

I remember my lucky rainbow lobster can from Mexico.

I remember the gum wrapper I found on the ground in the shopping mall.

I remember the hippie headband I found soaking wet down at the beach.

I remember the toilet roll I found at the Macy’s department store bathroom.

I remember the little fancy hand napkins I also found at the Macy’s department store bathroom.

I remember the doll head I found in my cousin’s backyard.

I remember how the doll was missing a tooth and had blood all over its head.

I remember my sister’s first pineapple rind.

I remember the tooth I found in the sandbox.

I remember the plastic bottle I found with Dora all over it.

I remember the Elsa and Anna chicken noodle soup can.

Oh trash, oh trash it doesn’t matter if you’re here or in the garbage can. I will always always remember you.


Pencil Sharpener Dream Dilemma

Part One:

“Guess what!” Kevun exclaimed.

“What?” his sister Patricia said.

“Last night I had a dream that a pencil sharpener was trying to kill me!” Kevun said.

“For Christ’s sake, Kevun, why do you keep having such horrible dreams?” asked Patricia.

Kevun thought for a moment. “Maybe… it was because this kid. He’s a big bad bully, and his name is Dylun. He threatened me yesterday that he was going to kill me with a pencil sharpener!”

“I wonder how he thought he was going to kill you with a freaking pencil sharpener?!” said Patricia.

At breakfast, Kevun decided that he was going to ask Dylun how he had planned to kill him with a damn pencil sharpener. Kevun left for school earlier than usual because he knew that Dylun always loved to play basketball before school started.

So, when Kevun met up with Dylun, Kevun asked, “Remember yesterday how you said that you were going to kill me with a pencil sharpener.”

“Yeah, I still will kill you with that,” Dylun said as he made a 3-pointer.

“So, how do you plan to kill me?”

“Why would I tell you that?” said Dylun as he laughed.

Kevun raged with anger! Kevun was actually pretty strong. “Yo, you want to fight?!” Kevun shouted.

“Oh yeah, game on,” Dylun challenged back.

Kevun and Dylun had never been friends. They were always arguing and fighting, and Dylun had always bullied Kevun. They were both pretty even when they fought, but finally Dylun slipped, and Kevun grabbed a hold of his neck.

“Aha, gotcha.”

“Get me out of this.” Dylun barely could get those words out.

“Tell me how you intended to kill me with that pencil sharpener, and I’ll let you go,” Kevun demanded.

“Okay fine, I intended to use the sharp part of it to cut your neck and yeah, okay, now let me go!” Dylun yelled.

“Thanks.” Kevun scrambled away and ran straight to Mr. Littleton’s office (the principal) to tell him what Dylun had planned on doing. Back in the gym, Dylun was recovering from being choked…


Part Two:

In the end, both of the boys’ parents were called over to the school immediately. They had agreed that Kevun would get an after school detention, and Dylun would get two weeks suspension, during which he had to go to the hospital for mental help, and after that he would get an after school detention too. After all the punishments were over, things still weren’t that great between the two. Disputes were common between the two. One day, Dylun woke up and told his parents that he had a dream about a pencil killing him.

He explained to his parents what happened in the dream and then said, “Wait a moment, I know why I had this dream. The other day this kid Kevun threatened to kill me with a pencil.”

Dylun was lying of course, for Kevun would never do such a thing. Dylun ran off to school with his parents chasing after him. He was no match for his parents. So, when Dylun came to school, he acted as if it was a normal school day. He did this so when his parents called up the school, the school would say that he is acting perfectly normal, and that is exactly what happened. When school was over, Dylun saw that Kevun was standing alone waiting for his friend. Dylun ran up to Kevun and jumped onto and over Kevun’s shoulders. This totally caught Kevun by surprise. Immediately, Dylun engaged with Kevun, and quickly they were fiercely fighting each other.

Soon enough, a crowd had gathered around and was chanting, “FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!”

Even one kid started Instagram live-ing the scene. At the end, bystanders from the street broke up the fight and called up the school. It was talked over and agreed upon that Dylun would be expelled from the school, and Kevun would get a suspension. Kevun’s parents had decided that this wasn’t the right school for him and that he would go to a new school. In Kevun’s new school, he felt safer and had already made new friends. Kevun was still beaten up with scars from yesterday’s fight.


The Power Within (Part One)

One day in the middle of February, my dad, a genius scientist acknowledged by everyone across the world, made a machine to stop his fear because late at night he sees ghosts. These ghosts look like everyday people, but they have reflective, transparent skin and draped clothes that make them look creepy. So after making this machine, he loses his fear of ghosts, but it doesn’t work at the time. But two days later during the solar eclipse, I am skateboarding near the machine, when all of a sudden I am flying with my skateboard. And me being educated about my dad’s study of science, I assume since my dad’s invention is sun powered, it might have been the solar eclipse that caused me to have ghost-like powers. But maybe the gap between ghosts and humans is too great. But at the moment, I feel above everyone. I feel the breeze in the air and see the sun emerge from the solar eclipse. But wait, does that mean that I might fall? So I then go home with my flying abilities, and in addition, I learn I can fly without the skateboard. I make it home just in time to see the solar eclipse end. During dinner, I ask my dad if it is possible to fly.

He says, “Son, if you want to fly, we can make you a jetpack. If you want to soar, we’ll make you a hoverboard. Whatever you want.” As a side note, he says, “Kids these days and their crazy ideas.”

Then I go to sleep, confused on what I should do for the next day.

0800 Hours (Eastern Standard Time)

The Awakening

I wake up, and it’s five minutes till school. If I’m late, my dad said he wouldn’t get me my new isotopes, so I use my machinery to get on my clothes, brush my teeth, and stuff like that. Then with my new powers, I zoom off to school just in time to make it. I feel numb from the tingling and coldness of my special machine. Now it’s one minute. I use my hoverboard to zoom to school and make it with seconds to spare and dash into my seat. The teacher then starts her occasional speech about polynomials, and in my boredom I decide to doze off. When I wake up, the effect takes place immediately. When I wake up, someone throws a piece of chalk at my head, and inches away from my head it zooms back towards them. It shortstops a centimeter away from them, then drops to the floor. Everyone looks at me, and I realize I am a psychic. I get ready to call 911, then I decide to call my best friend Jelani, a kid who I went to school with. He is one of the greatest minds in psychology in the whole entire world. He tells me there is one person in the world that has had a case like mine. Dylan. I think, Wow, we were great friends in elementary school. I had heard that his parents partnered with my parents many, many times. I ask if I can see him, and they say that’s fine but try to keep it brief because he has been going through some emotionally challenging times. I walk into his room and see his room half sloppy on the gaming side and half clean on the nerd side of his room.

I say, “Wow, this looks really good,” and he responds by saying, “Well, when I game I feel free from the world,” which I totally get because I game only when I feel comfortable and when I can get into a proper mental state, like meditating but with more action.

I decide to use a calm approach to get him to talk about his powers, and I ask, “How cool would it be if we had our own powers like superheroes.”

And he responds by saying, “I don’t know. There’s bound to be some ups and downs of having superpowers.” I stare because of what he just said.

I see him thinking about how while playing around in his parents’ creativity ray, he earned the power to change reality as we know it.

I then say, “Your power is really cool,” and he responds with, “Are you really Jayden Tolliver?”

I tell him about how he stuck up for me. Then, I tell him about my powers. He tells me that he can’t change anything that might affect me, like making my parents the second smartest people in the world. I then tell him about how I gained my powers and how I found out he actually had powers.

The Agreement (00:00 hours)

At midnight, we agree to discuss our new powers since his mom thinks he is going through puberty, so we think his parents might think we are acting crazy. So we decide we would play one of our favorite games together and use our private chat to discuss what we would do henceforth.

Then around the middle, I find out from Jelani that my friend Noah also has a new ability, and I am laughing at that, so I just have to say to Dylan, “And so the plot thickens… ”

The plot thickens…

I get to my house where my secret hideout is located. I tell him no one in the world knows where it is, and we start to walk in the house. It is then I notice the door is unlocked, and the case that holds the spare key is gone. We walk into the house to find it ransacked. Luckily, my door’s special lock is still engaged. Then we notice the note. It says, If you want your parents back, you will have to give us your ability. Then I realize the only way they could have known all this. Jelani betrayed me. He is the only person alive who knows this fact besides Noah, who was with me the whole time.

To be continued…


Danger in Life and Death

D

SCENE ONE

EXT. LANERCOST BRIDGE – FUTURE- DAY

The camera focuses on a lady (Ivy), arms outstretched, holding onto a support beam. She’s high up in the air and on the outer edge of the bridge. She looks around 17 years old, and she’s crying. Looking down at the water that is at least 200 feet below her. The currents are strong. Car horns honk in alarm and warning behind her. All sound around her fades except for her heartbeat.

HADLEY (V.O.)

We can jump together Ivy. It’ll be so real. All the pain you’ve gone through, all of the suffering, it’ll disappear. It’ll subside. All you have to do is…

Ivy’s head snaps up from the water as a man in a black leather jacket and long hanging dark hair comes climbing towards her cautiously but fast. He’s yelling at her to stop, to not jump. Ivy looks back to the water, tears still streaming down her face.

HADLEY (V.O.)

You can do it, Ivy! We can do it. You just have to trust me.

Ivy slowly loosens her grip on the support beam.

HADLEY (V.O.)

Your family doesn’t love you. No one understands you like I do. We can be together in peace and harmony once you jump.

Ivy shakes her head

IVY

But, I’ll die.

HADLEY (V.O.)

But is death really punishment when life was hell on Earth?

Ivy finally looks up at the skyline stretched out on both ends of the bridge, closing in together on the horizon. The view is beautiful. She opens her arms and closes her eyes shut tight, releasing the beam, the man is still climbing towards her. She stands still for a moment, but then gravity gets the best of the situation. One last tear falls down Ivy’s cheek, and then she’s falling.

The wind whipping her face, the tears stinging her eyes. But Ivy… her face has no regret whatsoever. She’s ready for death. But then, suddenly, she’s suspended in air. She looks up at what has held her back, and the man is holding her up. He saved her. She looks up at him.

The Man

We can’t let you die. Not just yet, anyways.

SCENE TWO – One month earlier

Ivy pushes the door to her room open. Sleep is still lingering on her face. It’s late at night, but she must have woken up from one of those nightmares she keeps having. She shuffles down the long carpeted hallway and drags herself by a closed door, only stopping there for a second. Listening. There is a shuffling sound behind the door but Ivy walks on to go down the stairs.

On the other side of the door, a woman stands hunched over a desk. We can’t see her face, but she’s sad. You can tell from everything about her. From the way she holds herself to the way a tear drops onto the wooden desk. A picture frame shows the picture of a man, a women, and Ivy. It’s the family. She’s about to pick it up when the phone rings in the room. She walks over towards it and hesitates a second as she looks at the unknown caller id, but then picks it up. Cradling it next to her face.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Someone on the other end begins to speak

“Hi, I was a friend of David’s. I think you might need my help.”

“With what may I ask?”

A quizzical look crosses her face, and then understanding, and then disbelief. Before the man can speak, she cuts in.

“Wait, are you Walter?”

“Yes that’s me.”

“Oh, David talked about you quite a bit.”

“Yes, we were co-workers.”

She waits for a second before answering.

“Do you want to come over sometime, we can talk then.”

“Oh, so you know why I’m calling.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to have this conversation now. I can’t help but feel that this is not the right time or place.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it too soon? I understand if you’d like to mourn for a bit longer before we have this conversation.”

She looks startled. But then shakes her head.

“No, I just don’t think that our conversation is only being heard between us two right now.”

“I see. Then, in that case, I feel no need to continue if I’ll see you sometime soon.”

“Yes, what about noon on saturday. I should be free then?”

“Okay. Goodbye. I have to go now. See you then.”

“Bye now.”

She hangs up and fumbles to put the phone back on its stand before rushing toward the door. She swings it open suddenly and looks both ways down the hallway. As if she’s searching for someone. She relaxes for a split second before a sound of something clattering comes from downstairs. She rushes down the stairs and into the kitchen only to see Ivy picking up a spoon from the floor. She’s standing on the other side of the island. The woman puts on a smile, and Ivy returns it.

“Hello Ivy. Why are you up at this time?”

Ivy tilts the milk carton in her hand over a mug on the counter and lets the milk pour into the cup.

“Nightmare, again.”

“Oh, I told you how to get rid of those.” The woman nods with disapproval.

“Yes, I know.” Ivy stops pouring the milk and closes the cap on the carton.

“Once your done, you’ll go back to sleep? The milk should help.”

“Probably.” Ivy thinks for a second while she turns to put the milk in the fridge. “What were you doing in dad’s room, mom? I thought you never go in there.”

The mom’s face is tense. She frowns slightly. But then looks at Ivy and smiles.

“Oh, nothing, just a business call.”

“This late?” Ivy questions, grabbing her mug in both of her hands as if she were cradling a cup of hot cocoa on a cold winter day.

“Yes, this late.” The mother states matter of factly. “Now, I’m going to bed. Make sure you get some rest.”

“Okay.”

The mom slowly climbs up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Ivy.”

And she disappears upstairs, Ivy sips from her cup just as an alert dings on her phone face down beside her on the counter. She puts down the milk and grabs her phone. As she reads whatever it is that she got, she smiles. Then, without even letting her mother know, she grabs her coat and shoves on her shoes and creeps out the front door with her phone in hand. The cold mid-night wind whips against Ivy’s face so she tries to keep her head down. Across the street, houses identical to hers are shown in a nice row. She takes a left off of her front lawn and hurries down the street. Upon arriving to the next corner, she takes another left to reveal a busy avenue. People bustle about and car horns honk. But she isn’t out there long because about two or three doors in, she turns and enters a diner. It’s quiet inside, music playing through old speakers in the ceiling. Only a few people are inside talking amongst themselves. She walks up to the bar and sits beside a boy who’s slumped over his phone. A hat over his head. She taps his shoulder.

“Hey,” Ivy says, almost in a whisper.

The boy looks up. He’s maybe 15-16 and some sort of mustache is already forming on his upper lip. When he smiles, wrinkles form around his eyes.

“Hey, Ivy!” he says.

She takes off her coat and puts it next to her.

“So, what’s the emergency?” she says casually.

“Oh, nothing really. I just couldn’t sleep,” he stutters. Ivy looks at him quizzically.

“Me neither, but I know that’s not it. What’s up?” she pushes.

The boy sighs, but looks around before starting to talk. For the first time, he looks really scared.

“Something happened last night, Ivy. And I really just don’t know what to do.”

“What?” Ivy asks. Her eyes lighting up in curiosity.

“This man, he showed up at my doorstep. He rang the bell but no one answered because we were all asleep. My sister was out at a party and my parents were away.”

“So, it was just you?”

He nods.

“So what happened?”

“I swear, I don’t know this guy. I never gave him a key or anything. But he got in my house and woke me up.”

“What?” Ivy screams.

“Keep it down, Ivy,” the boy hisses.

Ivy ducks her head and continues in a yell/whisper.

“But that’s breaking and entering. Do you know how scary that is? You’re lucky you’re still alive. Do you want me to call my mom, file a police report?” she hisses right back.

“Yes, yes. I know. But I think you’ll want to know what he said to me right after that.” He takes a big breath. Inhale, exhale. “He said I had to bring him to Ivy Dun. He said he’d kill my family and anyone I care about just to get to you. He said I’d better cooperate, it’s your life or my family’s. And he looked like he meant it. That’s what scares me.”

Ivy frowns, in deep thought.

“Do you remember what he looks like, Logan?”

Logan shakes his head no. But then he says something more.

“He said his name was José. Does that spark anything? Any memory, anything?”

“No, why?” Ivy asks.

“Well, he said that you once knew a José. You never paid much attention to him, but you knew him. And now he intends on getting back into your life because it’s life or death.”

“No, I don’t know a José.”

“You sure?”

Yes! I’m sure.” Ivy is back to whisper/yelling again. But calms down after taking a deep breath. “So, what are you going to do?”

Logan gives her a sad and knowing look.

“Ivy.” He’s trying to reason with her. Make her see his way. “You know I love you, but it’s family over anything. I need them. I can’t put them in any danger.”

“And you think that this whole situation is doing exactly that don’t you?” Ivy says, finally understanding with a sad look on her face. And even a hint of betrayal.

“I have to tell him everything I know about you,” he says. “There’s nothing else I can do.” He sighs.

“There’s always another way.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “Not one that won’t put anyone in danger.”

Just as Ivy is about to respond, her mom bursts through the diner door. A mad look on her face. She’s furious.

Ivy! You better give me a good explanation for why in the world you are up here at this time of night!” Everyone turns their heads towards the mom.

The owner who was previously behind the counter working with a waiter turns towards the mom.

“Oh! Mayor Dun! What a lovely surprise. No one expected to see you here at this time of night! Would you like something, on the house of course.” The owner says with fake delight.

Mayor Dun looks at the owner but doesn’t even acknowledge that he said something. She storms over to her daughter. Ivy looks at Logan with a worried expression.

“I’m sorry mom, it was urgent,” Ivy pleads.

“Urgent enough for you to not even let your mom know? You know what could’ve happened to you out here alone at this time of night?”

Ivy looks down in embarrassment. Everyone in the entire diner is watching the scene play out. It’s not every day that the mayor comes in and starts yelling at her daughter. Ivy’s mom focuses her attention at Logan who suddenly seems to have shrunk in his seat.

“And you, young man, you should know better than to even ask my daughter to come out at this time of night,” she says

“How’d you know he even asked me? How’d you know it wasn’t my idea?” Ivy intervenes.

“Well, was it?” Ivy’s mom huffs.

Ivy shakes her head no, slowly. And then her mom starts tugging her towards the door to leave.

“And shave that dirt off your lip too if you want to be seen in public with my daughter!” the mayor announces at Logan over her shoulder.

Logan absently rubs his little mustache just as Ivy and her mom leave.

The mayor drags her daughter down the street by her arm.

“Damn it, Ivy! I don’t even want to know what you were doing there. I just want an apology!”

“Sorry.” Lauren lets go of Ivy’s arm slowly and waits a second in silence.

“But it would be nice if you at least had one good reason.” The mom huffs. Ivy pauses.

“Well, I don’t, Lauren… I don’t.” She sighs.

“Either way, I never want to see you doing that again.” They’ve turned the corner now and are approaching their house again.

“I don’t know if you’ll have to,” Ivy whispers.

Lauren glances at her daughter but says nothing, she just digs in her pocket and retrieves her keys. Then she opens the door with the keys and steps into the house. The light is still on, the shoes next to the door are strewn around obviously because Lauren left in a rush. Hair rollers are in a little pile on the dining room table and a robe is hanging over a chair.

“The things I do for you Ivy, the things I do… ” Lauren says to herself and then slowly walks up the stairs. Leaving a tired-looking Ivy standing in front of the door. Ivy turns around to close the door but sees a dark figure rushing behind her house to the left when she does.

“What?” Ivy says, startled.

She rushes out the door and turns on her lawn to get a better look around to the back of her house. She sees nothing but the small downwards hill of a backyard behind her house. Yet, she still squints her eyes and cranes her neck to stare into the darkness. After a long moment, she gives up and walks back into the house. Shutting the door behind her and locking it. After slipping off her shoes, she walks upstairs and goes into her bedroom. Not even caring that she never even changed out of her now dirty pajamas, she hops into the bed and pulls the covers all the way up to her chin. She stares at the ceiling for a while. It’s then that she hears someone ring on her doorbell downstairs. She makes to get out of bed until she hears her mother opening and closing her bedroom door in the next room. She hears the sounds of footsteps shuffling down the stairs and her mother opening the door. The conversation is heard in muffled tones from downstairs.

“Hello. And just who are you?” Lauren says.

A man’s voice is heard.

“Greetings, my name is José and I have a few questions for you.”

Ivy’s eyes widen in her bed.

Scene Out

Bad American Food

There was once a diner on the highway. It was small and dinky, but charming in that old time sense. It invoked a 50’s style aesthetic, with a shiny metallic roof and dim neon signs announcing to the world that it is, in fact, open. The food was bad, no doubt about it. But the people were nice, and the music wasn’t too intrusive, and anyway no one would stay here for very long. After all, it was on the highway. The owner, Johnny Smith, would always say he was gonna start up a new place, up on the 88. He never did though. Barely had enough to scrap this place together, he’d always reasoned.

There once was a Chinese restaurant, in a city far away from the highway. It was never successful, but it made enough to stay afloat. With a red awning covered with yellow Chinese characters, and English ones underneath, it did little to separate itself from anyone else in Chinatown. The food wasn’t particularly special here either, but no one could really tell. After all, did Americans really understand Chinese food? It was named Wang’s, but the owner was named Luo Jinping. He’d always say that a Chinese restaurant needed to be pronounceable by Americans to be successful. Some days, he would look across the street from his home above the restaurant and gaze out at the masses of people crowding the sidewalk, and he’d pray that at least one of them would find him.

There was once a pizza place, deep in suburbia. It was called “Empire Pizza,” and its gimmick was that it was vaguely modeled after the Empire State Building. Inside were all sorts of New York inspired props and scenery. The kids loved it. Day after day they poured in, ordering pizza, ice cream, pasta, meatballs, and Empire’s signature “Deluxe 5th Avenue Sundae Supreme.” The food itself was, of course, nothing to write home about. Parents only came here because how else would they get their kids to shut up about it? The owner, Jim Evans, liked to greet customers on weekends. Every time he saw a parent and their children walk in, he felt a little pang of regret in his heart.

There once was a wildly successful fast food chain, which sold overcooked burgers and obscenely salty French fries. They were called Sally’s Fries, and their mascot was a little blond girl holding a spatula. Sally was the founder’s daughter. Allegedly, she had made those very first fries all on her own, and her daddy made a business out of selling them. Of course, Sally never did make those fries, and she always resented her father for making her into a marketing tool. Though she objected countless times, her face eventually became a very lucrative one. Her father always regretted estranging her, but hey, at least he made some money off of it.

I was once very hungry, so I searched for restaurants on Google Maps. On the highway was a small diner, in the city was a Chinese place, in the suburbs was a pizzeria, and in two places near me was a fast food outlet.

But they all were below four stars, so I passed and opened Seamless instead.


The Infection (Excerpt)

Chapter Eleven

I jolt out of sleep and am met by a wave of relief. So it WAS just a dream! That kind of dream drains me emphatically. Wow, I’m thirsty. I get out of bed to get a drink of water. As I go out, I stub my big toe on the doorway. I yell several words that my mother would not approve of, and I stumble out the door. I faceplant on the floor.

I limp towards the bathroom, or at least, the direction I imagine the bathroom to be.

… And I run smack into a wall.

Yeah, of course I do.

Why? Because the bathroom door is no longer present. Just to piss me off, life gives me a dream-inside-a-dream. They’re the most tiring kind. The relief just fades so fast, especially with bad dreams.

I lumber back over to my bed, hoping it might go away. What better place for a dream to end than in a bed? You never know when you might have just been hallucinating and you’ll wake up in the warm morning.

I come into contact with another wall. Well, there goes that.

What’s eery is that this environment is exactly the same as my last dream. It’s like the dream is repeating itself in some horrible, tormenting way. And I just won’t wake up.

So, I begin to walk through the hall, longer than ever, simply because it’s the only way out. And the mesmerizing pattern, again and again and again. It’s even more frustrating because it’s not even the carpet I remember from our apartment. Then again, what about this torturous dream isn’t frustrating?

I just want to get it over with, but my brain won’t comply with that demand. No matter how far I walk, I don’t seem to get anywhere. My feet get sore, my eyes get heavy, and I feel like I’m about to collapse. Just as I’m about to actually do so, something changes. Nothing becomes visually different, but my feelings of boredom and drowsiness change to fear and panic.

I turn instinctively, feeling as if retreat might at least let me end this nightmare where my “home” was. But it’s pitch black behind me, and creeping tendrils of darkness extend from the shadows that chase me.

I run.

I try to calm myself, to no avail, by whispering to myself in my head. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. But I was definitely failing to convince myself, because all I could think of was being consumed by whatever (I thought) was chasing me.

In my frightened panic, I make a mistake. I turn around to look behind me, as if something was there. And something was there. The darkness had begun to form into something, malevolent and embraced in the darkness of the shadowy hall. This time, I got a glimpse of what it might have been.

Its eyes glow white with the empty void of death. I don’t know how, but the shining light that threatened to end my existence reeked of torture and the screams of its victims. Its shape is veiled, but I can feel the very aura of its destructive potential emanating from its wraithlike black form.

I try to escape as best I can, but like before, the hallway begins to come to an end. A door stands there, but I have no time to look at it, because I’m already through it. The room is empty, and the door is no match for the creeping entity. As it bursts through, the shadows are upon me.

The tentacles of dark matter begin to crush the life out of me. I start to cough up blood as I run out of air. I know it’s just a dream, but the pain is somehow real. I can feel every razor-sharp blade of shadow pierce my flesh, every gasp of air get choked out of my body. And as I’m finally on the brink of death…

It stops.

The creature had faded into nothingness, leaving only a wisp of black smoke and the fragrance of rotting flesh.

The door has disappeared behind me, but it doesn’t matter to me. I wouldn’t make it either way. I stumble over to a tiny, box-shaped window — identical to the one in the first version of this nightmarish hallucination. At the foot of it is a dead body. It’s a terrifying revelation to figure out that it was my body. But I’m far too exhausted to care, too desperate to end this horrid experience. I gaze through the window as I had done before, in the hopes that it would end.

I see myself, once more, staring in shock as the light leaves me.

And that’s the last thing I see before my vision fades to black.


Secrets That Lie Beyond the Front Door

Chapter One

“Looks can be deceiving.”

I wipe my eyes as I close the door behind me. Walking down this uneven dirt road brings back memories of when she used to skip down a sunny road with the cherubic face of a child wedged in her arms. As I keep walking towards the yellow school bus, I think about the time when I refused to go on the bus without my mother right by my side. As I walk on the bus, the whispering automatically stops. I hear kids making fun of my clothing. The hand-me-downs I wear still smell of her perfume, Chanel Coco Mademoiselle. So many years later and these are the kind of memories that still haunt me. I don’t dare say a word to the “popular kids,” so I won’t end up on the floor of the schoolyard. Not that it would be any different from the floor in my bedroom.

It all started ten years ago, on Friday the thirteenth, the afternoon my mother died. I was eight years old when I heard the gunshots that caused my mother to lay on her deathbed. My “dad” wouldn’t even speak to me for the next week. When I asked him where to put all of mom’s clothes, he threw the glass he was drinking from at the wall nearest to my head. Even to this day, if I say the name Dana, he flinches.

This morning, I was sitting on the white plush chair in my room asking my dad if I could wear mom’s dress for my eighteenth birthday. He slid the chair from under me which made me land on the somewhat fluffy rug. The next thing I knew, I had a black and blue mark on my forehead when I heard the school bus halt to a stop.

Eventually, lunchtime came, and I texted Syd and told her to come to the library (our daily meeting spot). I opened my pale purple JanSport backpack and took out my book. As I was opening to page 134, Syd walked in saying, “How surprising, Laila has her head stuck in a book.”

“Shhhhh. I am in the middle of someone getting saved from drowning.”

I took out my PB&J from my sparkly purple, black, and blue lunch bag. As she sat down, she pulled out a white and blue striped box saying happy birthday in pink letters.

“Thanks,” I said, as I pushed the gift box to the side to make more room for my book.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“In a second. The girl just got saved by her prince charming (cliche), but she is still unconscious.”

“Still waiting.”

“Fine.”

As I was opening the gift, I saw black and rose gold pieces of clothing peek out of the box. First, I took out two rose gold rompers with the shoulders cut out. Then, I took out a black dress with a halter at the top.

”I wanted to ask you what happened to your forehead.”

“Oh, that. Um, I was hit with a softball… ”

“You don’t even play softball.”

“You know… um… the bus gets crazy sometimes.”

Okayyy. Anyways, I wanted to take you to a movie for your birthday.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Five sharp. I’ll meet you outside the AMC on 109th street. Okay?”

“See you then.”

The bell rings…

In break, on the phone.

“Hey, Dad. I’m going to study in the library after school.”

“You need to be home by eight and no later, or you’re going to regret it.”

“K. Bye.”

Hangs up the phone…

I’m not going to get caught. It’s fine. I’m totally fine.

After school…

“Hey. Do you want to eat something quick before the movie?”

“Sure. We have a lot of time on our hands.”

“What? Why?”

“I forgot to buy the second ticket. Then, the tickets sold out. So… now we are going at 7:30 instead of 6.”

“Okay. I don’t think that’s a problem.”

A few hours later…

“So what movie are we going to see”

“It’s called, Life Is Like Riding a Bike on Fire.

“What is it about?”

“It’s about this girl that has this crush, and he doesn’t treat her right, so she breaks up with him. Kind of a cliche, but I heard it’s good. Let’s go in. It’s going to start any minute.”

Entering the room…

“Oh my gosh. WHO IS THAT.”

“Who?”

“The guy next to my seat.”

“Oh. That’s Michael from our school. He’s in our grade. He’s just not in any of our classes. He’s one of my brother’s best friends. He’s like a brother to me.”

We sit down…

“Hey, I’m Laila.”

“I’m Michael. I’ve seen you around school.”

“So… did you come here with anyone.”

“No. My friends ditched me. Hey, Squid.”

“Haha. Very funny, Michelle.”

I almost forgot that Syd was next to me. It was like it was just me and him in this moment.

“Ahem. Look I know you guys are vibing, but I’m here too.”

I didn’t even hear Syd. I was just focused on his perfectly shaped, tan face. His deep blue eyes pierced into my skull. Is it bad that I was just staring at his lips. Oh my gosh. I totally forgot I was supposed to be at home right now. Have you ever felt like your heart was melting all because of someone’s gaze.

“I could kiss him right now.”

Oh my gosh. I said that out loud to his face. I just got to keep my cool. I can tell he likes confidence. All he did was smirk. He knew I said that by accident.

“I have to go now. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

I was liking this new confidence of mine. Maybe a new wardrobe would suit this new attitude. After all, I did have enough money from the job I worked at in the mall.

“Come on, Syd. Let’s go.”

I gave Michael a shy smile to go.

“Hey. I need to tell you something,” said Syd.

“Yeah?”

“Please stop crushing on Michael. He’ll just break your heart, and he’s like a brother to me, so it’s really weird. K?

“I’ll try.”

“Is that a promise.”

“Promise.”


A Mother Knows Best

“What about George National High School?” asked my mom. I immediately felt my chest tighten. You had to take an admissions test and have a perfect GPA to get into George National High School. And I didn’t have the best GPA. It had its flaws, but I knew very well that I couldn’t disagree with my mother, so I had to put George National High School as one of my options. “Love, why don’t you say what you think about it? I’m just suggesting a school.”

“I don’t want to go to that school, but I don’t know why I would say that because you never take into consideration anything that I say,” I answered.

Mother ignored me and kept flipping through the big, fat book that named all the high schools that my social studies teacher gave me at the beginning of the eighth grade year. I left Mom alone in the living room and headed to my bedroom. I grabbed my laptop from my nightstand and opened it to the application page. The application started in two days, so I still had time to pick the last two schools that I needed for the list, without Mother’s “suggestions” or “recommendations.” Mother had other visions for my future: she wanted me to go to a boarding school or a private school, then have a career that was in the science or medical field. I, on the other hand, had plans to go to a good high school that was in the city and then… just let fate make my choice. Of course, I couldn’t tell this to my mother. She would argue with me and say she knew what was best for my future. But that fact was counterfeit. How could she know what was best when I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my future?

“Dalilia?” asked Mother. I immediately closed my laptop and opened up the nearest book. “Where are you?”

“Ma, I’m in my room,” I yelled back. A few minutes later, my mother entered my room with a cup of milk and tea in her hand.

“Would you look at that… you’re back to reading,” said Mother.

“What do you mean? I always read.”

“Yeah, but you are doing it because you want to, not because I told you to… ”

“Alright… ”Another lie, but I didn’t want to argue with her. Mother had seen me read in the cafe right next to my school many times before. I kept reading while my mom placed the milk and tea on my nightstand, on top of my history notebook. Right on top of it. I felt like she forgot that tea is liquid, and the notebook had my notes for my history final.

“So, what are you reading?” she asked, tentatively.

Call Me By Your Name by — ”

“Andre Aciman,” she finished.

“Yup, that’s the one… ”

“Dalilia, you are always reading that book! Try being more diverse… ”

“I really like the book — ” I stopped myself before my mother could give me the death stare. “I will, Ma. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Try Milk and Honey,” she responded, then left my bedroom. That conversation was so unnecessary, but now I had a book recommendation. I went back to the application website and saw that some high schools allowed you to apply early. I looked at the screen and contemplated the choice I was about to make. I had always been a good child and taken my mother’s recommendations, but now something was making me rebel against my mother. I trembled as I clicked the blue apply button next to my top four choices and then watched the computer load and accept my selections. I immediately felt a wave of catharsis and sent a text informing my counselor.

Dalilia, you know your first choice was Dule Jet High School, right? she texted back.

I told her yes and the reason why I picked the school (for the puppy shelter after school program). She then sent me a picture of the school’s graduation percentage rate and the safety rate. Only 34 percent of the students had graduated in four years, and only six percent of the students felt safe in the school. This meant that the high school’s seats were not filled, and I suddenly experienced a rush of stress as I realized that it was official: I would definitely be going to this school. I threw my head face-down onto the pillow and screamed into it: College was never going to happen now. My counselor called me right in the middle of my breakdown.

“Dalilia, you might not get into the high school, maybe… ” she said. It was clear that she was trying to find a scenario in which I wouldn’t be accepted into the school, and it was also clear that she couldn’t find one. A huge sob came out of my mouth. “W-Wait, um. You could always apply to a boarding school or a private school. I believe you are smart enough to get into one… ”

I stopped crying for a good second. If I did apply for a boarding or private school, then I would have to tell my mom that I needed to take a test to be accepted. A test that I hadn’t studied for because I didn’t have time, and I’d wanted to rebel and — and — and… I broke down again.

“Ms. Sar, I’m going to have to tell my mom,” I said, between sobs. Ms. Sar stayed quiet as she listened to me weep.

“Our mothers tell us what to do for a reason, Dalilia. It’s because at the end of the day, they want us to become someone who is respected and valued. Even if your mom annoys you and punishes you, she does this so that you won’t make mistakes that affect you in the future. A mother knows best, so right now you should go talk to her about this. It’s not good to be keeping lies from her.”

I thanked Ms. Sar and hung up. I headed to the bathroom, washed my face, and dried it. Knowing my mother, she would punish me or maybe even scream at me, but you couldn’t always assume the worst. I headed downstairs and found my mother sitting on the kitchen island on her laptop. She had her glasses on and her favorite coffee mug that I gave her for her work promotion gift. I sat next to my mother and took a deep sigh.

“Ma — ”

“I know, you don’t need to tell me.”

“Wait, what? You know about the high school — ”

“Yup, I keep tabs on your computer and your phone and your Netflix account.” Yeah, talk about privacy. “And I’m proud of you for being honest and coming to me to tell me about your naive choice.” Mother’s eyes were still on the laptop screen, and surprisingly she was being very nonchalant about this whole situation. I stayed quiet while she kept typing on her laptop.

“I plan on applying to a boarding school,” I quietly added. Mother had no reactions and kept typing on her laptop. A few seconds later, she stopped and took a sip of her coffee, then looked at her laptop again.

“Dalilia, I feel like you’re mature enough to make your own choices about your next steps, but right now I’m thinking about sending you to the church school that your uncle has recommended since you were in fourth grade,” Mother responded. I opened my mouth, but she kept on talking. “Don’t answer me right now. Why don’t you go and think about it — go outside and get some fresh air or something.” I really needed it, so I didn’t bother to argue with her.

As soon as I stepped outside, the smell of my neighbor’s Smeraldo flowers hit me. I hadn’t been outside for so long that I’d forgotten about the Smeraldo flower and the placid winds that made the chimes on my window move and tinkle. I remembered my neighbor telling me that the meaning of this flower was, “the truth untold.” Fun facts, huh. My mother coughed and interrupted my contemplative moment. I came rushing back to reality and thought of my mom, the woman who I respected most. I admired her yet abhorred her for making me abhor myself. I admired the fact that someone could be powerful enough to make someone else hate themselves: a power of hers that I both hated and revered.

I texted my Aunt Pam who was like another mother to me, but I never told this to my mom because I knew she would get jealous. Aunt Pam was in her 20’s and had her hair cut short last November because she strongly believed at the time that women who cut their hair wanted to change their life. She was still stuck in the 90s, since she wore mom jeans and a wide shirt with a finishing touch of a dark red matte lipstick. Personally, I loved this aesthetic look unlike my mother who thought that Aunt Pam needed to “wake up.”

Aunt Pam texted back, inviting me over since she heard about my choice. In the family, when you did something wrong, all your family members know about it, no matter where they were. I could call a family member who lived overseas, and they would know about my choice too. I headed over to Aunt’s Pam house, a couple blocks away. As soon as I entered her house, the smell of cinnamon rolls hit me, which brought memories of when I stayed over at hers when Mother was away.

“Oof — ” I said as I body tossed myself onto the couch. “I hope I don’t get food poisoning, don’t need any more problems.” Aunt Pam came out of nowhere, sat next to me, and kissed my forehead.

“Ha, you know you want them, but I don’t plan on giving them to you until you tell me what’s up,” she responded. I let out a stressed sigh as my response.

“I know that Ma is surely applying for the nearby boarding school, even though she said that I should go to that obtuse school all the way in Boston with a Nun. So, I guess that at the end of the day, she does design my future… ” The house was quiet, making it feel like even Aunt Pam was experiencing the same epiphany I was going through.

“That how it goes, boo. Your mother kept you in her stomach for nine months and had to grow through vomiting, urination, and other worse things — just to bring you into this world. She knows you the best, even though you claim to not know yourself… ” Aunt Pam stood up and headed back into the kitchen.

“So, Boston it is,” I responded. Aunt Pam nodded. That is how I made my decision. I didn’t have to think about it —

***

“Wait — so you made a choice to come here in a matter of seconds?

Dalilia nods and pats her roommate’s head. The roommate is a freshman and comes into the room, complaining that she could have thought twice before picking a horrible high school that her mother didn’t allow. It was sort of similar to Dalilia’s story, so she sat down at 5 am on a school night and told her freshman roommate the story as a way to console her. Plus, Dalilia also thought it was a great icebreaker.

“Well, I’m going to sleep,” said Dalilia. The freshman pouts and has a tiny tantrum. After the tantrum is over, the room stays silent. So silent that you can hear the birds talking to each other and the leaves fighting each other and if the sun could make a sound, you would hear it too. The freshman looks at her hands and lets out a tinkling giggle. “Hm?”

“By the way, how do you remember the story so vividly?”

Dalilia laughs and thinks for a moment. “Some things are just so important that it’s impossible to forget them.”

People say that they created mothers because God couldn’t be everywhere, but Dalilia didn’t believe this. However, that doesn’t mean that she forgot about it. Dalilia had finally decided to come to her senses when she graduated high school with honors in all classes and got into one of the best colleges in the country, thanks to her mother’s screaming when Dalilia wanted to give up, the tight hugs when girls were being rude, and the inspirational texts in the middle of the day. Since then, Dalilia figured out that she would always need her mother — no matter what age she was, no matter how mad she was at her.

The End


Ancient Eyes

I woke up in a hot sweat. I had heard it again! It was so clear this time, so profound a sensation, I knew it had to be coming from within the room. I bolted upright, shouting at the top of my lungs, “WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH MY BLOODY EYEBROWS, YA GREASY PIG!”

I sat quietly in my room awaiting an answer, when suddenly I heard a low creaking noise coming from the depths of my friend’s basement. My blood went cold as ice as I awaited the coming battle. I could hear heavy footsteps getting closer, closer, when suddenly out of the dark abyss, came a hairy, foul-smelling beast from beyond time!

“What’s the yelling about,” said my roommate Bob.

“Well, for one thing, you need to shower,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you,” said Bob.

“Yup,” I replied.

“You have to stop reading Lovecraft before bed,” Bob said with a hint of irritation in his voice.

“I know, I know. It just seems so real to me sometimes.”

“This is the ninth time this month,” Bob complained. “I haven’t gotten a full night’s rest in almost a fortnight.”

I glanced towards the clock. It was exactly 3:33 in the morning, the same time that I had woken up the past couple of weeks.

A pot of tea warmed on the stove as I sat with Bob and discussed how to resolve this problem of mine.

“You could see a therapist about it,” said Bob.

“That’s too expensive,” I replied.

“You could just stay away from anything having to do with the occult for now,” suggested Bob.

“NEVER!” I exclaimed. “And that’s final.”

“How about we just talk about it in the morning,” Bob tiredly replied.

I wandered back to my room in the basement, painfully aware of the cold, dark emptiness of it. I wandered to my bed and hugged my Cthulhu plush. I shut my eyes and tried to go to sleep. No sooner had I shut my eyes than I heard the voice again, so clear, so pungent and robust, and in that moment I knew what I had to do.

Not a bad look, I thought to myself after shaving them off. I had slashed them with such haste that my forehead now had many small wounds upon it (I was never especially good at shaving). Are you happy now, I thought. I heard a resounding, No. I panicked. I ran. I felt my thoughts being scattered across the infinite cosmos. I needed to go somewhere, somewhere where they couldn’t find me! I tripped, skidding across the smooth wood floor and slamming my head against the grand piano in the corner. I could feel myself scattering and flames forming around me and the piano. I looked up and saw nothing more than the great eyebrowed old one looking down on me in shame!

The End… Or is it

 

Disney Breaking Out (Part One)

          

Prologue: Before the Time

Holly ordered her sweet peppermint hot chocolate after waiting in the line for way too long. She settled down in her usual spot for the last ten years. The peaceful corner table with quiet music was what she loved about her special time in the cafe. If it were up to Holly, she would spend every moment at her magical reflecting table. Every memory, every moment of happiness, fear, and anger, led up to this one spot.
She began with how it started. In the beginning — she remembered.

 

Chapter One: The Journey to the True Kingdom

Holly and her parents had been preparing for their home-away-from-home journey for five weeks and counting. Holly packed her red with black polka dot duffle bag to the fullest. She arranged her bow shaped purse perfectly with her dearest belongings. She placed her sixteen stuffed animals against the leather backseat. She fluffed her pink and black skirt, perfected her bow, and hopped in the car next to her many stuffed siblings. Mrs. and Mr. Casco smiled at their daughter as she opened her fairy tale book at the start of driving.

“Ya ready?” Her mom, Daisy, smiled warmly. She too was dressed up, along with Mr. Casco. Christopher, Holly’s hardworking dad, put his honeycomb-shaped key into the car. And without another word, the bright red car with a Mickey and Minnie shape engraved in the windshield drove slowly out of the parking spot. I am sure you can tell the Cascos were huge Disney fans.

Holly didn’t mind the long trip to Disneyland. She, in fact, enjoyed it. She couldn’t wait to get there, though. She daydreamed about the rides and characters and hot cocoa. She loved the Matterhorn, the big, hairy monster with yellow, glowing eyes She remembered the story her dad told her when she was young and scared of him. The monster was Harold, and all of his growling was about the fact that he had no chocolate chip cookies. The story made Holly smile.

Next, she imagined the Nemo ride with the colorful coral and fish moving underwater. She remembered the story her mom had told her about being a “mermaid” and sitting on the rocks under the monorail. Back then, when she was a little girl, the managers of Disneyland had real women dress up as mermaids. Holly wished she could have been a mermaid. Holly, through her Minnie Mouse dress and twinkling brown-golden eyes, almost envied her mom for her childhood in Los Angeles.

Mrs. Casco barely talked about living by Disneyland. Disneyland had always been magical to Holly. How? She never knew how the magic worked. The sensation of lighting the Christmas tree at night and Mickey’s Halloween party made her breathless. Every single Halloween, Holly dressed up as Minnie. In fact, she had just stopped dressing up last year as the original Disney characters because a candy giver called her “sweetie.” Holly smiled at the funny explanation of her true age. She just loved Disney! There wasn’t another thought about it.

If it were up to her, Holly would stay six months at Disneyland. The Cascos were staying only sixteen days. Another reason why Holly brought sixteen of her many Minnies and Mickeys. She would bring one stuffed friend each day. She held her Hawaiian Minnie, Golf Mickey, Fishing Mickey, Christmas Minnie, Valentine’s Day Minnie, Easter Minnie, and Christmas Mickey closer, looking back at her other eight stuffed siblings. She made a list of whom she would bring in on what day in her Minnie notebook.

The car flew by the never-ending plains and farmland. Her dad stopped at a little fruit shed and got a carton of strawberries and other sustenance for the drive. Her brother grabbed several strawberries as if to say to Holly, “And this is for taking up the entire back seat with your stuffed animals!”

Tryvis was Holly’s older brother. He was squished up against the door of the car, and whenever the car turned and the animals slid, he would flick them away. Tryvis, unlike the rest of the family, was not a Disney fan. He smirked at Holly and shoved the juicy berries into his saliva-filled mouth. Holly tried to ignore him.

Tryvis wasn’t looking forward to the “short” trip. Sixteen days! Barely enough time to get everything done!

Why did the Cascos stay so long? Holly’s parents did a really good job at covering it up. Well, Mrs. Casco’s maiden name was Disney. Raymond Arnold Disney was her father.

Holly stretched her legs as she slipped out of the car, four hundred miles away from home. Tryvis whined impatiently as Holly grabbed her stuffed animals. He shut the door behind them. The bright moon shone, and Holly could swear she saw three Mickey Mouse-shaped craters. The Disneyland adventure had begun.

The three Disney fans and one annoyed brother opened the door to the private hotel. Holly jumped onto her bed and arranged her belongings in her room. The room had three Disney-themed bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. The balcony held exquisite views overlooking the Matterhorn and a couple other rides from three floors up. Holly watched the moon and stars shine down and illuminate the pleasant sight of several people here and there in nighttime Disneyland. The sight was amazing, and while Holly had seen it before, it never ceased to amaze her.

Holly took out her ballerina Minnie and held her out in the wind as if she were dancing. “Not to interrupt — whatever that is… ” Tryvis snarled at her, disguised with the ballerina dancing. “But it is time for a late dinner.” He stalked away.

Neither Holly nor her parents had any idea how Tryvis went wrong. He had been a very happy baby, almost too happy. And then one day, it was as if all his joy had been sucked out of him. That day was when four-year-old Holly started talking about her adventures. Everyone seemed to love the happy girl, and when she told Tryvis her stories, he snarled as she turned away.

Daisy and Christopher, Holly’s parents, set up the pizza and sweet lemonade onto the wooden table. Holly savored the fresh pineapple and olives on the pizza. She couldn’t wait to get on the rides at Disneyland the next morning. You see, it was Holly’s job to test all of the rides early, early in the morning, or deep into the night. Don’t tell me you have never heard of her!

Every time Disney cancels fireworks, it is not because of high winds. It is because Holly needs more ride testing time. Every other week, when the park closes down two hours early, that is all the work of Holly. Every time Holly visits the park, the rides become a little bit safer.

***

Holly dreamed of pixies, disappearing cats, a bear with a thirst for honey, and an unusual transformation into a frog. Holly’s imagination was magic. Her kindness was her very own magic. And her favorite thing in the world was magic Disneyland.

Whether it was the magical fireworks of Disneyland or it was the sweet Tigger Tails with soft caramel wrapped around chocolate and marshmallow, everyone who left Disneyland came back for more of their favorite things. Everyone wanted to experience the magic of the characters or the creative roller coasters. Everyone wanted to meet a graceful fairy or travel underwater into the colorful world of an orange and white fish and his friends. That morning, when Holly awoke, she spied her brother snoring noisily, a bit of drool slipping down his right cheek. She quickly wrote a note in her neat handwriting to her parents, explaining why she was leaving so early:

 

My dearest parents,

I am extremely sorry that I am leaving so early. But as you know, duty calls! I am getting a head start on testing all the rides, and if I have time, some restaurants. I do hope you don’t mind, but fifteen days and six and a half hours will go by quickly. And the time is still ticking! I will be back for dinner and find a nice place to eat lunch. I’ll get you a Minnie, Mickey, and Pluto keychain!

Your sweet, loving daughter

P.S. Tell Tryvis that his favorite characters will make their appearance in a couple hours, so tell him to not miss them!

 

She wrote the last part hastily, hoping that Tryvis would for once enjoy his Disneyland trip. He would sleep forever and just lie in bed, thinking about crazy, disastrous stuff. For Holly, it was the opposite. She wished she could simply live in the Matterhorn in the spiraling “icy” tunnels with Herold. She and Herold could be besties because they both loved chocolate chip cookies! In fact, Herold’s craving for chocolate chip cookies could melt the plastic coating right off of his skin and bring him to the nearest cookie stand.

Holly pressed the note up against her mom and dad’s door. She hoped they wouldn’t worry. She skipped cheerfully down the hall leading to the door of the fancy condo, careful not to awake any other special guests. While walking to the secret entrance into Disneyland, she tripped on a tiny, sticky blue rock. The blue rock was a bit uneven and almost had a furry texture. From the beginning of Holly’s trip, she had felt a feeling of distress and mistakenness. She placed the tiny but sharp rock back on the ground and kicked it playfully down the pathway, unaware of her interference. The bushes shook silently as several pairs of eyes appeared on both sides. Holly continued down the path, but as happy, harmless, and innocent she had been, that record was broken. Holly had changed the natural order of effects without meaning to.

Holly loved, loved Disney. She lived for Disney. She was a Disney. So how come she had done something that the most wanted villain would have done? She had been the worst villain in all time without meaning to be.

***

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. How are you?” She looked around. Tryvis was in bed, Mom was packing her purse for dinner, and Holly’s dad was checking his watch impatiently by the door. Then, Holly looked at Tryvis. “How were the characters? Which ones did you see? What did they do? Did you tell them that you were descended from the great Raymond Disney? Of course they probably already know because all Disney characters can tell!” She held her fist up high and looked proud to have been descended from a Disney.

“Oh… it was great. They could totally tell that I was a Disney. They wouldn’t keep their hands off of me. I was so busy that I saw all of them.” Holly looked pleased. Then, Tryvis continued, “I was probably way busier than you! The characters even held a parade just for me because I am a Disney.” Holly looked as if she had just seen a unicorn.

“Wow, I wish I could have been there.” Holly’s parents looked confused.

“You dumbo! I was in bed all day thinking about how trusting you are! You’d believe anything and everything. One day, it’s going to get you in trouble no one will be able to get you out of — not even Mickey Mouse!” He smirked.

“So, you didn’t even see any characters. I wrote part of the note just for you… ” Holly squeaked like a tiny mouse at her rude brother. Tryvis ignored her and rolled over in bed. He reached for his bouncy shaped baseball that lit up and turned it thrice in hand, as if debating if he should throw it at someone.

Holly dressed in her nicest clothes. She smiled cheekily at Tryvis, making him scowl harder. His mouth started to get tired of the tight face, so he fell backward into the soft, luxurious pillows, exhausted from doing nothing all day. Holly tried to cram as much in as possible during the Disneyland trip, while Tryvis was just trying to get through the rough days of happiness and magic. Truly, the Casco younger sister and older brother, Holly and Tryvis, were almost exact opposites. Their only similarity was how they both looked out for each other, even if they would never admit it. Tryvis always wanted his sister safe, even if he treated her badly. Because in the very end, they were family.

As Holly and Mr. and Mrs. Casco headed out the door, Holly wondered why her brother wasn’t coming. She felt bad for his somber mood, but it wasn’t her fault. Or was it? On the walk over, Holly skipped and looked overhead at the monorail track and spied several fireworks going off as cheers rose around them. She continued walking over to Blue Bayou while the crowds were gone. The three family members had a good time looking at the Pirates of the Caribbean boats, talking, and eating a scrumptious dinner.

Meanwhile, Tryvis got into some trouble of his own. He had been looking out the porch balcony, one floor up. He was spying on his family as they walked down the boulevard, hand in hand, and wished either he was happy with them or a storm picked them up and brought them to the Arctic where they would freeze to death. He was angry with himself and in despair, for he couldn’t start being all sunshine and rainbows all of a sudden like Holly! Suddenly, a bright, shining light illuminated the dull room. He turned around and tripped on his skateboard, blinded by the light. On the floor, he sat up and pressed his hand against throbbing head. He shook his head in anger and embarrassment. He crept slowly on hands and knees up to his bed and peeked up. He immediately fell backward into his back. Hesitantly, he crawled around to the right of the bed and grabbed the illuminated, rounded, mysterious object. It felt familiar. He could already realize that someone was trying to interact with him through one of his objects. But who was the question, and why this object? Things were getting heavy and mysterious, and with Tryvis’ somber record, who could he ask or cry to for help? Tryvis crouched down, object in hand, and reached open-fingered toward the light source.

***

Holly checked her Minnie Mouse watch. “Oh my! It is time to go check some more rides! Doodle-dooh!” She skipped off in ambush of fun. On the way there, she got an ice cream sandwich. She opened the wrapper, expecting a regular Mickey shaped cookie, but instead a Mickey with fangs holding a tiny staff appeared before her. She looked confused. “It isn’t Halloween!” she murmured under her breath. After eating a bit of her tart ice cream sandwich, she didn’t think much of the funny shaped Mickey. This was only the start of them taking the glory from Him. I’ll give you a hint. Him is the big boss. The one that everyone knows about — the one that’s all powerful — Him.

 

Chapter Two: True Disaster Eats Mice Cheese

Hints gathered up and layered upon layer upon layer. Holly took several hours just to try to piece together what was happening to the magic. Babies started crying at Mickey’s touch. Even the snickerdoodle and chocolate cookies were losing their magic. As a result, Holly got up earlier and earlier with each day to come. And on the eighth day, Holly was up by four and going to bed at nine. Every day, she would pace around the area where she found the sticky, blue little rock. “It has to be a sign, or a warning, or even a secret passage!” Holly would whisper to herself.

Not all of this mystery was new or bad to Holly. She enjoyed suspense and trying to figure out what was happening in the magical kingdom. Day after day, guests stopped piling in, and rumor had it the movie makers of Mickey’s Darkta Holiday Cruise, the new movie, had gone dark. Everyone, even Holly’s mom and dad, seemed not to notice how dark Disneyland had become. Holly didn’t have really any real answers until the eighth day of Holly’s trip.

While she was pacing, something extraordinary happened. She slipped on another one of those sticky rocks. She fell on her knees, head facing the floor. She bent down to pick it up, and as she tilted her head upwards, a fur ball made a sneeze. As she opened her eyes… big, black, adorable eyes stared back at her. She fell backwards, again and opened just one eye. Can it be? She hesitantly rubbed the blue alien. Stitch had come for help.

***

Tryvis continued to hold the bright ball in his left hand.

“Oh, Tryvis! What a handsome boy.” A mysterious, evil voice filed through the room. A voice that just screamed disaster and evil. This voice tried to butter Tryvis up, making her seem to tell her wicked truth. “I can see why your sister is all happy and jolly. She is very sick. She has too much happiness and goodness. The illness makes her a stealer. She stole your happiness! You can’t let her do that!”

Tryvis looked horror-struck. He always wanted the best for his sister, except now, because of the sickness. She was stealing his happiness. At first, he looked scared and worried for his little sister, and then greed and hatred filled his face. He wanted his happiness back! “What do I do?” Tryvis looked determinedly at the little ball.

“Oh! I just knew I could count on you to save us! What a brave, brave, boy! Your sister hasn’t only been stealing your happiness, she has been stealing ours too!” A softer voice made a sad whimper, but then she went on. “Please help us!” A sound of bubbles trickled out of the ball as a purple hand reached out of the ball, signaling an arrangement.

“Do we have a deal?” crackled a purple monster. Tryvis shook the slippery hand without hesitation.

Nearly a mile away, Ursula pressed the “off” button next to her crystal ball as she crackled and sneered and snickered evilly. She had a deal, a deal to make evil back in the movie business. A deal to completely destroy the minion — Tryvis.

Ursula grabbed her shellphone and headed into the poor connection boot. “Guess what, we’re in business.” An evil crow made an obnoxious sound in the background.

“Now, now, Diaval. This time, we’ll praise Chernabog in triumph. We are going to use the boy. He is foolish enough to trust that ocean lizard!” She giggled violently up into the heavens. She wrapped her crippled fingers around the heavy trison bar, waiting for the lightning bolt symbol. She stroked Diaval evilly, holding her staff. Her horns struck up jaggedly, making a fearsome shadow.

The dark witch with dark magic and with a dark plan strode around to the prison bench, waiting. The ugly witch stared at the clock, knowing that the Cascos had been at Disneyland for two days. She revealed her palm, trying to get a burst of evil magic. “Oh, well.” The unique design of her very own prison restrained the witch’s magic. All that she could conjure was a little dusty wind of yellow-green.

“Oh guard! I see a rat! Get it away from me!”

“Well, he might just bite out all of the evil from you. And again, there is too much evil for just one rat to devour.” The Evil One rolled her eyes. “I’m coming… ” He tilted his head almost through the bars, spying for the little rascal. Meanwhile, Diaval scuttled along the ground. The guard clearly wasn’t smart. The dim light didn’t help, along with the black bars. While he was leaning down, the gloomy witch snatched the keys from the guard’s waist. He was so busy looking for the rat that he didn’t even notice her grabbing his keys.

“Oh my! I think it flew up to the ceiling!”

“That’s impossible!” Maleficent quickly unlatched the prison door. She stepped out into the deserted hallway and placed a spell under the guard.

“Nothing happened,” the mysterious witch cited.

“Nothing happened… ” the guard repeated.

“Maleficent is still in prison.”

“Maleficent is still in prison.”

“Good, good — good.” Maleficent smiled evilly.

“Good, good — good.”

“No! Don’t repeat any more!”

“No — don’t — ”

“Ugh. Useless.” The Evil One relatched the door, keys in hand.

The useless guard awoke and said, “I just had the strangest dream!” He shook his head and stood his post again.

Diaval crowded approvingly. Maleficent stroked him and muttered, “Brainless.”

***

Holly peered expectantly at Stitch, waiting for his quiet response. Holly wiped her brow after seven hours of sleep last night. Her time to sleep went lower and lower, for she was eight days into the trip. Stitch eagerly took Holly’s hand and pulled her close to the first rock. He tried to touch the original rock that Holly had first kicked. An invisible force blocked Snitch’s hand.

Stitch motioned towards Holly’s hand. She picked up the rock carefully. “Wh-what? I don’t understand!” Holly stared at Stitch in the eye, placed his paw in both of her hands, and spoke convincingly. “I am going to figure this out. Whatever evil, whatever is happening here — I will figure it out.” Snitch looked sympathetically at Holly and pulled her over towards a bush. She tried to back away, afraid of what terrors or mishaps she might find. Curiosity always got the best of her.

She pushed back a couple of leaves and found an unrecognizable bear. His red shirt was ripped on the side. His fur and short tail was ruffled. He clutched his broken honey pots — and yet he greeted Holly with some sort of a smile. “Oh, Pooh bear… what happened?”

“Christopher Robin wasn’t able to save me this time,” he said in his poor, soft voice he always had. “She knows that it is out of place. She knows her time has come. You must put it right! And if you don’t — ” Pooh’s eyes grew fearful, yet Holly looked confused.

“Who? What back? How do I do it!” Holly huddled around Pooh, nearly begging for information. Pooh’s face drained of color and held his fist against his forehead, as if an invisible force withheld his speech. Holly, on the edge of her seat for information, looked back at Stitch, but he simply shrugged. It was as if Stitch had completely forgotten the topic that they were talking about. Holly’s eyes went big, and Pooh hung his head.

“It restrains me. I can’t say. I’m not able to! The same reason Stitch couldn’t!” He tried to hint, but his paws formed back into a stressful fist. Holly looked sympathetically at Pooh but disappeared behind the bush, heading back to the hotel.

“Oh, bother.” Pooh was left, hands still holding his head against his ripped red shirt.

Holly made it back for a lunch with her parents, and yet, Tryvis wasn’t at home. He must have run an errand, she guessed. Half an hour later, with mud on his boots, Tryvis appeared, hungry. “Hi, big brother! Whatcha doing for the rest of the day?”

He said nothing, except take off his fancy coat and throw it on the ground. He stepped on it. Muddy boot stains with the imprint of his shoe stuck against the black striped leather.

Tryvis’ little sister made a disgusted face and smoothed her own skirt and blouse gently, as if treasuring every moment of them before Tryvis, too, stepped on her clothes. The family of four ate dinner, none of them knowing what was to come.

That night, the wind blew. It whipped the hairs of people riding roller coasters. Rain poured down. People slipped on the normally beautiful landscape of Downtown Disney. The bright lights streamed across the walkway above on the shops fell, starting a small fire. Minnie’s bow kept on falling off as children went to hug her. And at Goofy’s kitchen, the Mickey Mouse waffles were cold. The bacon was all fat. The characters didn’t go to several tables.

Tryvis seemed to become sicker and sicker with each day. Holly’s parents didn’t notice anything, though. It was as if everything was normal. In fact, Daisy Casco even said something really weird. “Oh, Darling!” she had said as Holly went out the door. “Do be careful of the smoke from the fire! They were just putting it out.” After that, her mom went back to making breakfast for Tryvis. Holly looked shaken. Why isn’t she alarmed that Disneyland might go up in flames? After that, Holly Casco didn’t give it much a thought.

With five days left to test rides, Holly still didn’t figure out the mystery. On day eleven, an unhappy Stitch appeared again. “What do you want now?” she responded impatiently. Stitch looked a little hurt and stared down shyly at his feet. “I’m sorry, it’s just… why can’t you tell me what is going on?”

“Go back to the beginning since it started,” Stitch whispered, almost embarrassed by interrupting Holly’s annoyed behavior.

Holly sat next to Stitch behind a bush. Stitch’s eyes gleamed with a tiny bit of mischief and knowing the answer.

“What started? My trip? My life? Disneyland?” Holly tried to think. When did she first see Stitch? She didn’t see Stitch at all until a few days ago. “I never saw you until a few days ago.” She pointed out what was on her mind.

“But you did see part me. And one of Winnie the Pooh’s favorite artifacts. We combined sci-fi and fantasy.” Stitch had never talked this much, especially to a human. But when good and evil are at risk, including all of the good characters’ lives and popularity, someone must take charge to think and act outside the box.

“Oh my! The rock!” Stitch nodded gleefully, his adorable smile beaming proudly of his hints that no other characters could think of. “That’s why you and Winnie the Pooh came to see me first. The fur was yours, and the sticky mixture was… honey?” Stitch nodded again. “But what do I do with it?” This was when Stitch changed faces, looking troubled. “Well, I think I’ll sleep on it. Clearly, you can’t tell me, so I might dream about it and get answers — I get all of my great ideas from dreaming!”

Stitch nodded, as if saying, “Well, this is a good start. I’ll report to the others! Bye!”

“Bye!” whispered Holly. She checked if the coast was clear and then headed back to the hotel.

***

As she neared the condo, Maleficent, Ursula, Jafar, and Lady Tremaine posters littered the crowded street. No one seemed to notice the difference. Okay, Holly tried to gather her thoughts. What do I know? It all started with the rock. But what do I do with it is the question. No one seemed to notice the poster change or the difference in the magic. I am not sure if this is good or bad. The park seems to be more crowded every time! Well, I have decided — this isn’t good.

A crowd gathered around something… or someone! Holly tried to peek through the legs of cheery adults, but they wouldn’t budge. “Excuse me,” she whispered. Or at least it sounded like a whisper, because of all the racket the crowd and thing was making. It seemed to be a character. Holly followed the crowd. Along the twisting pathways, the character was taking the fans, Holly looked above at all the crooked trees. That wasn’t correct! Lanterns normally lit the way! Holly whimpered under her breath.

Holly followed the crowd into a clearing. As they circled around her, all Holly could bear to see was the ambiguous shadow. The character was holding a clear glass of water, spinning the drink around in her hand. And Holly ran. She ran as fast as she could. Holly didn’t care who she knocked over — she just had to get out of there! The character that ate all of the Mouse Cheese gleamed with green eyes, crackling behind her smirk. She looked sneakily at Holly’s back. Overhead, a crow spoke annoyingly.

Holly knew it. All of the good characters knew it. The bad characters smiled at it. Change was coming to Happiest Place on Earth — something dark — something bad.

 

The Memories

 

Chapter One: The Earthquake

April opened up her dictionary and gasped. “Jackson!” she screamed. Her friends thought it odd to have a pet caterpillar, but it was amusing sometimes. This was not one of those times. “Jackson!!” she screamed, even louder this time. She finally saw him on the corner of the table. “There you are Jackson. How many times have I told you not to eat my dictionary!” She glanced at the dictionary, which was covered in holes. It looked like an expert piece of lace. She wagged her finger in Jackson’s face, knowing that he most likely could not understand her, but she enjoyed it anyway. She set him back down in his tray, which was full of as much foliage as possible. April knew that it was not very comfortable for a caterpillar to live in an apartment, so she tried to make it as luxurious as possible. She frowned at her dictionary, but moved on, and sat back down on her bed. She picked up her book, and flew instantly into a land of danger and suspense. How could Lord Jeffrey marry Grace when they were in two different social classes and their parents forbid it? How dramatic, how unresolved! April knew it was time for dinner, but she had to read another chapter. And that was when the earthquake struck. It heaved the earth from side to side, making it dance like a clumsy ballerina. Books slid off of April’s bolted-in shelves, and she flew out from her bedsheets to hide under her bed. She heard some of the old, unstable complex crumbling elsewhere, but she didn’t dare move from her position. After what seemed like an eternity of worry, it stopped. The ballerina stopped her dance, the earth stopped its heaving. She crept out from under her bed, only to hear her mother tearing through the door.

“Honey, honey, are you okay? Are you hurt? Did anything hurt you?” her mother shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom. I’m fine.” April suddenly remembered Jackson and rushed over to his tray. He was happily munching away on some leaves, oblivious of what disaster had just struck. April let out a breath of relief, only to become worried once again. “Is the rest of the complex okay?” she asked her mother, her voice shaking.

“I don’t know, sweetie. I didn’t check yet,” her mom said, confused. April rushed down the stairs and out the door, only to have the color drain from her face. Half of the apartment building was cracked and crumbling, including the apartment next door. April ran back inside to get the key that she had to her best friend Erica’s apartment. She tore back to apartment five, the one next door to hers, and thrust the key into the lock. She frantically opened the door, and instead of seeing the home she practically grew up in, the couch she sat on, the floor she walked on, she saw rubble. Where her memories were made was just rubble. When her mom was at work, when her mom was broken down crying, when her dad left after April was born, Erica and her family were there. But now it was all reduced to rubble. And then she heard a shout.

“Help! I’m stuck!” It sounded like Erica was in tears. She sounded broken, like the building around her.

“I’m coming! I’m right here!” April shouted as she pushed away at the pile of rubble that was surrounding Erica’s voice. She finally saw her friend’s face, a circle of dust broken by streaks of tears.

“April! April. Thank you. I missed you. I just I can’t… ” her speech was broken by a fit of sobs. April sat down next to her and rubbed her back. She stood there for ten minutes or so, just comforting her friend. After all those years of comfort from Erica, the roles were reversed.

“Are you okay? Is anything broken?” April said calmly. Erica didn’t answer. “Is anything broken?” April repeated, lightly tapping her friend on the shoulder. Erica looked up at her, a confused look plastered on her face. “Is anything broken?” April said frantically. Erica just kept looking at April with her confused, worried eyes.

“Oh god, oh god. I’m calling 911,” April said, frightened that her friend could no longer hear her words of comfort. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay,” April whispered, more for herself than for Erica.

The next few hours were a numb blur of flashing lights and loud noises for April. If you talked to April now, she would tell you that the moment everything came into focus was when the doctor walked into the waiting room.

“I’m afraid she has permanent ear damage and will not be able to hear anything from now on,” the doctor said solemnly. Erica’s mom fell down sobbing into Erica’s dad.

April heard a quiet, “If we hadn’t gone out… ” coming from Erica’s mom. April’s mom looked at her, not sad for Erica, but sad for April. April needed to go into the hospital ward. She needed to see Erica. The doctor was so calm about it, like this happens every day to him. How could he be calm about this? Too many dangerous thoughts were floating through April’s head. She started feeling dizzy, like she was inside of another earthquake. Like the earth was dancing another deadly dance. She shrieked, then crashed to the floor. She woke up later, to her mother fanning her face.

“Honey, are you okay? I think we need to get you back home,” her mother said

“No!” April half-shouted. “I need to see Erica!” She felt sick, but she would never leave until she could see Erica.

“I agree. I think you should get some rest,” the doctor said.

That stupid doctor with his stupid serious voice and his stupid ideas, April thought.

“I don’t want to go yet!” April shrieked, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “I need to see Erica!” She felt her mother and the doctor pulling her toward the car while she flailed dramatically. She suddenly felt dizzy again and fell onto the waiting room couch next to her.

She woke up later to the smell of pancakes wafting into her room from the kitchen. The pancakes floated in, all by themselves, while a plate materialized in front of April. She dug into her pancakes, while a two-foot long Jackson rolled around at her feet. Suddenly, the earth was doing its dark dance again, and she spiraled into darkness. Her mom was in front of her, saying something, shouting something, but April couldn’t hear it. She was trapped in a cage, and she couldn’t get out, she couldn’t get out, until she woke up. But this time, it wasn’t her room.

 

Chapter Two: The Boxes

She still smelled pancakes, but it was a different room. She saw normal-sized Jackson on his tray, so she wasn’t dreaming anymore, but there was nothing else in her room. It was like a blank slate. “Moooooooooom!” she called. “Why is the room that I am in not my room?”

Her mom walked in, puzzled, until she finally realized what April was asking. “Oh, the complex was too dangerous to stay in, so we’re renting a different apartment for a little bit,” her mom answered calmly.

“How did I get here?” April asked groggily.

“After we came back from the hospital, you were knocked out cold. I think it was just from shock. I just slid you into bed.”

“But what about my stuff?” April asked frantically.

“It’s all in boxes in the living room.” Her mom nodded toward a few boxes marked “April” in the other room. April never realized how little she had until it was all put in boxes. Most of them were books, but a few boxes held sentimental objects, memories. Her first toys, her favorite stuffed animals, her thoughtful pictures. Her life could fit into a few small boxes. April heard a “Bye, sweetie!” and the sound of the apartment door closing. April sat up in her blank white bed and picked up “The Adventures of Lord Jeffrey,” which had been carefully placed on her white bedside table, probably by her mother. She contemplated reading it, but right now, her life was practically a storybook, and she didn’t want to forget her own tragedies. She crept into the kitchen, still wearing her worn-out clothes from yesterday. She took a plate out of the box marked “kitchen” and picked up some pancakes off of a plate her mother had prepared. Next to the plate was a note that read:

Morning Sweetie!

Had to leave early for work, hope you understand. There’s no school today, so you don’t have to worry about the Monday homework load (yay!). Don’t leave the house until I get home, and don’t do anything too mischievous. Enjoy your pancakes!

Love, me

April would have put some whipped cream on her pancakes, but upon inspection of the fridge, all she could put on her pancakes was peanut butter, eggs, or milk. She sat at the pristine breakfast bar and ate in silence. After what had happened, she could only think. She trudged back to her room and sat on the white bed. She was unsure what to do. She didn’t want to do anything, but she was way too bored to do nothing. She got her phone and her speaker from one of the “April” boxes, and proceeded to play melancholy piano music. If someone else did this, April would sarcastically play an imaginary tiny violin while pouting exaggeratedly, but this was different. She was too emotional and too sleepy to play happy music. She thought that maybe she should do something productive and decided close her curtains and take a nap instead. She woke up much later to a tickle on her face.

“Jackson! How many times have I told you not to scare me like that!” She gently pulled the blue caterpillar off of her face and looked at his tray, which was now almost empty. “Oh you’re huuungry. That’s what it is.” She wanted to obey her mother’s instruction not to go outside, so instead she leaned out her window, and picked a few leaves off a few trees on the sidewalk that were planted by the state to “brighten things up a bit.” She placed them neatly on the tray and sat. And thought. Thought about Erica. Thought about the future. Thought about the past.

She never sat and thought this much, but she never finished, because her mom came in with a loud “Honey! I’m home!” April sighed and fell back against her bed. “Honey? Are you here?”

“Yup, I’m in my room that is not my room,” April replied jokingly. Her mom walked in, looking flustered, probably from traffic.

“How was your day?” she asked.

“Good. I slept. And ate. How was work?” April said groggily.

“Okay. Williams got the numbers messed up again, and Higgins is going to be furious… ”

“Typical Williams.”

“So now I have to fix everything and we had to move into a new office because of the earthquake and uuugh, it’s just chaos is what it is.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault, it’s just darn Williams again!”

“That Williams! One day he’s going to be the death of the company!”

“You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Well, thanks for the support.”

“Anytime.”

“Well, I’d better get dinner going… What do you feel like? You’re the real champ.” April’s mom punched her playfully.

“Well, I would love some peanut butter omelettes,” April said sarcastically.
“Oh my gosh, the groceries! I completely forgot… I am so sorry. Do you want takeout? Chinese?”

“Chinese sounds great. I’ll text you my order.” April used to just tell her mom her order, but after getting cow feet soup instead of chicken soup, she thought she should text it instead so her mom would remember.

“Okay, I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

“Thanks, Mom!” April’s mom left the room. April sat. And thought. When can I talk to Erica? was the main topic of this mental conversation with herself. But of course I can’t talk to her because she won’t hear me. But then how can I talk to her? She eventually decided she probably shouldn’t think these thoughts, especially with impending Chinese food. She didn’t want a relapse of her melancholy music moment this morning. So instead she played with Jackson for a while. There is only so much you can do with a caterpillar as a pet, but you can give it different objects, and see how it reacts. Right now, April was experimenting with a piece of hard candy before her mom shouted for her to come get Chinese food. When April walked into the kitchen, she saw candles and fancy napkins thoughtfully laid out on the breakfast bar. Usually, April and her mom ate separately because her mom had work to do, but on rare occasions, like birthdays, they would eat together.

“With all that’s going on, I thought we could eat together,” April’s mom said.

“Yeah yeah, that sounds great,” April said, kind of sad, but kind of happy that this meant less thinking time. They got plates out of the “kitchen” box and piled on chow mein, rice, and kung pao chicken. They sat down and dug in.

“So how long are we going to stay here?” April asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“As long as necessary. We probably won’t be moving back to our old complex because it will take a while to rebuild. And most of it wasn’t earthquake safe anyways, which is why some of it crumbled. Plus, we were really close to the epicenter. Thank god our apartment was okay, though. It’s newer and more up to code,” her mom answered. April could feel all of her childhood memories slip away. All of the movie nights at Erica’s, gone with the rubble. The building could be rebuilt, but April’s memories stayed crumbled and dusty. “This building is far away from most of the damage though, and it is much newer and much more earthquake safe.” April didn’t really care that much about the building. She wanted to know about Erica.

“How’s Erica?” April asked, hoping for good news.

“Good. The communication specialists at the hospital are contemplating giving Erica ASL lessons so she can communicate better, and they were wondering if you want to join,” April’s mom said carefully.

“What’s ASL?” April said, confused and worried.

“American Sign Language. I just know you two are practically joined at the hip, and there is an interpreter, but they thought that maybe you two would want to be able to communicate without someone translating your every thought.”

“Yeah. Sounds great.” April picked at her Chinese food. She felt her eyes tear up, and soon drops of salt water started dripping into her chow mein. “Is Erica gonna get her hearing back?”

“Oh honey. The doctor doesn’t know. For kids her age, it’s hard to tell. And her parents might not able to afford an implant.” Her mom left her position at the breakfast bar to come hug April. “It’s okay.”

“I just want everything to be normal again,” April said, her voice breaking, glad to have her mom by her side again.

“It’s okay. I understand,” her mom said lovingly. April felt a surge of anger. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand. Nobody understood. As much as she longed to be with her mom, she shoved her away.

“No you don’t understand! Nobody does!” April stormed off into her room. She sat. And fumed. And thought. And thought. And finally fell asleep.

 

Chapter Three: The Hospital

The most important night of Erica’s life was all a blur of sirens and people talking in serious voices. If you communicated with her now, she would say that the moment everything came into focus was when she woke up in a hospital bed. Her parents were across from her and hugged her as soon as her eyes opened. “Where’s April? I need to see her,” she said frantically. Or she thought she said. She couldn’t even have the comfort of her own voice. Her parents took out a pen and a pad of paper.

They wrote down, “You can’t see her right now. We are glad you are awake.” It took a while for them to write all of this, and when they finished, Erica started bawling. She looked up to see the doctor suddenly in the room. When did he get there? He stared down at her with a serious face and started making weird motions with his hands. Almost like… sign language?

“What are you doing? I don’t understand. Can you write it down?” He sighed, clearly disappointed that she didn’t understand already, and handed her a wooden clipboard with papers attached to it, and a pen tucked into the top. It read:

Patient: Erica Edelman                      .

Gender: Female            .

Age: 14       .

Town of Origin: Paducah, Kentucky                   .

Diagnosis: Severe hearing loss                                    .

Cause of Diagnosis: Broken eardrum                                .

Status of Diagnosis: Permanent?                .

Medication: None                      .

Potential Operations: Cochlear implant?                  .

 

It was the first time in Erica’s life that she was speechless. The world seemed like it was spinning around her. She fell into a fit of sobs and then she saw the doctor and her parents speaking. She felt a needle in her arm and fell into a deep sleep. She woke up later to the sound of sirens, again, only this time, it was dark. She was sitting, alone in a field. The sirens grew louder and louder and louder until she fell, like Alice, into the rabbit hole. Curiouser and curiouser, until she woke up. She was alone, in her hospital bed. She saw a vase of roses (her favorite) on a little table beside her. Across from her, there was a cheesy ballon that said “get better monsoon!” and it had little painted-in rain droplets. Sitting on her bedside table, next to her roses, was her teddy bear Max. Part of his ear was coming off, and he had been washed so many times that his fur felt like trodden-down carpet, but he was comforting nonetheless. She picked him up and hugged him as hard as she could, happy that he was here, but unsure of what would come next.

 

Chapter Four: The Meeting

April was sitting on the bench reading her book, when she saw a girl out of the corner of her eyes, bawling, holding a teddy bear. April was invested in her book, but she wanted to help this girl, so she put her bookmark (a piece of scrap paper) into her book, and nestled it in her arm. She skipped over to this girl, her brown curls bouncing behind her, and knelt down beside her. “Why are you crying?” she asked this little girl.

“I got this new” — gulp — “teddy bear” — gulp — “and I named him Max,” April glanced down at the fluffy teddy bear the girl was holding, “and this girl came over and said he was — he was” — gulp — “stu-hu-hu-pid,” the girl said, her speech broken by her intense bawling.

“Well, sometimes people have different opinions, and we just have to be proud of our opinions, and not let it bother us.”

“I mean, I guess so,” the girl said, finally calming down.

“I’m April, by the way.”

“I’m Erica. Do you think Max is stupid?”

“I think he’s great,” said April.

 

Chapter Five: The Memories

April had brought the boxes into her room and was almost done unpacking her books. Today was another day off of school, because the school had been damaged by the earthquake as well. Until now, she had been happily sleeping, but she decided she should get some work done. “There,” she said as she placed her last book onto her bookshelves. “It’s finally starting to feel like home.” But now she had to face the boxes that held her memories, her emotions. She was afraid that when she opened her other boxes, it would open her, and she didn’t want to deal with that. But she had to, eventually. She got her scissors and carefully slid them under the tape that separated her and her memories. The first thing she pulled out was an empty mini popcorn box. She had been saving this for ten years, since she and Erica were only four, and she was invited to her first movie night. The popcorn had been warm and buttery and coated with a thin layer of sugar, unlike the microwave popcorn April’s mom had time to make. They sank into the dark green couch and started Kung Fu Panda. The idea was ridiculous, but also hilarious, and they laughed and laughed until their last drop of laughter was spent for the night. When it was finally time for April to leave, she and Erica refused, and they insisted that April stayed for a sleepover. Her mom agreed, and April and Erica spent all night talking. All night. Drop. Tears spattered the red and white stripes of the mini popcorn box. April set it back in its place. She would unwrap her memories another day.

 

Chapter Six: The Email

A tray was set in front of Erica. It held her favorite food in the whole world: popcorn. It was warm and buttery and coated with a thin layer of sugar, just like her dad made it for movie nights. Next to the popcorn was a tablet. It had “Kentucky Hospital” written on the back, and the screen had a few scratches, but it was intact. She pressed the large “on” button on the side, and the screen lit up. It had a few different large boxes displayed on it, each in a different color. One of the boxes read “games” while another read “communications.” There was a small gray box in the corner which read “email.” Erica clicked on that and was sent to a familiar email screen. The first email she sent was, of course, to April. It read:

To: April

Subject: Hello!

April,

Hello! I hope you are okay. I am having lots of fun at the hospital, in case you are wondering (can you hear my sarcasm?). How’s Jackson? Is he still adorable? I sure hope so 😉

Your friend,

forever and always,

Erica

 

Chapter Seven: The Ice Cream

April picked at her sandwich. It was her favorite, ham and cheese; she thought she might treat herself after the popcorn box incident. She heard a rumble from her stomach region and decided she should probably eat something. She took a bite from her ham and cheese sandwich and decided she wasn’t hungry. She decided that if she didn’t want to eat a ham and cheese sandwich, she probably didn’t want to eat anything. Her mind flitted to ice cream and lingered there for a moment. She opened up the freezer and frowned, as the only kind of ice cream they had was coffee. “Blech,” she whispered to herself. She’d have to go out for ice cream. Her mom was already out, so she texted her. The conversation read:

– Yooooo! Hope you are having a good day. I was just wondering if I could maybe go out to get some ice cream? (Also do you know of any good places around here?)

– Sounds fun! There’s a place down the street called “Cold Stone Creamery” that I’ve heard is great!

– Thanks!

The chocolate ice cream was cold against her tongue and a relief from the heat wave that had hit Kentucky. She had brought her book to the store and had started to read. April heard a plop! as dripping ice cream hit the pages of her book. “Ugh!” she said as she got up to get a napkin. She set her dripping ice cream against her glass of water, to hopefully try to make it stay upright. She saw people start to fill the store as it neared noon, the hottest time of the day. She was struggling to make it to the napkins through all the people, and right when she was about to get to the utensil table, she fell. She felt her nose crash against the floor, but it felt somehow unbroken.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay?” a guy about her age turned to her, apologizing profusely. “I think I might have accidentally tripped you.”

“No, no I’m fine. Is my nose bleeding?” she said, her hand flying to her stinging nose.

“Yeah, here,” the guy said, handing her a napkin.

“Thanks,” she said, turning back to get her ice cream.

“Wait, what’s your name?” the guy said.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. She had a little bit of trouble holding the napkin under her nose while also holding her book and her ice cream, but she managed. She just wanted to leave the store as soon as possible. The door dinged as she left, and she immediately felt a wave of relief wash over her as she started to walk down the street. She saw all sorts of people walking along with her, like dog walkers, business people, and even people her age. She finished her ice cream halfway through her walk and threw away her wrapper into a nearby trash can. She was now finally free to look around! She saw buildings towering to her sides, and she felt intimidated. This was a newer area, so not a lot was affected by the earthquake; everything was still picture perfect. She made the decision to only look at the ground so she would feel better. After what seemed like an eternity of sidewalk, she arrived at “Liberty Point Apartments” and trudged toward her section of building. She turned the key, walked into the apartment, and plopped on the couch. Suddenly, she heard a ding! And she turned to her room, where the sound seemed to come from. She walked to her temporary desk and looked at her computer. She had an email! She opened it and discovered it was from Erica, of all people. April replied:

To: Erica

Subject: Greetings!

Erica,

Greetings! Jackson is adorable, as always, and I am happy you are enjoying the hospital (sarcastically, of course). Also, my mom mentioned ASL lessons… what are your thoughts on the matter? Send my love to Max.

Your friend,

Forever and always,

April

Before she sent the email, April turned to look at Jackson, the real star of the email. But the tray was empty. Where could he be now? April thought, not sure what mischief the tiny caterpillar could be up to. It had been a full day since she checked in on him, so he could be long gone by now. Then she remembered, a few months ago, when she first got Jackson, she was scared he would run off, so she put a tracking sticker on him. It was tiny, and wouldn’t disturb him, but it was useful because the caterpillar could travel unusually long distances. She pulled out the little device that tracked the sticker and found he was in a hospital nearby to the apartment! How on earth did he get there? Well, no use dwelling on it now. She grabbed her key to the apartment and set off once again.

 

Chapter Eight: The Caterpillar

Erica was sitting in her bed, playing one of the little games the tablet provided for her, when she felt a tickle on her face. Erica pressed the “camera” button on her tablet and switched it to selfie mode. She gasped as she saw a chubby blue caterpillar on her face! But this wasn’t any blue caterpillar. Erica could recognize this caterpillar anywhere. “Jackson! How on Earth did you get here?” Erica said. She thought she might as well enjoy his company, if he’s here. She put him on one of her fingers and watched him crawl around for a while. Suddenly, Erica’s door burst open.

“Jackson! If you are disturbing a patient, I’ll… ” April stopped, mid sentence. Standing right in front of April, holding a tiny, blue caterpillar, was Erica. They stood, opened-mouthed, looking at each other. Erica felt tears coming down her face. April rushed over to her. They hugged. And hugged. The wait was over.

 

George

Beep! Beep! Beep!

George sat up. He turned off the alarm. He put on his slippers. He walked into the kitchen.

Crack! Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle ssssssssss. George cooked himself an egg.

He poured some orange juice. He ate his breakfast in silence.

“Meow!” George said goodbye to his cat. He opened the door. He walked outside of his apartment. It was a penthouse apartment.

Jingle jingle slam! George closed the door. He locked the door. He went into the elevator. He rode it to the ground floor.

He got a cab.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked.

“Fourth and twenty-ninth,” George replied.

George arrived at his destination. He paid the man six dollars and twenty-nine cents exactly. He got out of the cab.

Beep beep! Woosh! Bum Bum. George heard the sounds of New York City.

He walked into his office building. He rode the elevator to the very top floor. He greeted his secretary. He walked into his office. He sat down. He looked out of his floor to ceiling windows.

He saw the bright energy of New York City and sighed at the life he could have had, and even though he had reached the top, he couldn’t help but want to start a new life, to start from the bottom again, to live the process again, to think new thoughts, to dream new dreams, to change lives for the better, to help in the world, instead of accounting.

Accounting never changed lives for the better.

George got up. He threw everything off of his table. He turned his table over. He ripped off his tie. He started a new life.

 

You, Simply

The sunshine was hot and bright, reflecting on the stream like rippled fireflies. I could feel the world around me, moving, changing too fast. Sometimes I felt like it was moving without me, like it needed to move without me; like I was running and I couldn’t keep up. Jared walked slowly beside me as we made our way through the old, abandoned park.

“I notice how cynical you are, Karrie Rainier,” he remarked, feeling in front of him with his shiny, black cane. He smirked a bit. “Why?”

“There doesn’t have to be a reason for a person being cynical, Jared Hale. People just are,” I reasoned, chuckling to myself. I ruffled the back of his hair.

“Okay, let me reword it: why do you hate people so much? You don’t talk to all that many people besides Pema and me. What’s your thing against the world?” he asked. His voice sounded sweet and innocent, but also distant, and wondering. Jared was curious. It was his mission to truly seek people: who they were, who they were going to be. He wanted to know people like he knew himself.

Well, that was the only way that he could know people, through their personality. It wasn’t like Jared could see anyone, literally. He was blind. He saw through his fingertips and his mind and his hearing. He could feel, with his heart. Maybe that was why he asked so many questions, so he could see clearly enough. He had a chiseled face and fawn-colored hair, cropped neatly with a nice wave in the front. He was kind of pretty.

And me? I was Karrie Rainier. I could see just fine, and I think that was my biggest enemy.

How do I explain this? I guess you could say I was the bruised apple, or the broken window. I was the girl who would get passed by in the hallway and could hear the terrible things that strangers said about me as they walked by. I was the girl who would get on the weight scale and see the number that made me guilty until I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was the girl who read the magazines and the health websites and never got any better. I’m “undesirable.” “Imperfect.” “Ugly.”

I came up with an idea about it in my mind: I called it an ocean. I just kept sinking in it. I kept sinking in it because I was not worthy of swimming back up. No one would save me, they were willing to let me drown, probably because I wasn’t pretty enough to deserve life. Yeah, I simply stated it. I knew it. I knew what I was. I didn’t want to have to put up with lying to myself like most people do. Honesty was the right thing, right? That was why I was honest with myself. I was honest that I was a disappointment, and I wasn’t getting better.

To answer Jared’s initial question, I avoided people because they didn’t want me. They never did. I didn’t even want me. There’s no way I would tell him that, or so I thought.

I used to wonder why I was still here. Society silently discarded their undesirables, so why hadn’t I followed along? Wouldn’t it be easier to be in a place where I could feel…

Happier?

Prettier?

Somewhere better than this god-awful place. Somewhere on land, not in my ocean. Maybe not even on land, but in the sky. That beautiful, heavenly place. So far, far away…

I stopped in my tracks, shaking away the frightful thoughts.
“Well?” he demanded playfully, smiling.

“You wouldn’t get it,” I warned. “Nobody does.” Jared punched me gently in the arm.

“I will, trust me,” he promised. While there was laughter and innocence in his honey-sweet voice, there was also truth. Reliability. I was like a puzzle to him, and he couldn’t quite piece me together. We had known one another for over a year now, and I still hadn’t opened up to him.

Would he think any different of me if I told him how I felt? Would he imagine me as some piece of shit? How did he see me now? How would he see me afterwards?

Then I realized, if Jared was really loyal, if he was really worth it, he would see me the same. Right? He wouldn’t care. I had to trust him. He would understand.

I would not replace his eyes with the eyes of society.

“Fine, I guess,” I promised reluctantly. “But you better not tell this to anyone.” But what would be an easy way to tell him? Would it ruin his innocence? His faith in the world? His faith in me?

I knew I was really, really overthinking it. It sounded more and more pitiful as it rolled over in my head. But the rock in my psychological ocean started to sink. Down, down, down…

Down into the deep pits of the midnight zone.

Past the sunken Titanic of feelings I don’t like sharing.

Down to the bottom of the Mariana Trench, where the horrible insecurities banished themselves.

And dizziness rang in my mind.

“Sometimes, I know, in the back of my mind, I feel… different,” I confessed to him. I felt my palms get sweaty and my cheeks get hot. If he could’ve seen me then, he’d probably have laughed at how uncomfortable I looked. He didn’t say anything, he just kept walking, not looking at me.

“I feel like I, well, I don’t quite fit in. Like, I was born not to fit in and everything I do makes me even more desperate.” I continued, “And nothing I do works.” The ocean of emotion started to rumble, making me feel seasick inside.

“I don’t quite get it,” Jared told me. His confusion startled me. I started wondering: what was that life like? Not knowing? Not feeling the social walls built around him? I realized how little I knew about Jared. Who was he? Why was he so…

Well, I wouldn’t say “perfect” was the right word. More like, pure? Or was he lying to me, to try to push me away. I wanted to know. What was behind the glassy, sightless eyes?

Unable to get the right question out, I continued to elaborate.

“I guess I feel like I’m not as pretty as people want me to be. I know, people tell me it’s not important. Judge on the inside and that’s what counts. But we all know that society tells you differently. Why else would there be a million diet options hovering around radio stations and magazines and on TV?” I found myself ranting. Damn it! Had I gone too far? Was Jared getting tired of this? That was when, of course, his words knocked me away. I didn’t know he would address the situation so beautifully, so gracefully. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘beauty is the eye of the beholder?’” he asked curiously.

“I mean, maybe on the Twilight Zone but probably nowhere else,” I started.

“Well, I guess it means that what you look like doesn’t matter in the long run because everyone sees you differently,” Jared explained. “Like, there’s no point in conforming to society. There’s no exact definition of pretty, you know?” I tried to understand, but I felt like I had heard the same lecture before. I didn’t know exactly what anyone meant when they said that. It was the default phrase, an overused lecture.

“Jared, you can’t be naïve,” I murmured. “I think we all know — ”

“No, wait, hear me out. Think about it. Some people can’t see, and we still have valid opinions. I think that counts for something.” He started talking louder. I could hear the truth singing in his clear, low voice. He had a point, and I still didn’t understand. But somehow, I felt like he really, genuinely wanted to show me something I had never heard before. Curious and frustrated, I pushed on.

“I’m not trying to offend you or anything, but I don’t think you see it,” I tried to reason. Jared fiddled with his hand. He exhaled.

“I think I see it,” he said, almost to himself.

“Yes, but I feel personally like I’m not good enough. Like, I can see. A lot of people can see. What they see is me. Just me,” I scoffed, running my hands through my hair. I felt a bead of sweat.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter is what I’m saying,” Jared argued. I didn’t know what to say. I bit my lip.

We had reached a little gazebo by a stream, where Jared sat down. I stared into his glassy, sightless eyes and wondered what he was seeing. What he was trying to make me see.

“I know we’re both confused about each other,” Jared pointed out. “Me being blind and all, and you, with your problems.” He said it so bluntly, but it was still gentle. It didn’t hurt when he said “problems.” It might’ve been the beautiful softness and gentleness of his tone.

“I just don’t understand what you’re trying to convince me of. Or how you’ve never felt different or excluded… ” I began.

“Well actually, I guess I wasn’t clear before. I have felt different or excluded,” Jared admitted. The pain in his voice made me upset. I almost wanted to fight all the demons in his head, face-to-face. They were not allowed to hurt him. It also made me realize that Jared was battling his own fights. He just fought them differently than I did.

“What do you mean?”

“I felt different before, but maybe when I said I don’t really get it, I don’t get how people think those things are so bad.” His words just confused me. But he kept talking. “I guess being excluded taught me the beauty of being blind. I was different. Yeah, I couldn’t go anywhere without a little extra help, and I’ve never been able to read like a normal person, but also something else. While everyone else was judging people by their looks, writing diet tips in magazines, editing false images, I’m only exposed to words and actions and feelings. Looks are totally void to me.”

I listened curiously. I felt like I was starting to grasp it, what he was telling me.

“I know that whatever voices in your head are telling you that you’re ugly don’t have to matter. I know that you can live your life only seeing what is inside. I see people for who they are. And I think you should too,” he explained. Pause. Silence. Thoughts and contemplations.

Suddenly, when I looked into those glassy eyes again, a whole new meaning emerged. Jared was not sightless. He could see everything. Everything that truly mattered. I could not speak. I could only feel the connection between his eyes and the truth. Jared was not blind. He just saw a little differently. Through one small conversation, the only one that mattered, he showed me this new idea.

“Jared, I never knew you thought of it this way.” I noticed that my voice had lost its hardened, cynical tone and came out quiet. My own voice, sounding unfamiliar. Possibly because I was taking up most of my energy thinking about myself. Realizing, maybe, I could be beautiful to somebody, because their opinions are valid too.

Or not really. Not in the obvious way. But Jared, he must’ve imagined me beautiful. If he cared about me that much because of the way I am, am I beautiful? If he analyzed my personality as beautiful, would that make me beautiful too? It was a weird thing to wrap my head around. Being beautiful.

I had never been beautiful before. Or maybe I had. Maybe all this time, I was beautiful in ways I did not realize. Me: beautiful. Me: pretty. Me: desirable. Maybe I was worth it. Maybe whatever creator up there blessed me with this incredible life because I was worth it.

Back in my metaphorical ocean, I stopped sinking. I felt myself suspended in this one moment of time, unable to quite understand anything. It was that moment of thought, when nothing moved except for the heart in your chest and the blood in your veins.

Suddenly, I saw a light at the surface of my emotional ocean. A boat. A hand reached down from the boat, prompting me to grab on. Was it worth swimming back up? Trying to clean up my emotional mess? Or should I just keep sinking? Should I conform?

No. Because I was beautiful and worth it and good. Jared reassured me of that. I was something I should fight for.

I could feel my head reaching the surface of the water, and I could breathe again. Even if just for a second, I felt free. Free from my anxiety, free from society, free from my ocean of self-doubt. I smelled the fresh, salty air of self-acceptance.

I knew it would be a long journey back to the land. But Jared had started the journey for me. My journey to self-acceptance, the one thing that I might’ve needed. If I could will myself to swim all the way to the land, even if it would take me years, it would be a story that would change me and maybe the world forever.

I sat in that gazebo with Jared at my side. Never before had his poetic, aesthetically pleasing way of life affected me this much. This boy, this boy who I had hardly known. This boy who was not blind but was the best seer of the age.

“Thank you.” Those were the only words I could squeeze out of my mouth. And then, the long pause of silence. The blind boy who could see. The girl with the underrepresented body who was beautiful. That was who sat under the gazebo. We were proud, even just for one moment. One little string of time.

“Karrie,” Jared interrupted. I liked hearing my name. Something I thought people cringed at saying. My name sounded nice, like it was meant to be said. We looked at one another, no words exchanged. We both knew that neither of us had much more to say. Just think.

I guess I walked away from that gazebo and that day a little differently. It still loomed somewhere in my mind, maybe forever, but the rest of my life slowly started to change. I noticed it change, even when I got home from that walk. It kept changing with each passing day.

I ate more, a healthy amount. I would exercise but not force myself to pass out. Maybe I even opened myself up more. Just a little. Still, it was change. It was change if I ever saw it.

Sometimes I still look in the mirror and see the self-conscious girl who would only wear baggy clothes and who would cover up her face with her hands. The girl who was submerged in her own water. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still there.

But she at least had something else in the back of her mind, that while society’s expectation seemed so real, it was really fake. Some people lived wonderfully without it. Some people whose eyes work just as well. They might just see some things in a different light. So even if she was still there, she had something to look to.

I never forgot that walk. I never forgot those silky words that helped me escape my ocean of dread. I never forgot peeking out of the waves for the first time. That day told me that living another day is an accomplishment itself.

I didn’t want to go somewhere else. I didn’t want to fly away with all of society’s discards. Because I was more than that. Everyone was more than that. Jared helped me to see that.

Slowly, I cut through the blue waters. The land was getting nearer. Not the sky, the sky can wait. No, I wanted to live. On the land. That was where the other girls who needed help were waiting.

If I were to reach out to another girl, maybe my age, who was struggling and fighting and just couldn’t catch her breath, I would probably tell her something like what Jared told me:

That she is everything she thought she wasn’t good enough to be and more. Her ocean’s surface isn’t far away. Sometimes the world will ask for you, changed.

But really, all you have to be is you, simply.

 

The Food Chain

    

 

As I stepped out of my house that day, I saw my neighbor George putting a leash on his pet human. They did this every day, walking down to Little Piggy’s human-burger shop to grab a bite to eat, which disgusted me. It is horrible how animals treat humans like nothing and are treated as lower than low to the rest of society. I wish I could do something to stop this madness.

But who am I to say anything? I am a lonely sheep, too low on the government-enforced food chain to make an impact. What am I saying? You can’t understand me anyway.

“Well, Sparky,” I said to my own pet human. “I have to go out. I will not be long.”

I walked down the street past Little Piggy’s shop, past Jim Jam’s gas station and took a left, toward the city. I was about to walk into my office building until I heard a scream coming from a nearby alleyway.

I rushed towards it and saw two boars kicking around a human who had a couple of bruises and a cut above his shoulder.

I yelled at the attackers, “Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

The first boar turned and spat, “What are you gonna do about it? You’re lower than us on the food chain.”

The second one punched the human once more and turned, saying, “Why don’t you go back home, human lover?”

I pleaded with them, “Stop, you’re hurting him. Please, stop!”

The boars kept on kicking the human.

I ran at one, knocking him to the ground and bruising my shoulder in the process. The second one grunted and grabbed me, lifting me off the ground and shouting, “You fucking farm animal! I will gut you like a baby human!”

Then, the first one pulled out a switchblade and flipped the shiny piece of metal out, pointing it at me. By now, my shoulder was already swollen, and I began to pray for some sort of protection.

As if on cue, there was a sound of a K9 police siren coming our way, getting louder and louder. The two boars dropped me and ran out of the alley. The two dogs slammed the brakes on their car, getting out and racing after them, leaving me alone, which I thought was typical.
I grabbed my shoulder in relief and stood up, walking over to the human.

“Hi, my name is Leonard. What’s yours?” I said in a soft voice.

The human shook his head. Could… could he understand me?

“You know what I’m saying?”

The human nodded.

“Do you have a home?”

The human shook his head. I made the best decision I could.

“Okay well, I guess you can come live with me. I have another human at home. His name is Sparky. I could name you Spot. That’s where I found you.”

The human shook his head violently.

“What about Spot?”

The human nodded and jumped about.

After a few hours at the vet, Spot was vaccinated, and we walked home. As soon as I opened the door, Spot ran in and jumped on Sparky. At first, Sparky was shy and afraid, but after three weeks or so, they started to form an inseparable friendship. Wherever Sparky went, Spot followed, and wherever Spot went, so did Sparky.

One night I had to go out because it was my mother’s birthday, so I asked George if he would look after them. I figured nothing could go wrong. Little did I know, that was the night that everything would change.

George sat down on the couch with an apple and turned on the TV to watch The Bachelorette, where one Foxy Fox would be able to choose from ten other foxes who would get to take her hand in marriage. He was watching so intently that he forgot to feed Sparky and Spot and was neglecting them. My humans tried to get George’s attention by squealing and jumping on him. George started to get mad and backhanded Sparky in the face. Sparky got mad and started making hand motions to Spot. Spot made hand motions back in response.

George was shocked and said, “Wait, what are you doing? What are you saying to each other?”

Just then, the humans jumped on him, knocking George to the ground. Spot ran and grabbed sheets in his mouth while Sparky kept jumping on George. When they came back together, they tied George up.

That was when it got way, way worse.

Spot and Sparky peed on George, covering him completely. When I got back home, George was screaming slurs and insults, tied up in bedsheets, and soaked in yellow liquid.

“What happened here?” I asked, not believing my eyes.

“Just help me, Leonard!” George screamed.

I untied the tangle of knots and tried to calm George down.

“Okay George, I want you to take a deep breath and explain to me this. Why are pawprints across Sparky’s face?”

“It was those fucking humans! They communicated with each other!”

I tried to stay calm, thinking about my two humans possibly talking with each other. What would they have said? Did they… plan this?

“George, that’s crazy. I think you need to go home and get some rest.”

He growled in response. “I know what I saw.”

“Just go home, George. You did this to yourself.”

He picked himself up and left in a huff.

As soon as the door shut behind him, I made hand motions towards Spot and Sparky and started to shout at them, forgetting that I didn’t need to use my voice when using the sign language we had developed.

“What the hell were you guys thinking? I’ve told you no communicating around other animals!”

Sparky and Spot bowed their heads. Spot motioned that he was sorry and that he didn’t know why they had gotten so mad.

The next couple of days were normal, until I caught George trying to peer through my window with binoculars. He even set up a couple of cameras outside his house.

One night, I came home from work tired and had forgotten all about the cameras George had set up. At that point, I had been with Sparky and Spot long enough that signing with them had become somewhat of a routine.

Suddenly, I heard sirens, loud and painful. Two cop cars pulled into my driveway, and a dog and three coyotes, all in body armor, came bursting into my home.

The lead coyote shouted, “You are under arrest for teaching and communicating with humans! Anything you say or do is and will be held against you in a court of law!”

Then, the three coyotes grabbed the three of us and shoved us in to the driveway. The last thing I saw was George’s smug face staring through his front window as we pulled out of the driveway and went down the road.

I knew I could not go to jail and survive. I was prey. The other guys would kick the crap out of me, and I’d be ripped to pieces. But what about poor Sparky and Spot? What would happen to them? The shiny, black rubber wheels stopped in front of a rectangle-shaped building that read police station, and the cops led us out of the car.

I asked one of them what they were going to do to Spot and Sparky.

The cop said, “Don’t worry about them. There’s a special place for them.”

As they split us up and took me to my cell, I could not help but shed a tear.

The next morning, I woke up to a loud buzz as the cell door opened. There was a platypus standing in the doorway.

“Your name Leonard?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Mr. Richer. I am going to be your defense attorney against the prosecution led by Mr. George, who has accused you of disturbing the peace by teaching and communicating with two humans.”

Richer led me into a van, and we drove. As we were driving, I couldn’t imagine how Sparky and Spot were feeling.

Before long, we stopped at a big building that read COURT of LAW and JUSTICE.

Mr. Richer turned to me from the passenger seat. “We’re here. Are you ready for this?”

I replied, “I’ve got nothing to lose except what I’ve already lost.”

Richer looked at me for a long time before saying, “Well then, let’s get to it.”

As we walked inside you could smell the sweat and stress from previous cases. It was as if I had turned into a magnet for the eyes in the room. Everyone stared at me.

One person yelled, “Animal lover!”

Another yelled, “Farm animal!”

I heard a loud bang of a gavel, and everyone went silent. I looked up to see an old elephant sitting behind the podium. She said her name was Mrs. Tuskworth and that she would be the judge in my case. I glanced to my left and saw George sitting with a kangaroo that was dressed in a suit and tie.

I sat down, and the judge began to speak.

She asked, “Both of you know why you are here, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Judge Tuskworth cleared her throat. “Alright, what happened? I want both of your sides of the story. George, you go first.”

The crocodile stood, looking smug and fearful at the same time. “It was a peaceful evening when I saw the disturbing connection between human and animal. It was clear that an unspoken bond had been formed between that sheep and his pets. To my knowledge, it looked like they were planning to overthrow the government and destroy the world with their human army! They will enslave us all again, I tell you! It’s happening!”

The judge looked at George in concern. “Thank you George, that’s enough for now. Leonard, it’s your turn. What happened?”

I stood up, looking at the wise face of the judge. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“First of all… so… I came home late from work and asked Sparky and Spot if they were hungry, that’s all. Second, why is communicating with them such a bad thing? I am bridging a gap between our two worlds. Who knows? Maybe they know things that we don’t, and if I can teach it to all animals and humans, it could seriously be of use! Animals could communicate with us. Like what if a human sees something suspicious like a robbery and can’t tell anyone? What if there was a gas leak, and the human can’t tell the animal to get out of the house?”

The judge raised her hoof to stop me speaking. “Okay, Leonard you have made your point. But may I ask both of you: how would you execute your beliefs or ideas? George, you first.”

George stood. “Well first, I would start by chopping off all humans’ fingers, and just in case, we would have to cut off their tongues.”

Tuskworth thought hard and said, “Okay, George, point taken. Leonard?”

I stood, angry at George’s words. “I would set up a business with my own funding and hold classes where I could teach humans and animals the language. I would have Sparky and Spot teach the humans while I teach the animals, and then we would bridge a gap in our society. I am sorry, judge, but what George is saying is immoral and crazy.”

Tuskworth stood and spoke one last time, “That’s it for today, I think. I will discuss with the government council. We will continue our session next week when I will decide who is right. Court will be adjourned until then.”

She banged her gavel.

When I was outside of the building, I called an Uber to drive me home. When I got home and opened the door, everything was a mess. The sofa was thrashed to pieces, and the coffee table was turned on its side. All the doors were pulled out, all my cabinets were open. It was like someone was looking for something.

Was I robbed? Did… did George do this?

I started to fix and clean everything and look for what they would’ve taken. Someone must have done this just to mess with me.

The next few days were mellow. It was not the same at home anymore without Sparky and Spot.

Finally, after one of the longest weeks of my life, it was time. The next day was the last hearing at the court. It was the final decision. We sat down, and the judge started to say, “Leonard, we will not provide funding, but we think you can, and will, bridge the gap in our society. You may have your humans back.”

I jumped up in joy. I’d done it! I’d won! I couldn’t believe I won!

Suddenly out of nowhere, George jumped on me, knocking me to the ground, thrashing me with his sharp claws and tearing my suit to pieces. I felt a piercing in my skin as blood started to run down my chest. Luckily, there were two security guards on standby who tackled George to the ground, knocking him unconscious.

My surroundings started to darken as my eyes started to close. When I woke up, I had a sharp pain in my chest. There was a monkey in the room, dressed up in a lab coat.

The large chimpanzee spoke in a calm, soothing voice.

“Take it easy, Leonard. You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m gonna take care of you. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Just then, Mr. Richer walked in with Sparky and Spot.

I asked, “What happened?”

“Everything’s taken care of, Leonard. George has been sentenced and is going to jail for a while.”

“That’s a relief.” I laughed as Sparky and Spot jumped on me. “I’m so happy to see you guys! The doctor said that he thinks I should get some rest now, okay?”

I shut my eyes and pictured my communication business and where I would build it as I fell into a deeper sleep.

The next week, after all my injuries were healed, I had my brand new staff break ground, and since then, it’s been three years. My business has been doing great. We are working hard to finally bridge the gap between animal and human.

I decided to finally start a family, and in the year after the incident, I married a lovely sheep named Clara. Two years later, we had three kids, two boys and one girl. Sparky and Spot grew and eventually, they told me that they wanted to be let go into the wild. That was a hard day.

Now, I sit here, writing this story. Even if I am a sheep, now I feel like a lion.

 

 

A Project Complete

The chill in the air woke me up; I forced myself to smile. The feet of the lucky rushed by, nervous about being late to work. The cars passed while kids screamed to their parents, not wanting to go to school.

Another day of seeing our problem not being resolved. I had to smile though, to show that I knew it would happen. Today would be the day. The sun was still rising over the endless horizon of the sea. I stretched and immediately noticed a pain in my shoulder; I had slept crookedly again. When my spine rolled up off the ground, the hard rocks sank into my skin. But today was different. I felt it in the air. A little kid wearing a navy blue school uniform walked by, tugging his father’s sleeve. Both were wearing hats.

“Please, Father! Please! I promise he won’t eat all the cheese! Can we ask his mom?” His father’s hands clenched, and his face turned red.

My father would’ve taken his belt and given me a good bruise down my back if I was six and asked him anything.

The doves flew in, bringing with them a love song and flying away at the slightest movements. The water was yet so violent. The waves so big, one would be careful of surfing. Even though it was mid-September, the weather was getting cooler.

I rummaged in my bag and found two Oreos a little girl kindly had given me while her mom wasn’t looking.

“Breakfast,” I mumbled and ate the cookies.

My Cardinals cap still laid empty next to me, except now it had a Twix wrapper in it.

Probably some half-hearted greedy person thought my hat was trash. But soon, the wrapper was carried away by the wind.

After an hour or two, the streets were calm, everyone at their destinations except for me. My destination was right where I was. I watched the waves, finding myself very bored. I started dancing, but no one was there to appreciate it.

I realized I smelled like expired milk. That might be why nobody wanted to be with me. Maybe I could go down to the shore for a quick, clean bath. No one was there to see me.

I decided to go and left my bag by my spot. I ran down the stairs that led me to the beach. Down by the shore, I took off my clothes and jumped into the water. After swimming a bit, a big wave started to form, but I was too into the water to swim back in time. The wave five times my size crashed on me as I frantically swam to the shore. But as the wave hit me, I felt all the air left in me leave.

Waking up on the shore was a big surprise. The first thing I saw was an even bigger surprise.

She was blond and looked about twenty years old. That was all I could make out of her, but she looked at me in concern.

“Are you okay? You were knocked out pretty long.” She brushed the hair out of my eyes and looked me straight in the eyes.

I said I was okay and checked that my clothes were on. I was in my clothes, which was weird since I had them off a while ago. Maybe she’d put them on? She helped me go back to my spot by the street and wrapped a towel around me even though I was already dry.

“It’s three in the afternoon, by the way. You should eat something.” She caught me eyeing a food truck across the street.

“Yes, please.” My stomach spoke for me before I realized I was asking a stranger for food.

“Hamburger?” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a twenty, making her way to the Burger Shack across the street.

I licked my lips.

 

After gobbling up the delicious hamburger, the lady said she had to go. The sun started to set while people started coming back from work. More busy feet and crying and complaining, when I should have been the one complaining since I have the street as a home. Everyone walked past me as if I were nothing.

But then, about an hour and a half later, four men in black uniforms and earpieces walked up to me, looking like they were lost or tired. Uh-oh! Why are they here? Did I do something? But before I could come up with an alibi, they stepped aside and made way for a blond lady.

A blond lady! I immediately got up and recognized her as my savior from the waves. She said nothing but took a paper from behind her back and held it out to me.

I looked at her, and she nodded with a warm smile. Shakily, my hand reached out for the

paper and took it. It read:

         Kris Yalgougly,

         Temporary Apartments

         Under Construction

         For those in need

         Head of Public Attention,

         Ashley Nofraih

I looked around and saw the construction workers and trucks had started to come in, the men examining blueprints. They were starting to build some places I could call home as I had requested five years ago. They settled down a couple blocks into the city and started to build.

I smiled at her. She smiled back. At last, peace.

 

 

No One’s Safe

Everyone has a fear, one that drives them insane. A fear which paralyzes you and consumes your soul. A fear that may or may not be real. Right out of Tennessee, located in the mountains, is a little Italian town called Nessuno è Sicuro, with a population of 746 people — well, now 745.

Emily walked out of her home for the first time in days. She needed food. She walked past the park and past the barber shop. She turned the corner and walked into the supermarket. She filled her basket with two six-packs of ramen and minute cook rice, and when she got to the checkout counter, there was a new cashier she had never seen before. Emily gave him the groceries and pulled out her wallet. As she looked up, the old man with a white beard was staring at her. “Hey, young missy. You look like that missing girl, except you don’t have that screwed up, ugly eye like her.”

“It wasn’t screwed up or ugly.” Emily grabbed her groceries and ran out the door.

Emily had a physical condition where her knees buckled quite often without her controlling it, and as she walked home, her knees buckled, and she fell in a puddle of water. Emily looked down to see her face in the water. It looked just like her sister’s. She started to cry. She just wished that she didn’t look like her sister so she did not have to see her face every day. She got up and she ran to the park. As she collapsed on the bench, she turned her head to read a missing poster. It said:

Two weeks ago, a girl by the name of Luara went missing. Luara was a 16-year-old girl by the time she went missing. Luara is a tan girl with red hair and one blue eye, and she is blind in the other eye. There is a cash reward. Please find her.

When Emily saw this, she felt her heart drop. She ran home and slammed the door as she fell on the floor. Emily was Luara’s best friend and identical twin sister. Emily kept thinking about what the cashier had said and how he called her sister’s eye “screwed up and ugly.” Emily and Luara’s mother was dead, and their father was a drunk who didn’t even care that Luara was missing. The two girls had a hard life, their mother died when they were two due to a car crash, their father beat their mother, and well, then Luara went missing. Emily always thought that the night before her mother died, her father came home drunk again and was punching her mother because he thought she was having an affair with her boss. Her father later told them that their mother had tried to leave them, but then she hit a tree with the car and died.

*Ding-dong* “Go away!” *Ding-dong* “I said go away!!” *Ding-dong* “Go the hell away!!! Ughhh.” Emily ran downstairs and opened the door to see Sheriff Davis standing on her front porch. “What is so urgent, Sheriff, that you had to ring my doorbell three times?”

“Sorry Emily, I know that you are worried and upset, but we have some new information about your sister you might want to hear.”

“What information? Please, please, tell me everything you know.”

“Well, we know your sister did not run away. We suspect it might have been a homicide. I am so sorry, and I know this information is stressful to hear,” the sheriff said, while fidgeting with his fingers.

“No! No, she’s not dead. She can’t be dead. This isn’t possible. Please oh please say this is just a premature verdict!” Emily’s heart started to ache, and she tried to hold back the tears.

“I am so sorry, Emily, but this is most likely what happened to her.”

“But — but they haven’t found a… a… a body yet.” Emily started to choke up.

“Again, I am so sorry, Emily, and we will get to the bottom of this, but please take care of yourself. Have a good day.”

“Excuse me, you don’t just ring someone’s doorbell three times, tell them their sister was murdered, and then say have a good day! I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have no empathy? Just go away, just go.” Emily’s knees buckled as she fell to the ground.

Later that evening, the news had been spread around the town, and Emily finally cracked. She cried and cried until her face went pale and she fell on the floor.

*Ding-dong* “No please… please, no.” *Ding-dong* Emily couldn’t get up, she couldn’t feel her legs, and she just wanted this all to stop. She did not want to open the door. She just kept crying on the floor for a minute. Suddenly, she felt warm, strong arms wrap around her, and she just stopped crying.

“Luara? Luara, is that you?” Emily looked up only to see Jack’s face.

Jack was one of Emily’s best friends. He was a pale 16-year-old boy with brown eyes and brown hair, and although he loved Emily, he had never liked Luara. Jack had come to check on Emily after he heard the news about her sister. Emily started to cry again, and so he held her tighter.
“Hey Em, don’t worry. Nothing can hurt you when you’re in between my strong arms!”

Emily stopped crying, and Jack looked at her face to see she had fallen asleep. She must have been tired from not sleeping for a while, he thought. Jack stayed up as Emily lay asleep for three whole hours. When Emily finally woke up, stretching and yawning, she realized that Jack was still there and screamed.

“Umm, how long was I out?” Emily asked.

“Not long, only a couple of hours. You should sleep a little longer though. It’s not healthy for you to not get any sleep.”

“Thanks, but I — I have to find Luara!”

“Emily, Luara is dead. Sheriff Davis told everyone last night.”

“But — but they haven’t found a body, which means they don’t know yet.”

“I am sorry Emily, the sheriff announced it while you were asleep, they found her. Well… they found her remains.”

“What? But she’s only been gone for two weeks! That’s not enough time. It isn’t her. It isn’t her!”

“I really am sorry, Em. I’m here for you.”

“You’re lying to me! You’ve never liked Luara, and that’s why you’re telling me these lies! I don’t care what you say, I’m going! I’m going to find her!” Emily walked out of her house and slammed the door behind her.

As Emily walked through the town, she saw people smiling as if things had gone back to the way they were. They were acting like no one had gone missing, like there hadn’t been a murder and there wasn’t a body. Emily wanted to scream. She wondered why nobody was worried, why they weren’t acting like someone would if another person had been murdered. She started to cry. She ran as fast as her legs could go until she reached the police station and fell to the floor in front of the sheriff, bawling and screaming.

“Where is she? Where is the body you claim is my sister? Huh?! Where is that… that thing, that you have mistaken for my sister? Where is it? Tell me!!!”

Sheriff Davis took Emily to the morgue. They walked into a room, and Emily gasped. All that was left of Luara was her ripped up body, her bones, some rags which were her clothing, her hair, and her one blind eye. Emily felt a sharp pain in her stomach, her heart started to beat faster, and she was short of breath. She remembered when she and her sister were seven years old, and Emily had been sick with the stomach flu. Luara stayed up all night to distract Emily from the pain by talking about their birthday and how fun it would be. They had wanted to celebrate their birthday with all of their friends and eat chocolate cake. Emily never thought that this was the way it would all end.

Two days later, Emily finally stopped crying. She told the sheriff that he had better start an investigation right away. She was trying everything to get her mind off of the thing that they had called her sister, but nothing was working. Emily was sitting on the couch in the living room when she heard *ding-dong.* “Just come in,” she muttered.

Jack opened the door and came in. “Hey, Em, I think I have something to help you ease the pain.”

“What?”

“A party! I’ll be there too. It will help, just please come. Please.”

“Fine, I need something to help me right now, so I’ll try anything. Anything.”

“Great, then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Great.”

After Jack left, Emily got up, and she headed to her father’s room. He was passed out from being drunk. His closed eyes started to shift back and forth rapidly as he slept. Emily had never seen this happen to anyone before and did not know if this was normal. Emily looked at her father’s strange eyes in shock. Suddenly, his eyes opened up to reveal a glowing yellow, and Emily got scared and ran down the hall to her room. Emily’s room was clean and had two beds, one for her and one for Luara. It had pink, striped wallpaper that was starting to peel at the top. There was a leak in the middle of the ceiling and a metal bucket on the ground for the water to drip into. Emily sat on Luara’s bed and cuddled up under her sheets. They still smelled like Luara, and Emily felt safe and warm as she fell asleep.

When Emily got up, she was careful to not move the covers too much as she didn’t want to lose the feeling of Luara. She walked over to the vanity they shared and started to comb her hair, and when she looked in the mirror and saw the dark circles around her eyes, it was like she saw Luara. Emily called out to her.

“Luara! Luara, come here! Come back to me!!”

Then, Emily remembered it was her reflection, and she got so pissed that she punched the glass and shattered the mirror. Her fist was bloody, but she didn’t realize because of her crying. She suddenly heard the doorbell ring. Emily realized she’d forgotten all about the party as she fixed her hair and ran down to the door. She didn’t know why Jack had come early. She opened the door to see Danny instead of Jack.

“Uhh hi, Danny. What are you doing here?” Danny was one of Luara’s best friends. He was a 15-year-old boy with green eyes and dark brown skin. He normally never talked to anyone except Luara, but now that Luara was gone, he at least needed to talk to someone like her just one last time.

“I wanted to see Luara one last time. You look just like her, I’m sorry,” Danny said in a quiet voice.

“Uhhh… Co-come in.” Danny walked through the door and looked around as if he had never seen the inside of their old house before. “Danny are you okay?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just seem a little out of it.”

“I’m sorry, I-I-I just miss her. I don’t really like people, but she… she was different.”

“I’m sorry, Danny. I understand how you feel. Hey, do you maybe want to come to a party with me and Jack tonight? I know parties aren’t really your thing, but it might make you feel better.”

“Sure, but ummm, is that blood on your hand? I can help you out if it’s a cut.”

Emily hesitated, she didn’t want him to think she’d done something bad. After a moment, she said, “Umm thanks, but it’s just raspberry jam.”

“Oh okay. Can I stay with you until the party?”

“Um yeah, sure. Just take a seat in the living room over there.”

The room was dusty and old. There was a sofa next to an old bay window and an old, antique coffee table in the middle of the room. On the wall facing the right was a big fireplace. The hardwood floor started to break. However, the room was cozy. Danny sat down as he waited, and just then the doorbell rang.

“Hi, it’s Jack. Em, you ready?” Jack shouted through the mail slot in the door.

Danny opened the door. “Hi Jack, Emily is upstairs getting ready. Come on in.”

After a moment of shock, Jack entered the old house and sat on the sofa. As he sat down, dust came up from the sofa, and he started to cough.

“Danny, are you okay down there?” Emily called.

“Yeah. Jack’s here too, by the way.”

“Okay, I’m almost ready.” Emily combed her hair, and she ran downstairs to see Jack and Danny. “You guys ready to go?” Emily asked. Both boys said yes, and so they got in Jack’s car and drove to the party. The party was at a tall townhouse made of brick. There was an alley on either side of the house. One of them led to a big backyard. The three teenagers walked down the alley and opened a gate to the backyard. There was loud music playing, people dancing with drinks in their hands, and Emily could swear she smelled a person barbecuing. The party smelled of cheap booze and roasting meat, and the smell of roasting meat would have been mouth-watering by itself, but mixed with the smell of cheap booze, it was nauseating.
“Hey, Em you want a drink?” Jack asked.

“Uhh… no thanks, I don’t drink.”

“Okay. Danny, you?”

“I’ve never had one before, but it must be fun!” Danny said.

“Lmao okay, two drinks coming right up.”

The three teenagers danced and ate. Emily wanted to leave. Danny and Jack had gotten drunk, and Jack was starting to yell angrily at random people while Danny was acting dazed and had started touching people and making them uncomfortable.

“Hey guys, I’m ready to go home now,” Emily said.

“Em, just stay a little longer,” Jack said as he started to laugh. Danny was passed out on a table by the speakers.

“Look, if you guys want to stay, I’ll walk home.”

“Okay, Em! Night night.” Jack started to walk back to the crowd of dancing people. Emily was shocked that he didn’t try to help her get home. She started to walk away and as she opened the gate to one of the alleys, she saw that the other end was blocked off.

“Ughh, damn it. This is the wrong side!” Emily said, and she was about to leave when she saw a person at the end of the alley. She wondered if he was drunk and needed help leaving. Emily walked up to the man but gasped when he turned around suddenly.

His eyes were shifting back and forth and glowing yellow. Emily thought they looked similar to her father’s eyes. His mouth was foaming and had two large, sharp fangs sticking out of it. He started to grow hair from all over. A tail sprouted from behind the man, and then all of a sudden he grew wings. Emily stared in shock. She wondered what this thing was and whether she was going to die. The thing looked at Emily and started to go after her. Emily ran, screaming down the long alley all the way back to the party. Her heart was beating so fast it felt as though it would burst. She was hyperventilating when she finally ran through the gate and tried to find her friends. She found Danny passed out on a table and grabbed him and started to shake him. Danny, still very dazed, said, “Hi Mom, what time is it? Is Santa here yet? Hauhah.”

“No it’s me, Emily! And what? It’s June! Get up, there’s a monster thing. Help! O-M-G, O-M-G, we need to leave!!! Come on, get up! Come on!” Danny started to get up as Emily frantically looked for Jack, who was dancing next to two women when she found him.

“Jack! Jack, come on we have to leave! There’s — there’s a thing outside!! It-it-it it’s a monster thing!! We have to run, come on!”

“You’re delusional, Luara! Did you meet my friends? Uhh… umm… this is, uh, blonde girl number one and blonde girl numbah two.” Jack waved his drink in the air. “Look at my big muscles! Huahha.”

“Come on, Jack, you’re drunk. We have to go! Come on!!”

“Luara, I told you to just go if you want to go! Just go the hell away!”

Emily couldn’t believe he was acting so mean, or that he’d called her Luara. Emily grabbed Jack and Danny, dragging them to the car. Suddenly though, her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor and couldn’t get up. Jack and Danny couldn’t help her since they were too drunk. They all watched as the monster thing flew over the brick wall of the alley and started to head straight toward them.

“Jack! Danny! Help, please! I can’t get up!” Jack and Danny’s bodies filled with fear when they saw the thing. Jack grabbed Emily and started to run to his car. He threw Emily in the back as Danny hopped in the back as well. Jack threw open the door to the driver’s seat, grabbed his key from his pocket, and dropped it. The three teenagers were too scared they had forgot that Jack had been drinking. His hands were so sweaty he kept dropping his keys, all while the thing was coming straight toward them.

“Jack, pick up the key! Jack, come on!”

“I’m trying to, it just — it just — ”

“It’s right there, Jack! Hurry!”

“Got it!” Jack started to drive away. He drove past the supermarket and turned the corner past the barber shop. They saw more of the monsters in the park, and as they passed, the monsters looked up at them. The teenagers felt their bodies go numb. They couldn’t move or speak. Everything was quiet. And then the things started to fly at the car. Jack hit the gas pedal and sped sixty miles per hour down the road. He drove past the houses and buildings until he crashed into a tree. Emily had been so scared she forgot Jack was driving drunk. She looked out the window and saw the things approaching them.

“Run, RUN, we’ve got to RUN!!!” she screamed.

The teenagers unbuckled their seat belts and tried to run. “I-I-I think I’m stuck! Danny, Emily, help me please!” Jack yelled. Emily and Danny helped Jack get out, but they cut his leg in the process. The three of them ran into a nearby store for shelter.

Emily thought about how her sister could have been killed by one of these things. These things could be people she knew! Emily thought about her sister and who could possibly have done this to her. Who could have hated her so much. And that was when she realized…

Emily gasped as a thought came through her head, and her body went cold. “Jack… where were you two weeks ago?”

“What? Why?”

“Jack, just tell me where you were.”

Jack frowned. “Emily… you — you don’t think that I could’ve done that to Luara… do you?”

“Jack! Where were you?”

“I don’t want to tell you!”

“What could you have been doing that’s worse than murdering my sister?” Emily demanded as she started to cry.

“I was high, okay?! I didn’t want people to know about it,” Jack said angrily.

Emily didn’t believe him. “That’s such a bad excuse, even I could do better! You were high? I mean come on, you could’ve said you were on a date or at a party, or even at the movies! But you had to say you were high? You hated her! You-you-you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“What? No! You’re paranoid. Why the hell would I be one of those things? You don’t really think I’m one of those things. Do you?”

Emily and Danny started to back away from Jack. “St-stay away from us, Jack! Danny, we’ve got to run!”

“Guys wait! I said wait!” Jack grabbed Emily and threw her across the wall with all of his strength. “Emily, I’m sorry, but you can’t think I did that. Do you really think that?”
“Jack, why would you do that to her?” Danny helped Emily up and started to run out of the shop. As they ran, they saw Jack limping behind them trying to catch up. They turned around to see one of the things jump on Jack and rip him apart.

He called one last time to say, “Em, this is your fault!”

Emily started to cry. Her childhood best friend had just died. She had seen him get ripped apart, heard him scream… she could even smell his blood in the air. His screams echoed in her head, but she couldn’t think about them for long. She needed to run away.

Emily and Danny ran to Emily’s house. They didn’t stop until they made it in and slammed the door behind them. They fell to the floor as they tried to catch their breath, and Emily looked over to see her father sitting in a lounge chair. The fire in the fireplace was roaring in front of him as he stood up and turned around. Emily got up and ran to give him a hug. Her father was shocked, but he hugged her back. Emily started to cry again.

“Da-da-dad! Ja-Ja-Jack, he — um, he was the one who killed Luara,” Emily said as she tried to not get fully choked up.

Her father hugged her tighter, “Oh, sweet, sweet daughter. You innocent dumb girl… your friend wasn’t the one who killed your sister. You didn’t really believe that, did you?”

“What — what do you mean?”

“I mean, your friend didn’t kill your sister. You two come sit down.” Emily and Danny walked over to the couch and sat down. “Let me give you a little history lesson on your beloved hometown.”

Emily froze in fear, scared for what her father was going to say.

“A long time ago in Italy, there was a man who decided to create a new race. He made 23 of these, well, creatures, and he watched as they changed and they became monsters. The man tried to keep his creations a secret, but one night someone broke into his lab and found them. The spy told the city what he had seen, and they all grabbed their torches and stormed his lab. The scientist found out they were coming though, and so he took his creatures to the dock, and they fled in the night. He sailed to Louisiana where they were eventually attacked. The scientist was burned at the stake, and only thirteen of the creatures survived. The creatures ran until they were safe here in this town called Nessuno è sicuro. None of the people speak Italian here except for some ancestors of the original 13, but Nessuno è sicuro means no one’s safe. Emily, your ancestors are two of the original 13, and your mother and Luara weren’t safe here.”

Emily and Danny were frozen in fear, their lives had been a lie, everything they knew was a lie. “You’re lying, none of this is true,” Emily insisted.

“Then explain the creatures outside. Explain your dead sister — your dead mother even!”

“Mom died in a car crash, Jack killed Luara, and those things out there they are not real! I don’t believe it!”

“No Emily, I killed your mother, I killed your sister, and those things out there are your flesh and blood. They’re family.”

“No! Why would you kill Mom? Why would you kill Luara? You don’t kill the people you love!”

“Love? Who said anything about love?” Emily’s father let out a sneer. “They didn’t have the gene activated like you and me. They weren’t strong enough, and so I did what I had to do!”

Emily’s heart felt a pain she had never felt before, a feeling from deep, deep down inside her. The agony started to spread all over her body as she started to scream! Her eyes started to glow, her mouth now had fangs and was foaming. She grew wings, a tail, and hair grew all over her body. This pain felt like no other pain in the world.

“You’re changing. You’re doing it! Embrace it! Hahahaha!”

Emily’s mind began to shut off, her body charged at Danny — she didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it. Emily ripped Danny’s head off of his body, and it flew across the room. The blood splattered in her face and got into her mouth. It tasted bitter. Like… well, how else could you describe it other than like your friend’s blood? Emily’s mind was shutting off, and she could feel it. Her father started to run, but she grabbed him and threw him into the fire. She didn’t want to do this, and she tried to fight, but it wasn’t working. Her father’s body caught on fire, which set the house on fire, burning both her father and Danny’s bodies.

Emily flew out of the burning house and watched as it crumbled. As the monster took over Emily, she saw bright lights and heard loud noises coming from all directions. Emily felt like she was drowning and couldn’t swim to the water’s surface. She finally reached the bottom, and her mind fully shut off. Emily couldn’t see anything, feel anything, or hear anything. She was just asleep, and later that night she killed everything in her sight, until there was nothing left living in the small town.

Emily woke up on the cold, hard street. She looked at her hands to see that they were covered in blood that she didn’t know how had got there. She stood up, remembering nothing of what had happened the night before. The streets were covered in red, the air reeked of iron. Emily walked through the streets and saw bodies covering the sidewalks, guts on the walls, in the streets, in the trees, and even on the street lights. The remains of people she knew and people she did not were scattered everywhere. Emily walked over to where her house used to be and sat down on the burnt remains of the place she once called home. She wanted to know what had happened the night before. She wanted to know if she had caused all of this destruction herself, and more importantly, she wanted to know if she could do it again.

 

The Lost Gold

Once there was a bank employee named Paul who worked at one of the world’s most sophisticated gold vaults. It was called the global bank. Loads of gold was stored in the building’s basement. It was one of the largest in the world.

Paul was doing his normal business, working with people setting up bank accounts when his manager, Mr. Smith, told him that the security cameras in the gold vault weren’t working and that he must check the problem and fix it, as Paul was also an engineer. Only once before, Paul had been down in the vault.

The bank owner gave him the combination numbers to open the vault. There were several locks and complex doors; it needed to be like this to prevent any robbery. After the innocent employee headed toward the lower levels, he found the door. It was massive. There were so many intricate locks that laid in front of the door. Paul casually entered the combination code to open the vault, but something strange happened. The vault’s massive door was not opening.

Paul was completely shocked. The door just wouldn’t open. But then, he realized something. Mr. Smith only gave him the combination numbers, not the exact pattern. With six numbers in the combination, there would be tons of different six digit numbers to open the vault door. And then Paul thought, Why would my manager give me the numbers but not the proper code? Trying to avoid going back upstairs, he pursued the attempt to open the door. He tried each and every pattern possible. After nearly 30 minutes of trial and error, he finally opened the door with the correct code/pattern. When it was opened, Paul was amazed because he had only seen this much gold once in his life.

His boss had done another strange thing: he did not specify which security camera was “broken.” Paul examined each camera extra carefully and saw that all the cameras were working properly and were intact. He began to get a little suspicious. He was at the same time confused. He climbed down the ladder from the security camera in the ceiling. He was about to walk out until something strange caught his eye. One of the golden bars in the vault seemed to be chipped. A little, gray dot appeared on the gold bar. Paul inspected it closely until he uncovered a baffling sight. He realized the gold stored in the vault was fake when he saw missing paint on the gold. They were just gray steel bars painted gold.

Paul scratched the gold and sure enough, the gray steel became more visible. He was shocked. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew what was happening was wrong and that he should put an end to it. But he began to uncover something else. If Mr. Smith instructed him to fix security cameras that were healthy, why did he send Paul down in the first place? Did Mr. Smith deliberately do this because the gold was a counterfeit, and he wanted Paul to find out? Paul didn’t know why. He thought about calling the police. Never in his seven years working at the bank had he witnessed anything like this. He exited the vault and headed upstairs thinking to himself, The manager has recently been preventing people from going into the vault. But one thing still lingered around in Paul’s mind: If my manager was so protective of the gold vault, then why did he casually tell me to go down? Does he trust me? As Paul went to his office to tell Mr. Smith what happened, he felt a bit nervous. He opened the door to the manager’s office and stressfully entered the large and nicely decorated office. It had a beautiful, lavish floor and a modern interior design.

“I think the gold downstairs is fake,” Paul said anxiously.

“I know!” Mr. Smith said in an angry and annoyed tone.

Paul had no idea what to say next. “You’re a fraud,” he said.

“I’m no fraud, but a very clever person,” Paul’s manager said in disgust.

And with that, Paul left the manager’s office. But he had an idea. An idea that would expose Mr. Smith.

Paul believed that the bank’s money was stolen by the owner and kept in his household. And replaced with artificial gold. He assumed that Mr. Smith had stolen gold to sell it and make money. He was determined to stop it and decided to follow Mr. Smith to his home. So at 5:00 p.m., Paul got into his car and saw Mr. Smith enter into his car. Immediately, Paul followed him. After 30 minutes of following Mr. Smith, they began to exit the city and enter into a small town. Luckily, his manager was oblivious to the car following him. At the edge of the town in a large house isolated from the neighborhood, Mr. Smith stopped and pulled into the front of his house. Paul parked his car a few yards away and watched Mr. Smith walk into his house. But then, he realized that he didn’t think about how he would get into the house. After Mr. Smith entered his home, he got out of his car and walked around the side of his house. He looked through one of the basement windows. He saw a door and could see something shining through. It could only be gold. Paul found out how to enter into the basement. One of the windows was small and had a very small opening. With a stick he found in the front yard, he pried open the window and squeezed through and got into the house. He had a sack with him to hold the gold. He got past the door and took some gold and filled up the sack. It got heavy, but it was manageable. Suddenly, Paul tripped and made a loud noise. Seconds later, he could hear someone coming down the basement steps. Despite having throbbing pain in his knee, he threw the sack outside and climbed out, but as his leg got out through the window, Mr. Smith ran toward him. With all his might, the manager grabbed Paul’s leg and tried to drag him through the window. Paul, who already had his knee in pain, used all his power to pull his leg back. Mr. Smith was pulling harder than ever. He wouldn’t let Paul get away. But something the manager had just noticed was that the shoes on the “thief’s” feet were strangely familiar.

“Paul!” the manager screamed. “Come here.” Normally, people would think that Paul would break away, but instead he had the feeling that Mr. Smith was trying to welcome him. Paul decided to go through the window thinking he could uncover something.

“I understand you tried to steal the gold to give the police proof,” the manager said in an annoyed tone. “But there is a big reason I deliberately led you right to the artificial gold. You see, I secretly work for another business that’s illegally selling gold to make money. I led you to the counterfeit gold because I wanted you to join me. You’re one of my most intelligent workers. I want you to be part of this business.”

Paul knew this was wrong but realized he would make a ton of money. Still, he declined the offer, and Mr. Smith made a big mistake. And with that, Paul ran out through the window, and Mr. Smith chased after him.

“I will call the police. I will end you,” Mr. Smith threatened. Paul immediately got into his car and sped away. There was nothing Mr. Smith could do. Calling the police made no sense, because if he called the police, he would basically be calling them because someone declined a job offer. Paul was in total control of the situation. Knowing that he just caught someone doing something illegal, he could easily call the police and get Mr. Smith into trouble.

The next day, Paul told the FBI that Mr. Smith was making money in an illegal business. The whole FBI crew came that morning. Mr. Smith was furious at Paul and came face to face with him.

“I will destroy you,” he said angrily. But for now, Mr. Smith’s five-year imprisonment would keep Paul in good hands.

Paul was glad he did the right thing. He was well-known internationally because he exposed one of the most illegal businesses in the world. People in the illegal business knew about Paul and what he did. Despite all this glory, the employees in the illegal business that weren’t sent to jail were after Paul. And Mr. Smith would be back.

The hunter would soon become the hunted.

THE END (FOR NOW)

 

What Separates Them All

The air around the harbor blows every which way, cool gusts of wind sending the waves that lap by the shore into a frenzy. The summer sun sinks into the sky, replaced by dark clouds that settle on the horizon, as a light breeze shifts to colder, increasingly high temperatures, frigid enough to make the hairs on Farah’s neck stand up. Everything around here changes in a fraction of a second. The ripples in the water become choppy waves in a matter of minutes, the palm trees once static sway with such motion that they nearly blow over.

Farah detests it. The unpredictable weather breaks fishermen’s boats into halves, endangers the lives of the children swimming by the cove — making the entire village regard the sea with apprehension, despite centuries of the two living side by side.

She spends a month in the miserable seaside town every year. Any major city or outpost is hours away, and the nearest airport is nearly a day’s journey. The coastal village couldn’t be further away from any form of modern day civilization, isolated at the very tip of the Mediterranean. Neither is there any cellular service, and Farah quickly finds herself buried in boredom mere hours after her family’s arrival.

A clap of thunder startles her, and she turns away from the sea, just as a slow patter of rain can be heard as it drums against the roof of the house. Fanning an arm on top of her head to shield herself from the increasing speed of the downpour, Farah makes her way past the dock and up the coastline. Poor weather calls for hazardous conditions, and a night cooped indoors. She reminds herself that she’s only got twenty nine days left, and picks up her pace to make it back inside before she’s soaked to the skin.            

Farah can see the warm crackle of the fire and her family seated in a circle by the hearth through the window of the house, her younger cousin sitting below the easy chair as their grandmother weaves through Laila’s hair, her nimble fingers forming a neat plait that lies down her back. Her cousin enjoys their month in the village by the sea to an extent that Farah can’t understand. She holds a parallelled view — she can just remember the recent years of never looking forward to their summer vacation along the coast of Turkey.

The very truth is that when she’s here with her family, she never feels more out of place. Farah looks like them all, her tan skin and thick brown hair only a few shades lighter than the surrounding community. She can pretend she fits in all she wants, but she knows she does not. Her tongue can’t twist to form harmonized vowels or thick rolls of Ks and Rs, all everyone can hear is the voice of a foreigner. Her family attends the mosque every week, and Farah can merely hum nonsensical syllables that she strings together, can never blend into the way her relatives pronounce everything with such grace, as if the beautiful words can just roll off of their tongue. The fact that Farah is not bilingual is the defining factor that separates them all.

She wonders if her family is ashamed that she doesn’t speak the dialect like they do. They’d never fully accepted that fact that only one of Farah’s parents were Turkish, and her mother’s passing had made their relationship strained altogether. Farah’s grandparents had worked so hard to get Farah’s mother through her years of schooling, had risked so much to help support her when she moved overseas, and losing their daughter had left a heavy mark in their lives. Farah, the only child of her parents, was the last remaining bit that her grandparents had of their mother. Had she failed them for having the inability to hold on to what her mother had passed on?

When her grandparents looked at Farah, they saw the very same girl who’d stood in front of them decades ago, waves of dark hair framing her face, almond shaped eyes, exact matches to theirs. When they saw Farah, they saw the hope of the future their own daughter had had in her, the one who blazed trails and set a new path for herself, outside their bubble of home. But when her grandparents saw Farah, they also saw what they’d lost, and maybe Farah was too painful a reminder for them to see.

***

Farah greets her family and makes her way upstairs, her footsteps quiet thuds against the wooden floorboards. She shares a bedroom with her cousin, the very one that used to be her mother’s. The photograph by the bedside table makes her lips tug into a small smile — it’s one of her rosy cheeked mother, beside her two brothers, and Farah’s grandparents. If she looks at it close enough, she can see the resemblance of herself. When Farah’s mother was alive, Farah would share this room with her parents every summer. Her anne would sit by the floor of the closest and laugh with Farah, and the two would pour over old photo albums, and she’d show her the window that she’d rigged in her teens to sneak out at night without her parents knowing. Farah stands in the very same place she once did with her mother, seven years ago, thumbing through the old dresses of her mother’s that line the inside. She pulls one out and holds it to her nose, because if she tries hard enough, she can smell the familiar scent of rosewater and saffron, a comforting memory.

At the very back of the closet is a dusty pile of schoolbooks, ones Farah’s mother saved to teach her Turkish as a child. The covers are stained and pages are missing, but staring at the same images she did as a four year old help her formulate syllables she tries to sound out together. Learning Turkish isn’t too hard of a task, but only spending one month in Turkey doesn’t give her much time to learn the language properly. She forgets everything she learns once she gets back home, and she hasn’t met one person in her town who’s Turkish beside her. Farah knows that it’s hard for her father, but she’s caught in the middle. She looks nothing like anyone in the States, nothing like her father, and while her looks bear similarities of those around her when she’s here, she’s regarded as the yarim turk, the half-white Turkish girl.

Merhaba, Farah,” Laila passes a warm smile to her cousin, “wanna come downstairs with me? Baba brought new rolls from the market, and they’re toasty.” She glances down to where Farah flips a page of the textbook, “Hey, I remember those — Auntie Zehra used to teach us from them, right?”

She puts her back against the wall, facing Farah, “Here, I’ll help you — repeat after me! Baba will be thrilled to hear you say this.” She passes Farah a cheeky grin, “It’s, uh, merhaba kaltak.”

Minutes later, when Farah repeats the phrase to her uncle, his eyes go wide in surprise, and Laila’s brother has to conceal his laugh behind the table. He gives her a bemused smile, “Don’t let anyone else ever let you say that, Far. And don’t take lessons from Laila.” Laila is in peals of laughter, and Farah’s cheeks flame a bright red. But her uncle’s twinkle is bright as he tugs at her braid. “I’d be happy to teach you some — your mother would’ve loved to hear this.”

Farah rolls over on the bed that she and Laila share, just as her cousin nudges her. Laila’s voice is quiet, as to not wake the household, and her gaze drifts to the photograph that stands on the table, “What was his name, Farah?”

Her eyes close and her throat tightens, but she breathes a quiet response, “Imran.”

Laila reaches out to grip Farah’s hand, “I would’ve loved to meet him, Far.”

“Yeah.” The Mediterranean breeze flutters through the open window and blows stray hairs onto Farah’s face. “I would’ve, too.”

The warmth of her cousin’s embrace is comforting, and Farah lets out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d holding. Seven years ago, Farah lost her mother, and her miscarriage had meant that Farah had also lost a brother. And the only thing she has left of them are the people with her now. If she can’t push herself to bridge that gap between the people she loves the most, then her family is going to be one more thing that she loses, too.

Her grandfather takes her out on his fishing boat the next morning, their quiet ritual of Sunday mornings. The salty sea air wafts through the breeze as he pushes the boat far out into the cove, as it bobs along the waves. Farah glances up towards the cloudy sky and hesitates before passing him the paddle, so that she can swim out to climb aboard. She wades in knee deep, and the fog settles across the sea, just enough so that she can still see where the boat floats on the sea.

As soon as she makes her way across the beach, the waves swell in size, and cascade abruptly against the rocks. Worry etches across her features as a clap of thunder echoes in her ears, and the summer sun seems to disappear under the expanse of dark billows in the sky.

Farah lets out a scream as the heavy seas overturn the boat, and her grandfather is swept under by the current. She keeps a trembling finger pointing at his exact spot, not wavering her gaze, to keep track of where he is. She shouts in broken Turkish and curses every bit of her bones for not taking the time to memorize the shouts of help. The calm sea seems to turn angry with rage, and the light hues of blue turn dark and stormy, reflections of the clouds overhead, the storm settling on the horizon. Farah doesn’t stop yelling even when her voice turns raw, consumed by the sound of waves crashing against the rocks — the dangerous, sharp landmarks that will kill any sailor if they’re thrown against them. Her knees buckle under her as the villagers run towards the water, her nails digging into her palms, and she sinks into the sand, a quiet sob escaping her throat.

Farah stays by her grandfather’s side through the night. The boat was torn apart on the rocks, and he’d washed up on the shore, bruised, bloodied, and battered, but with a wisp of a heartbeat still sound in his chest. They’d called the doctor and cleaned his wounds, letting him rest, but Farah didn’t dare to sleep.  She kneels by his bedside now, helping take shifts with her uncles and grandmother. The events of today register in her mind that the family she’s taken for granted for so many years, are the ones she could never imagine losing.

Her grandfather doesn’t stir for days, and neither does Farah, spending her hours tending to his needs and pouring over the dusty Turkish textbooks piled in the corner of her mother’s closet. Her uncle helps her, and her skills in the language increase more than they ever have in the past fifteen years. Because now, Farah truly has a desire to learn. When her grandfather wakes, he slips a wrinkled hand into hers, and she squeezes it gently, tears pricking her the corners of her eyes.

“You’re just like your anne, jaan,” he whispers. “You make me smile, just like she did. Your mother was wonderful. My Zehra was her own person,” his voice catches as he lets out a waver, “just like you are.”

Farah slides under the covers, next to her grandfather and wraps a gentle arm around him as he falls into a peaceful sleep, the warmth of his embrace just like her mother’s. The language that divided Farah from her family also brings them together, and as her eyes drift close, she realizes that just like the people she’s with, she might grow to love the idea of this home.

***

The salty summer breeze whips at her skirts, and Farah lifts her son up onto her hip, as they gaze out at the sea. “This is Turkey, jaan,” Farah smiles softly, and presses a kiss into his curls, ones very much like hers.

Where Farah stands is where her mother did, decades ago. And when little Imran’s fingers curl around Farah’s thumb in joy, Farah looks at the house behind her and down at the sands that seep between her toes, the water that washes against the beach. It used to be a reminder of what Farah lost. But now, it’s just a reminder of what has changed.

 

The Bathroom Mirror (Excerpt)

The next day, Mary woke up to find a note on her bedside. Of all things, her sister thought this was the most appropriate. Love letters on how much she missed her. Mary snatched the paper from her bedside and opened it. You have been warned. If it had been written in any other way, then maybe she would have taken it seriously, but the font Helvetica? Really? She was worth way more than this basic font. She discarded the paper where she did everything else: underneath her bed. Getting out of bed would have usually been a problem, but today it just felt like that day. She jumped onto her very gritty floor and nearly slid. She still slept with socks on, like a weird person. She glanced in the mirror as she headed to school, simply because she was that weird person who slept with their clothes for the day already on. You only ever realized this if you lived with her. From past “friends,” Mary had learned that telling people she poured her milk before her cereal was probably not a good conversation starter, unless she wanted to be teased mercilessly.

Besides all of that, Mary was walking to school with someone following her. Every step she took and every block she turned, she felt a presence there with her. She burst into a sudden sprint to school, and at the door she was greeted with a familiar face she hadn’t seen in quite a while. She was not sure if she should be mad because he never texted back or happy that Josh was finally back. He ran his hands through his thickly gelled hair, and she rolled her eyes. No greetings were needed, as they were back to talking about Josefin’s abnormally big ears. Secretly, she felt bad. Who was she to judge? But she was just so glad Josh was here, that she didn’t really care what they were talking about.

Finally, the elephant in the room was addressed. “So… where were you… all this time?” Mary said casually.

“Oh you know, just taking care of business,” Joshy struck back. Afraid to make things too awkward, Mary let it be at that. What business? Mary wanted to ask. What could be so important that you would just leave? And right after that whole mirror incident too? This was getting complicated, and she didn’t want to get too deep into it, so, again, she let it go.

The rest of the day, she went from class to class as if nothing was happening. But there was still a presence that she could feel following her. She kept looking back so hard that her neck started hurting. Her whole experience of just being was super eerie. Like when she had that weird dream of being in that girl’s body and that man… Mary didn’t understand why this was happening to her. Or why it would happen to anyone for that matter. In her confusion, she did what any other teenager would do and Googled it. She didn’t really know what to type, not that anyone had ever talked about being through this, so she looked up Bloody Mary. She saw what she expected. A Wikipedia page on how Bloody Mary died. Murdered in a dungeon by her caretaker, Harold Green. Chills ran down her back. Slowly, she was able to piece things together. She got up from crouching on the bathroom floor, as she smelt the girl in the next stall completely gassing the place. She scrunched up her face and ran out of the bathroom. Everyone knew the school bathroom was for meeting, talking, dancing, possibly peeing, or even making Snapchat stories if you were that girl, but no one ever actually used the bathroom.

With her face flushed, Mary ran to last period, her phone lodged between her books. She was probably the only girl too paranoid to leave her stuff in her locker.

 

Michael (Excerpt)

   

Chapter One

 

Daniel took a breath, stepping off the subway. His flight from Seattle had just landed, and he was able to catch a train that went straight from JFK Airport to New York City, his old home. Though he hadn’t visited the large city since three years ago, when he did live in the area, he still felt like he belonged there. He used to believe he did belong there, as all of his friends and connections were there.

His mother was able to get him a plane ticket and arrange for him to stay at his friend’s house for a week or so. Daniel was excited and could barely sit still on the flight. Texting and calling weren’t the same as seeing his friends in real life. He walked down the street, avoiding the crowds, while turning off airplane mode on his phone.

Daniel stopped as he noticed that he was there, at his friend’s home. It was arranged as a surprise for Percy, one of his good friends. He wondered how much they had all changed. They must have changed, hadn’t they? When he left, they were only eleven years old, and now he was fourteen. He was shorter back then, and he had changed his hair since then, and he wondered how much they had changed.

He wondered how much Michael had changed. Michael, his best and closest friend. Michael, the one who had drifted the farthest away from him after he moved. He couldn’t wait to see him. Daniel had decided on visiting him in the first few hours of his trip. He wanted to hug his best friend like he hadn’t in years, tell him all about life in Seattle, and see the people he had grown to know as part of his family.

He walked up the stairs, pressing the buzzer that was on the wall. He immediately got access, and a feeling of nostalgia ran through him as he looked up at the darkly lit stairwell that he remembered so well. He quickly climbed up the old stone stairs, his feet making soft thumps as he scaled the three stories it took before he was standing there.

Daniel stood in front of the door he remembered. It was a red door with a small peephole. Some of the paint had chipped off, showing the dark wood that was hidden underneath. He took a deep breath, swallowing his nervousness, as he knocked on the door three times.

“Mom, I got it!” Daniel heard someone say, who sounded very familiar. Though the voice was deeper and louder, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his old friend’s voice. The nervousness climbed back up his throat as the door swung open to show a shocked Percy.

“Daniel?” Percy asked, his voice quiet and shocked. Daniel smiled, looking his friend up and down. He had gotten taller, much taller (though Percy always had a few inches on Daniel when they were younger, he was at least half a head taller than him now). Percy’s hair was still the same dark brown, and his eyes looked like a more vivid hazel than they did three years ago. Percy wore a red T-shirt and jeans, and old, worn, black Converse that looked exactly like the pair he had worn when he was younger, though they couldn’t have possibly been the same as his feet looked five times larger than they were in the past.

“Hi, Percy,” Daniel said, trying to keep his voice steady when really it was shaking with excitement. Percy enveloped him in a hug, and Daniel hugged back, knowing he missed the feeling of his friend’s touch.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were coming back?” Percy asked as he pulled away, punching Daniel in the shoulder, causing him to yelp.

“Hey!” Daniel said, rubbing his shoulder. “It was a surprise. Your mom helped set it up.” Percy turned around and glared at his mom, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her phone out and blinking, signalling it was recording.

“Wow, Mom, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “Here, come in. So, are you staying? You’ve honestly missed so much.”

“I think I’m staying for a week or two,” Daniel said, dropping his bag next to the door. He stepped into the apartment, which looked the same from what he could see. The light wood floors and cabinets on the walls were the same, and the kitchen looked the same — white cabinets and countertops, which looked good in Percy’s mom’s opinion (though Percy disagreed, as he had thought that all their science experiments they had done when they were younger would ruin the cabinets).

“How’s your mom’s job going?” Christine, Percy’s mother, asked, referring to the reason that Daniel had moved away from them in the first place. She handed him a mug of hot chocolate.

“Good, she says that she really likes it, and it pays well, so she thinks she’s going to stay there for a while,” Daniel said, taking a sip of the hot chocolate, frowning as it scorched his tongue.

“You always make it too hot, Mom!” Percy exclaimed when he took a sip, sputtering at the unexpected heat.

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I just turn on the kettle and that heats up the milk, not me!” Christine said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m going to take the dog for a walk. You two can catch up.”

Daniel looked at Percy in surprise. “You got a dog?” he asked. Percy had always wanted to get a dog, but he never could because his older brother Charlie was allergic.

“Charlie’s twenty now, and he moved to college. He’s actually in Florida right now, enjoying the nice, warm weather while we have to suffer in this cold,” Percy said, scowling. “But that means I get to have a dog.”

“What kind of dog is it?” Daniel asked, looking around, now noticing the dog bowls and kennel in the living room.

“A small one, some kind of mix. That’s what the breeder said, anyways,” Percy shrugged as the door closed, signalling they were alone in the apartment.

“And how are the rest of them? Jace and everyone else?” Daniel asked, sitting on the couch in the living room.

“He got another guinea pig, two actually. And a lizard gecko, and a few more fish,” Percy said, counting the animals that their friend had gotten. They called Jace the Animal Whisperer, because he always had at least five different kinds of animals, whether it be guinea pigs or snakes.

“How’s Michael? I haven’t talked to him in a while,” Daniel asked, causing Percy to frown.

“He moved. Somewhere in Oregon, I think.” Percy sighed, taking a sip of his drink, his mood lowering at the mention of their friend across the country.

“Really? When? Why?” Daniel asked. Percy shrugged, sinking into the couch as he took another sip.

“About a month and a half ago. I don’t know why he moved. One day he just disappeared, and we didn’t hear from him for a week. Then, my mom got a call saying he had moved to Oregon,” Percy explained, putting his empty mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.

Daniel thought back to a month and a half ago. A month and a half ago, he was still in Seattle and texting his friends daily. But a month and a half ago, his messages and calls weren’t being returned from Michael. And then a month ago, his messages weren’t being delivered and his calls rejected. Maybe that was why, he had lost his phone or gotten a new one.

“My messages haven’t been sending to him since then,” Percy exclaimed, revealing a problem similar to Daniel’s. “My mom just thinks he got a new phone, but I think he would’ve told us before they disconnected his old one.”

“We should go to Oregon then!” Daniel said with a small, playful smile, causing Percy to laugh.

“Sure, ‘cause my mom would totally allow that five minutes after you stepped off your plane to New York. And we don’t even know where he lives!” Percy laughed, the mood lightening.

“Sure, but we could find out, maybe. I want to talk to him!” Daniel declared. “We need to get the group back together.”

Percy frowned. “But Daniel, you’re going to be here for barely a week. And how would we be able to find him?”

“Maybe the landlord of his old apartment knows something,” Daniel speculated. “Or his cousin! His cousin lives in Greenwich Village, on Fourth Street. They’ve got to know something.”

“Do you really wanna do this the second you get back to the city?” Percy asked. “We should at least go and surprise Jace. We can’t leave him out of this.”

“We’ll do that first. But please, I haven’t seen you guys in three years. It should be four of us, not three of us and one of them missing,” Daniel pleaded, seeing the conflict in Percy’s eyes.

“But Daniel, it was three of us and one missing for three years,” Percy said, causing Daniel to frown. “We never saw you, and we still managed to have fun. Sure, it wasn’t the same, but isn’t different good? What if neither of them have information?”

“But what if they do?” Daniel asked. “It can’t hurt to try, right?”

Percy sighed, standing up, and Daniel cheered in victory.

 

Telekinesis Boy

My name is Igor Parentheses Daily, and the moment I woke up today was the first day of the rest of my life.

When I woke up, my phone was on the other side of the room. I didn’t want to get up to reach my phone, so I imagined the phone flying into my hand and thought, That would be cool, so the phone got up and flew into my hand! I was so surprised that I dropped my phone. At least that turned the alarm off.

When I got on the school bus, I decided to test whether it was a dream or not. I went to say hi to my best friend, Daniel. We had been friends since we were three. We loved to play pranks on our other friends.

I went up to him and hollered, “Look! It’s a bird!”

He didn’t fall for it. He said, “I am not going to look.”

I replied, “Okay, suit yourself. It’s not my bag that’s being flung out the window.”

He turned around to see that his bag was hovering in the air, about to be thrown out the window by an invisible force.

Daniel responded, “Nice. Wait, did you steal my levitate-a-bag ropes?”

Suddenly, I felt nauseous. I realized that using my powers is hard. It also takes a lot of energy out of me. I would only use my power in small amounts from then on.

In gym class, our teacher Mr. Schwarzonator told us that we had to run the pacer. I decided otherwise. When he pushed the button next to the light switch, the program started.

“Get on the line,” he barked.

I got on the line just as the announcer started to speak. “The fitnessgram pacer test is a multi — ”

I was just thinking, The fitnessgram pacer test is a blah blahblahblah blahblahblah blah blah, when the announcer announced, “On your mark, get ready, start!”

I just stood there. Didn’t do a thing.

When Mr. Schwarzonator shouted at me, “Start running, Daily!” I still remained motionless. When he reached to blow his whistle, I moved it to the other side of the room. Now, it was Mr. Schwarzonator’s turn to stay motionless. By then, all the kids had stopped running and started high fiving me.

One asked, “How did you do that?”

Another questioned, “Wait, wait, wait. Did you steal my rope that I use to throw whistles across rooms?” It was probably the highlight of my day.

The next day, I decided to try and figure out how I got these powers. I searched my memory for what I did two nights ago. I started from after dinner.

First, I did my homework. Second, I took a shower. Third, I watched some of my favorite TV show, The Boss. Don’t see anything that could have given me superpowers then. I went back further, to around lunchtime. First, I went to boring classes. Second, I went onto the nice, little, abandoned cliffside that had ghost stories about it. Third, I went home to eat dinner. Which one could it be? I went on a limb and decided that it was probably the ghost-storied, abandoned cliffside. I decided to go back there the next day to find out more about my powers.

The day after that, I went to the abandoned cliffside after school. I saw these glowing, green rocks, but they weren’t green like grass, more like that part of the ocean you don’t want to explore. I picked one up and studied it. It was shaped unlike all the rocks I’ve ever seen. Instead of being circular, it was jagged. If someone told me it was a moon rock, I would have believed them. Then, someone knocked me unconscious.

I woke up in a lab, held down on a chair, and took a look around. There was a wooden desk in the corner, which looked unused and forgotten about, but that wasn’t my real concern. The sharp-looking tools on the desk were my real worry. I wasn’t going to get tortured! I looked at what was holding me down. It appeared to be a simple zip tie. I made the knife on the table fly to me and tried to get it to cut the zip tie, but it hit me instead! Owowowowowowowow! That hurt, but luckily, it was only across my arm, it didn’t stab me. I realized that without being able to see my restraints, I couldn’t move the knife toward them without risking it stabbing me. I had to take the chance.

I started to move the knife very slowly out of my plane of vision, hoping to keep it in control. It hit me, and it hurt, but as it hit me, it cut into the zip tie. I kept on cutting, and after three minutes or so, the zip tie broke. I decided to pretend like I couldn’t move even though I could, to throw off my captors.

After 15 minutes of this, an intimidating man walked in. He told me, “I want to learn about your powers.”

I replied, “Let me go!” Then, I tried to trip him using my powers, but he seemed to be able to deflect it.

He looked amused. “Well, well, well, someone is trying to use their powers. Sadly, this room dampens them, so no telekinesis for you.”

I didn’t believe him. “Well, that’s kind of funny.” As I stated this, I telekinetically picked up the extra zip tie behind him. I continued, “Because… wait, why can’t you move your legs?”

Mid-sentence I had zip tied his feet together. It was hilarious! He tried to walk backwards but tripped on the zip tie! When he fell back, I zip tied his hands together. Now that he was stuck, I stood up, zip tie free, and started out the hall.

Since this facility captured and zip tied me, I wasn’t eager to explore, so I just tried to find a way out, and while I was searching, I saw hallways among hallways of rooms looking identical to mine. I promised myself I would free those people later. I did eventually find the exit, at the end of the only hallway with no attached rooms or hallways, then left the building. After a couple of minutes and some asking, I oriented myself to the city and took a taxi home. When I got home, I decided that I would find the people that the scary guy worked with and turn them into the police, using my powers to help.

When I woke up the next day, I pulled my phone from across the room with no effort and realized that my powers were improving. I had so many questions about them. How did I get it? Is it like a muscle, so that I can improve it while using it? Does something generate it? I wanted to solve all of those mysteries, but first, I had to defeat that man. I am going to call him TG, for That Guy.

After school that day, I went and tried to find the lab, but was unsuccessful. I was shouting and was so frustrated that I couldn’t think straight. When I got home, I was watching a random TV show, then a Star Wars ad popped up. It showed Yoda telling Luke, “You will only find what you seek when you stop looking,” and I knew what I had to do.

On day five of having my powers, it was Friday, so I got out of school early and had more time to search. During school, I tried to develop my powers. In gym class, instead of moving Mr. Schwarzonator’s whistle across the room, I tried moving bigger things. While we were playing basketball, it was Daniel, a new kid whose name I forgot, and me versus the best kids at basketball in the grade. There was Peter, whose dad made him play at least two hours a day everyday since he was three. There was Coby, whose Mom played professionally for 15 years, and finally, last but certainly not least, there was Jack. Jack was six feet and six inches and was the only sixth grader that could dunk. He could also make any shot, as long as it was closer to the hoop than the half court line.

We were severely outmatched, with only two minutes left on the clock and my team losing by 15 points, but I had a plan. When the other team got the ball, they immediately passed to Jack, which they had been doing for that entire game. He got it and started going down the court, fast as a lion. I pushed the ball away with telekinesis, but made it looked like Jack just tripped. It went out of bounds, and my team got the ball. I took it out, passed it to Daniel, and told him to shoot, even though he was at half court. As he shot, I telekinetically moved the ball into the hoop, giving our team three points. I did this for the rest of the game, giving our team the ball, then making ridiculous shots. By the end of the game, we won by nine points.

After the game, Jack asked me, “Did you steal the ropes that I use to make ridiculous shots?”

After school, I set my plan in motion. I went near the cliff with the rocks and didn’t do a thing, like in gym class. I just stood there. Suddenly, I heard a movement in the woods and turned around to see my most fearsome foe. That guy! I faced him, ready for battle.

He said, “You know, Igor, I generate your power. It was me who originally found the stones, so I have the ability of telekinesis. It was also I who told the ghost stories about the cliff to keep everyone away from them. The only reason I didn’t knock you out the first time you came here was because I wanted to see if the stones still had any power in them. Now that you’re here, I assume they do. And you cannot defeat me, because I can stop generating the power, and you won’t have them anymore. The only downside to stop generating the power would be that I would no longer possess it, but that won’t matter if I am in jail. So, I will give you two options. Forget this ever happened and you can go about, freely using your power, and having a good time. Option two is that you fight me and die, or I will go to jail and you won’t have your powers. So what do you chose?”

I answered, “I choose the one where you stop making all of those incredibly long speeches.” Then, we fought.

At first, he had the upper hand because he had had his powers for so long, but I was catching up, countering his attacks and sometime putting in my own. Granted, we weren’t actually moving when we were fighting, just standing there, using our abilities and looking like statues.

After a couple of minutes of dodging and countering, blocking and dodging, he finally pinned me to a tree and muttered, “Don’t try anything funny,” but as he said this, I pushed him back into a different tree, so it sounded more like, “Don’t try anything fuuaaaaa!” Once he was pinned, he cried out, “Remember. If you take me into the police, I will turn off your power, and your life will be as boring as ever.

After he told me this, I had a split second decision to make. Do I want my power more than justice for that man? I was so startled by this decision that That Guy had time to get up and knock me unconscious once again.

This time, when I woke up, I was pinned down on a cold, metal table, with little droplets of water going down my forehead every five seconds or so. “This must be to distract me, so I can’t use my telekinesis,” I muttered. I also had a blindfold on, probably to keep me from seeing anything to move to cut myself lose. This was going to be hard to escape.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in my ear, “I know you’re awake. It must be hard to not be able to use your power after five amazing days of having them, but I can’t have you trying anything.” It was That Guy. He continued, “Guess what, Igor? I finally decided to just pull the stones from the dirt. I really don’t know why I didn’t do that before. Now, I don’t need the power I have now, because I can figure out how to take more from the rocks. You know what that means? No more powers for you!” And with that, he left.

Suddenly, I felt my power being drained from me. It happened so precipitously, like it was a bullet being fired from a gun. It was so painful, a bullet ant would have empathy. I made a decision in that moment. I would get my power back and stop That Guy. I realized that my arms could still move, even though I was chained to a table. I took off my blindfold and realized that the only thing holding me down were zip ties on my feet, which I quickly undid and went to the door. That was unlocked too. It seemed that That Guy didn’t care about me now that he took my powers. Good, that would make it easier to take his.

As I started out of the faculty, I decided to free some people along with me. The first one I freed was a timid, little seven-year old, and she told me that her name was Kira. When I asked her what her power was, she told me that she could control computers by hacking them with her mind. I asked her if she could see things on a computer other than data, like videos, and she said she could. I asked her if she could find glowing, green rocks on the security cameras, and she answered that she could and then gave me directions to them. I knew this was a long shot, but I asked her if she could remotely open everyone’s cell door, and she told me she could, but that wouldn’t undo the bindings. I was fine with that. I told her to open all of the cell doors, then free as many people as she could, and get out of there. She wished me good luck, and off I went.

I started down the path that Kira had instructed me to go to, but soon realized that whenever she said left, she meant right, and vice versa. This was going to be harder than I thought.

After a couple wrong turns and plenty of backtracking, I finally got the hang of remembering to reverse rights and lefts. When I reached the room they were allegedly in, I searched for the green rocks. The room was small enough that it wouldn’t be a major challenge to find the rocks, but my only problem was that the room was very crammed, with too many drawers to count, and materials strewn about. This might take a while.

Suddenly, I heard a loud alarm blare through the facility, and a soothing voice said, “T-minus 10 minutes until self destruction sequence initiates.”

After five minutes or so of hurried searching, with me looking at my watch all the time to see how much longer I had, I saw something green and shining under a tarp, so I decided to search it. When I lifted up the tarp, I heard a snap. It was a tripwire! I dove forward, trying to avoid whatever could hit me, but nothing happened. I was in the clear, for now. I went to the green rocks, and when I picked them up, an anvil fell where I was standing before I dove forward.

Suddenly, I heard a voice say from behind, “Well, well, well. Looks like someone wants their powers back. The only problem is, I will touch the stones, and then I too, will have powers.”

“I don’t want my powers back, I have my powers. If you haven’t noticed, I am holding the stones,” I replied.

Then, I used all of my brain power to push him back as hard as I could, and he flew into the doorway horizontally, so that his head and legs took the brunt of the impact. He started to get up, grunting, and I hit him again, this time focusing the push on where he hit his head. He screamed in pain, and then fell unconscious.

The computer voice spoke again, “T-minus two minutes until self destruction sequence initiates.” I looked from That Guy to the exit, then back to That Guy, and then lifted him with telekinesis, as if he were on an invisible gurney. Because I had to focus on holding him up, I put the stones in his lap so that my hands were free. Then, the computer said, “Self destruct sequence initiating.”

At first I was afraid, I was petrified, is the beginning of a song from the ‘70s that my parents like to listen to, but it is exactly how I felt. Afraid and petrified, but when nothing happened, I relaxed. Then, the room I was just in exploded.

I started running as fast as possible, with rooms exploding behind me as I went. This was very difficult because I had to maneuver That Guy out of the way as well. When we entered the hallways, filled with rooms of people, the explosions stopped, and I started to free them.

Then, the computer voice announced, “T-minus 30 seconds until next stage of self destruction,” and I almost panicked, but somehow managed to keep it together.

When I freed all of them, and told them to run for their life, the explosions in the cells started again. I started running, but for a split second saw a kid, maybe six or seven, held down in a room that I missed, and I knew what I had to do.

I think I had maybe five seconds until his room exploded, so I used that time to undo his bindings, throw him out of the room, telekinetically, of course, then, when the bomb exploded, I absorbed it in what one could call an invisible force field. I somehow didn’t die, so I ran out the room to the little boy. I didn’t have time to tell him what was happening, so I simply said, “Follow me.”

We started running as fast as we could down the hallway, the explosions going on around us. Suddenly, the computer voice announced, in between explosions, “Stage three of self destruction initiating.” I heard a distant explosion. Suddenly, the ceiling started shaking, and where we had been a second before got smashed by falling chunks of ceiling.

The six-year-old and I started sprinting, me occasionally sidestepping to avoid rubble that would have fallen on me, but the six-year-old just ducking under it.

He asked me, “Why are you sidestepping?”

I didn’t respond and kept sidestepping. We approached the last corridor until the exit, but we had one problem. It was filled with rubble, blocking our path. I focused my mind and tried to think of something peaceful, like trees moving in the wind, dancing, with the sun lighting them up, but in a good way, that makes you wonder why not everything is like that, and then, I lifted up the entire corridor.

It was so excruciatingly painful and stressful on my mind, I would not have been surprised if I lost my powers the next day. I almost dropped That Guy, which would have killed him in his condition. I wondered what the six-year-old’s powers were, but I had to stop because I had to put all of my energy into lifting up the hallway. I started to walk slowly through the corridor, and the six-year-old followed.

He said, “That’s awesome! I wish I could do that. By the way, my name is Aaron. Nice to meet you.”

I grunt-responded, “My name is Igor. Run until you reach the end of the corridor.”

But he, oblivious to the danger, said, “No, it’s fine. I’ve handled worse than falling building before.”

“Huh?” I replied, not having enough leftover brainpower to realize that his power was invulnerability.

We went on, with Aaron talking about how he loved pancakes and occasionally telling me a bad joke. He was really energetic. After what seemed like a lifetime, we reached the exit and stumbled out of the building, me exhausted, Aaron cheerful. What I saw before me was not superpowered children, but scared children, so I helped them. I went around to each and every one of them and asked if they knew their address, and if they did, told them to wait. If they did not, I asked if they knew their parents’ phone number. Some were older than me, the ones that just asked me where we were so they could find their way home, so I told them, and they went, but some stayed behind to help me.

Half an hour later, everyone was home. That Guy, whose name turned out to be Dexter, was going to trial. I asked the cops to not tell my mom that I was in danger, so they didn’t. Luckily, it was only six o’clock. I went home and took a shower immediately, so my mother wouldn’t ask what happened. After dinner, I started watching the final episode of The Boss, but in the middle, I realized that I would have to get rid of my powers. Because I put the stones on Dexter’s stomach, it gave him powers, but I got them first. I assumed that if I got rid of my powers, Dexter would lose his, so I had to do it. I focused all my willpower and imagined the power seeping out of me, and then, I tried to move my phone with my mind, but it wouldn’t work. I had lost my power.

I continued the show, and it ended without warning. The boss had just retired and was no longer stressed about anything. He was simply sitting on a lawn chair, on the side of a beautiful lake, with trees moving gently, like a dance, in the light breeze, and the sun setting slowly, yet beautifully. It was a very serene moment. Then, just as precipitously as my powers vanished, and my life returned to normal, the show cut to black.

 

Animals in Captivity

According to the Zoo Statistic, about 751,931 animals are living in institutions, and many of them are killed each year (Statistic Brain, 2017). Researchers have noticed that African elephants in zoos have lifespans of about 17 years, while wild ones live for about 36 years (Curiosity Staff, 2015). This is a massive difference, which means that zoos, where people collect wild animals in parks or gardens, are not beneficial to animals. Therefore, animals should not be held in captivity, as it harms them physically and mentally.

Starting off, many people say that the animals living in zoos will suffer physically and mentally, as their social needs are not the same or can’t be met in human society. Though some zoos do try to improve their conditions, zoos around the world differ in quality and in techniques for protecting their animals. An aquarium in Orlando called Sea World got a dolphin named Betsy who was previously in perfect condition and healthy. However, once Betsy arrived at Sea World, she started eating irregularly and quickly died (Sentinel Orlando, 2016). This conveys the fact that animals are not adapting to the institutions because they are held captive from their own lives, so there would not be any decent point in caging them. Adding on, people are harmed by keeping animals in captivity. There are incidents where dolphins kill workers or elephants critically injure people. It is a risk for them to be in zoos or aquariums, as these accidents are caused by the animals not being where they are originally supposed to belong.

Going on, multiple sources state how expensive zoos and aquariums are and also how they are a waste of resources to human civilization. Spending the money to create a “similar-looking” animal compound is less beneficial for overall conservation efforts. That same money could be better spent in a more centered conservation project. Some zoos spend upwards of $1 million a year just to maintain a single exhibit (Orens Shayna, 2017). There is a difference between having animals inside a small room with translucent walls for people to watch for entertainment and having them in places that focus on animals and their safety with much more freedom. According to Newsela, the San Diego Zoo in 2014 spent more than $10,000 on just advertising, according to its public financial statement. Like stated before, many institutions waste big amounts of money on things that are useless compared to other things the money could be spent on.

Furthermore, numerous zoos can’t provide enough space, so either way there isn’t a sufficient point in keeping animals when they could be free and live wherever they wish.

Tigers and lions have around 18,000 times less space in zoos than they do in the wild. In other words, zoos are not suitable for animals. There are sicknesses and diseases animals get from being too claustrophobic, which worsens the population. The territory becomes dirty and bacteria grow, making the animals become sick. Some say that keeping animals in captivity allows the animal population to be stable and stops certain species from being endangered. However, this is not the case. When animals are kept in small spaces, they become stressed, which causes them to not breed or reproduce. Having all the animals in captivity won’t prevent animals from being extinct and instead will be worthless.

All in all, animals should not be held in captivity, as it both harms animals and makes them suffer, since the human environment differs from their own habitats. Furthermore, there isn’t be any purpose, and it is a waste to keep animals in captivity. People come to zoos for enjoyment, and though these animals are stunning, their feelings and their lives are not the same in captivity.

 

Works Cited:

Orens Shayna. “Issue Overview: Should we have zoos?” Newsela, 2017. https://newsela.com/read/overview-zoos/id/28237/

Sentinel Orlando.SeaWorld won’t breed, replace unusual dolphins.” Newsela, 2016. https://newsela.com/read/seaworld-dolphins/id/14791/

Statistic Brain. “Zoo Statistics” Statistic Brain Research Institute, 2017. https://www.statisticbrain.com/zoo-statistics/

Curiosity Staff. “Do Animals Live Longer In Captivity?” Curiosity, 2015. https://curiosity.com/topics/animals-in-the-wild-versus-in-captivity/

Annabelle F. “Animals Should Not Be Kept In Cages” The Bell Magazine, 2014. http://thebell.global2.vic.edu.au/animals-should-not-be-kept-in-cages-annabelle-f/

 

Elite Cat Trainer

I used to be a dog person. Dogs were my whole life. I was a professional dog trainer, and not just any professional dog trainer. I was sponsored by Fluffy Friends™ and licensed by the American Dog Corporation. Until… my favorite dog, Betsy Fluffercins (the s is silent), a dog I had raised from birth, betrayed me.

One morning, I woke up to see her wagging tail only to be followed by her jumping up and pooping on my face. Even now, I am not fully recovered from this full-blown betrayal. But back then, I didn’t even want to live at all. I stopped eating, drinking, and doing anything that made me happy. I didn’t deserve to. I had failed as an elite dog trainer.

In my state of depression, I did the worst thing a man like me could do on his laptop. I watched cat videos.

But… what was this feeling? Why were these cat videos making me feel such a way? This… this was the same sensation I felt when I first met The One Who Shall Not Be Named. This was it. This was the thing God put me on this earth to do. I had to become…

The world’s first elite cat trainer.

I felt like I had once before. My drive to live had been restored. As quickly as humanly possible, I sprinted to my car and drove as fast as a Toyota could to the one place where I felt at home. Fluffy Friends™.

I sprinted through the automatic sliding doors, past bunnies, fish, and for the first time in my life, I walked past… the dog section. People gave me confused looks, knowing I was an elite dog trainer. Not anymore, I said to myself. Not anymore. And as I stepped into the cat section, I became a new man.

We locked eyes. A single tear rolled down my face, because I knew… I was in love again. She was gorgeous, a beautiful dotted pattern on her coat, and her lightning blue eyes made her stand out from the other Egyptian Maus. She looked stunning, no, heavenly as she groomed herself with her picture perfect pink tongue. I knew I had to do it, to purchase this majestic creature, I had to step inside… the cat section.

My first step hurt. I felt anguish through my entire body. Everything I’d ever known, gone. But, no matter how much it hurt, I knew she was worth it. My steps were slow and each one was like a stab to the heart, and I was about to turn back when, “Mew.” She mewed for me! At this moment, I swore I wouldn’t fail her, Betsy the Second.

Wait. What was this I saw. A… three-year-old trying to buy my cat! I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this. I needed a weapon. This three-year-old girl was a fierce one, with nails sharper than daggers. I grabbed the nearest dog leash and used it to lasso the she-devil down. She wasn’t crying from the blood dripping down her face, but the pain of losing the one thing that mattered. Betsy the Second. After the questionable looks from the security guard, I quickly purchased the Egyptian Mau and took her back to my lovely Toyota.

The car drive back was quiet, and I didn’t know why. I tried all my usual tricks to get dogs to like me, but none of them worked! I fed her everything I could think of, from apples to zucchini. I was upset of course, but I assumed it would improve as the day went on. It didn’t. I was really questioning why I bought this cat in the first place. Until one fateful day…

I woke up ready to return Betsy the Second, when out of the corner of my eye, I made out the figure of a fluffy cat coming my way. Oh no! This is exactly how my relationship ended with The One Who Must Not Be Named.

“Just do it,” I yelled. “Just get it over with.” But then… But then… I felt a wet tongue gently stroke my face, and I knew I had made the right choice. Betsy the Second.

Once the ice broke, I found out how wonderful cats can be! They are so affectionate, but when you’re busy, you can spend some time alone without them bothering you. Plus after a week, my mice problem was nonexistent! Now I don’t know what I saw in dogs. While dogs are dumb and clumsy, cats are agile and quick-witted. Betsy the Second seems to understand everything when I talk to her! And because of our deep bond, she can perform marvelous tricks!

For example, I could never train Betsy Fluffercins (remember, silent s) to eat with a knife and fork, and Betsy the Second didn’t even need any training. I also trained her to jump through hoops one inch in diameter, and she has the ability to breathe underwater. (Unfortunately, after many tests, we have figured out that The One Who Shall Not Be Named cannot breathe underwater.)

This is why I think every human should have a cat. They are just as nice as dogs, but can be responsible when you need them to be. I haven’t doubted my decision to get a cat to this day… except for, you know, that one time. I am also proud to say that I am on my way to become the world’s first elite cat trainer. If you want to see her perform, she will be on Saturday Night Live and for the first time will be breathing underwater while going through a fire hoop.

 

Alice’s Choice

The air was filled with the taste of something creamy and buttery — cake.

Alice glanced up at the large, maple table overshadowing her, and then at the oversized, empty glass bottle laying beside her. The smell of cake wafted from above, and Alice knew that the delectable dessert was on top of the table. Doors of all variety and size adorned the walls, and the ceiling, well there was no ceiling at all! Instead, high above her was a long hole with a miniscule hole of light at the top. From what she could see, the sky was turning vermillion, as day was slowly engulfed by darkness. This must have been the hole she had fallen from, Alice realized.

How had everything gotten so big? she wondered. She recalled the tangy taste of the liquid she had drunk from the glass bottle, and then the tight, squeezing sensation that came after as her surroundings gradually grew larger and larger.

Alice crawled towards the bottle, its surface catching light and shimmering as she turned it over. The words drink me were inscribed on the bottle’s side, and she hugged her knees wondering what had just happened. Curiosity raced through her, ensnaring her mind in wonder.

Getting up, Alice paced around the room, examining each door. The doors had to lead somewhere, anywhere from here. Eventually, she came to a small, locked door her size, with a shiny door knob and gold paint peeling off from the door. An abnormally large keyhole was fitted above the door knob, and Alice could hear strange sounds coming from it, like a jungle. The sharp scent of something floral wafted from the hole, enticing her to come closer. Alice had to know what came behind it.

She scanned the walls, searching for anything that could help open this door, her eyes almost passing over a black key shrouded in the shadows. She picked up the key, about the right size for the keyhole, and the cold weight in her hands calmed her. A strong, metallic smell came from the key, permeating the air with the smell of iron.

The metallic scent reminded her of the smell of the pots and pans she would deal with at home. Everyday, she would wake up early to help her mother cook, but not out of goodwill. Her daily activities would include cooking, cleaning the house, and other menial tasks. The act of doing the same tedious drudgery every day eventually resulted into feelings of boredom and even resentment towards her family.

Alice realized that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to return.

“I don’t want to go back,” Alice said to herself.

“Nobody’s making you go.” A croaky voice rang out from the shadows, as a tall, green body stepped from the darkness.

A frog stood, fully clothed in a burgundy, satin suit. Shockingly bright spots of lime dotted his skin, and he twirled a wooden cane between his hands before finally setting it down and laying his webbed fingers on it. A black, silk top hat rested on his head, and his large, translucent eyes peered at Alice, who was staring back with wonder.

“What’s the matter, child?” The frog bent his knobby knees to lower himself to Alice’s level.

“I’m conflicted, I suppose. I don’t know if I should try to find my way back home, or continue exploring this… wonderful land,” Alice confessed.

“Well, why would you want to go home?” the frog asked.

“Because I know that place, because it’s familiar, and it’s home, and… and all of those things,” Alice said.

“But… ” the frog prompted.

“But this place, it’s so new. It’s so different from what I know. Everyday at home is the same thing over and over again; it’s driving me crazy,” Alice said. “And this place, it’s so full of wonders and things that I just have to explore.”

“Then, stay here,” the frog said, spreading his webbed fingers. He raised his foot and stomped on the floor, sending waves of dust flying, and revealing a small trap door in the floor.

“But I might want to go home!”

“Then, go home,” he lifted the door.

“But I want to stay and go explore this land!”

“Then, go!” the frog bellowed. He jumped into the hole, his voice echoing below the moss-eaten floor.

And then Alice was alone again.

She looked at the key, before setting it into the keyhole and turning it. The resulting click resounded throughout the large room. She set her hand on the doorknob and twisted it, pushing open the door.

Outside was a ravishing forest. Different types of flowers populated the sylvan landscape, and the sky was roofed by vast trees. The sun-dappled ground was covered with moss and ivy, and the forest smelled of petrichor and pine. Cool humidity settled on Alice’s skin, and a flock of birds flew past her. She soon realized they were not birds at all, but a deck of cards flying in the air.

Alice stood in the doorway. She could feel the allure of magic and wonder drawing her in. She lifted her foot past the threshold ready to set it down, but hesitation clouded her thoughts.

Alice knew that if she went back home, she would never have a life of imagination, of wonder, of freedom. This was the first time ever that she could have a change, a decision to make. Setting foot in this land would mean no more days of listless boredom and endless monotony.

But what if there were things, dangerous things, that could harm her in this land? Well, she just had to take a chance, didn’t she? The only thing holding her back from doing something new was her own doubts. It was a bet against herself, Alice realized. She brushed past her doubts and breathed in, ready to begin a new life in this land of wonder.

Alice took the chance and stepped into the forest.

 

The Darkest of Depths

       

The Bathroom Toilets

“Hey! Hey Daniel,” Jack said in a whisper. “Let’s go to the bathroom so we can escape class.”

“Okay, I’ve got Ben,” Jack said. “Let’s get going.”

“Great idea,” Daniel said. “Just let me finish this one problem… done.”

The classroom was big and had desks, chairs, charts, graphs, and number lines. Boring and extremely ordinary. Jack, Ben, and Daniel quietly snuck out and walked down to the bathroom while the math teacher, a big-eyed, brown-haired, tall, glossy woman, helped students with multiplication and division and direct proportionality.

“C’mon guys, let’s go! We don’t want somebody to catch us,” Ben whispered, racing down the hallway.

“Wait,” Daniel said. “Just because you’re quicker than us doesn’t mean you have to rush ahead.” He caught up to Ben and tugged him by the hand. Daniel received a visible shock, so he quickly pulled away from Ben.

When they got to the bathroom, they huddled in a corner.

“So, did you see that new game, the one with the amazing fantasy storyline?” Jack said.

“Yeah, I just got it this weekend. It is so cool! Totally worth the twenty dollars,” Daniel replied.

“Hey, check this out,” Jack said. He ignited a flame on his finger and plunged it into the sink nearby. The water sizzled and bubbled as it evaporated.

“Cool!” Ben said. Jack looked at his friends in the mirror over the sink.

“Hey, Daniel, your hazel eyes are really cool, especially in contrast to your brown hair,” Jack said.

“Why, thanks for noticing, I guess. Yours is really cool too, with your black hair and red eyes. And Ben, your blond hair and blue eyes are cool too,” Daniel commented.

“Thanks,” said Ben. “I think this all has something to do with our powers. I mean, your eyes would be blue like mine if you had electric powers, or red like Jack’s if you had fire powers, or nature colors if you had nature powers, like Daniel. Standing together like this, you really notice how different we all look.”

Suddenly, the water in the toilets glowed, and the toilets flushed for no apparent reason.

“What the… ” Jack said. Slowly, Daniel walked up to one of the closed stalls where he could see the toilet glowing and knocked on the door.

“Hello? Are you all good in there?” Daniel said hesitantly.

He realized the door was unlocked and pushed it open. “Hey, guys! Come look at this,” Daniel said. Jack and Ben slowly walked over and looked in the stall. The water wasn’t water anymore. It had become a swirling portal.

“Ah!” yelled Ben. “What’s going on!”

“Just what I needed,” Daniel muttered.

The portal glowed even more, and suddenly their feet were sucked down the toilet. “AHHHHHHH,” they yelled as their bodies went under, all of them trying to grab onto the slippery bowl of the toilet. The rest of the portal was flushed down with them, and the toilet flushed normally.

 

A Dark Realm with a Cold Reaper

“No matter how many times I do this, I never get used to it!” Ben yelled as they flew through the portal with its interdimensional purple energy swirling around them and sucking them forward.

“Look, there is the end of the portal,” Jack said. They flew out of the portal and landed on the floor with a thud.

Daniel looked up. “Wow, look at this place!” he said with awe. Everything was black — the sky, the floor. Yet they could see. They stood up and walked around with slight curiosity, but looked for an exit. It was just black as far as the eye could see.

Suddenly, a figure appeared. A hooded cloak completely covered its face and a scythe was strapped to its back. Two minions stood at its side. One was an elf-like thing completely made out of snow, with razor ice claws and teeth. The other was taller but looked the same, with a staff that had a crystal that looked like a mini portal. Then, the figure unveiled its face. It was a woman with a scar over and under her left eye, partially covered by an eye patch. Her long hair hung around her face like icicles.

“Hello,” she rasped. “I am Chloe.” Her voice was like nails scraping on a chalkboard and cold like an untamed blizzard.

“Uh, hey Chloe,” Ben said, then added in a whisper, “Guys, what are we going to do about the crazy psycho woman?”

Then Chloe said, as if reading their minds, “You could start by coming with me and being good little brats.”

“Um, no thanks,” Daniel replied, taking a small step backward.

“Maybe we could distract her?” Ben suggested in a whisper.

“Good idea,” Daniel said. “I think I know exactly how to do that.”

“My boss wants you preferably alive but, if forced to, he said I could kill you,” Chloe said, touching the blade of her scythe lovingly.

“Look, lady,” Jack said. “How much is your boss paying you to do this? Maybe we could strike a better dea — ”

“Silence, fool!” Chloe screamed.

“Just joking,” Jack said.

“Why do you want to kill us?” Daniel asked.

“Because I’ve always wanted vengeance on elementals like you. You see, about 3,000 years ago, I had a husband who was an elemental, and one day he and his other elemental scum found out that the eternal flame was flickering.”

“On my signal, we run,” Daniel whispered so Chloe couldn’t hear.

“Hey, I heard something about the eternal flame last year. What is it?” Jack asked, trying to continue the conversation.

“Who is your boss?” Ben asked.

“Not important. Speaking of backstories, yours is horrifying and dark. My kind of story. So anyway, he and his friends went off to save the eternal flame even though they knew they might never come back. In the end, they saved the eternal flame but didn’t make it out. I knew that he never really cared about me and only about his elemental pow — Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Daniel, Jack, and Ben ran away as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Ben ran the fastest, tiny sparks flying behind him.

Daniel turned around and said to Chloe, “Hey, creep, as much as we would love to hear your thrilling backstory, we would rather not die.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? After them!” she screamed to her minions with rage.

Jack, Daniel, and Ben ran for five minutes, all the while rapidly dodging balls of glowing snow and balls of ice emitting mist.

“Careful!” Daniel said, looking back at the snow balls. “That’s liquid nitrogen. That stuff will freeze you solid!

“Look, a temple!” Jack said. Chunks of stone were everywhere, littering the ground like ancient ruins. It did not look inviting in the least, with the crumbling door/archway at the front and the old, half-eroded, scary dog gargoyles on the shredded flying buttresses, but they had no choice but to seek shelter there.

They ran through the temple, and then Daniel stopped.

“Go, I’ll hold them back!” Daniel said. He thought about nature with its natural energy and raised his hands. Tree roots snaked their way out of the ground and completely blocked the entrance. Then, he ran to catch up with the others.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Chloe yelled in frustration. “This can’t be!”

 

The Temple of Webs

Daniel finally caught up with the others deep in the temple.

“Well, we are finally safe,” Jack said. “At least for now.” He ignited a flame on the tip of his pointer finger so that they could see their terrible surroundings. Shadows danced across the walls like ghosts. The columns that lined the temple ruins were held up by stone statues of people, their rock-hard faces contorted in rage, fear, and agony. Cobwebs hung everywhere, some were unnaturally huge. The walls were embedded with fossilized bones and human skulls. Jewels covered the limestone walls and floor.

Except for Jack’s flame on his finger, everything was in total darkness. They then found a whole other room, exactly identical to the last one, except for weird paintings lining the walls.

“Wow, these look like ancient hieroglyphics,” Ben said. “If these are what people thought about, then they must have gone crazy at some point.”

On the walls were pictures of giant spiders breathing fire, attacking towns with fires, and having people run away before them. A tornado with an eye and claws was standing over the whole thing like this was some kind of show.

“Hey guys,” Jack said. “Does that eye look familiar to you?”

 

Suddenly, the room shook, and rocks fell from the ceiling. One landed near Daniel, and the shock wave sent him flying backward.

“Uh, guys,” Ben said in a very nervous voice. “ Do you hear something?”

“You mean, besides the rocks trying to crush us?” Daniel yelled.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Jack said. “It sounds like the shuffling of lots of legs. And look, the cobwebs are glowing!”

“Oh great, with our luck, we will have to… Ahh! A giant spider!”

 

With a thud, a spider that was very big indeed landed on the ground and hissed a loud hiss. Suddenly, part of the ceiling collapsed, separating Daniel from Jack, Ben, and the spider.

“Oh no, what am I going to do!” Daniel yelled in panic. “I have to find a way back to them! Wait, what’s that?” Under a pile of rubble, there was an eerie, purple glow. Daniel pushed away the rubble, and underneath there was a ledge. At the bottom was a little room that looked like it was going to collapse at any second. A portal swirled at the end, glittering invitingly.

Daniel slowly climbed down, but he fell and cut his knee in the process. Despite the pain, he stood up and walked to the portal. Maybe this portal will lead me back to my friends, he thought. Then, another crash shook the ceiling above him, and the walls started to move. With a start, he realized more spiders were awakening around him, and there were so many of them. Hurriedly, he bent his legs and jumped into the portal.

 

A Cheesy Fight

Daniel appeared on an island made out of a sticky, whitish-yellowish substance that smelled terrible. The palm trees, the sand, and the water were all made out of it. The only thing that wasn’t made out of it was the sky, which was still black. Daniel began to explore a little bit. The smell was revolting, and the yellow ocean stretched out for miles and miles on end.

“Man, this didn’t take me back to my friends, it took me to a yellow island. I wonder how to get off of it. Maybe you have to try and eat it ‘cause it looks a little like cheese? I guess that’s where I’ll start.” Daniel bent down and tried to bite the cheese, but he screamed in disgust. “What kind of cheese is this?” he said.

“The kind that gives you anger,” said a mysterious voice.

“Well, I guess if you put it tha — wait, who said that?” Daniel said. There was no reply. Then, suddenly, fins emerged from the cheese water, also made out of cheese. About ten or maybe more. They circled the island first, then jumped out of the water. The fins were attached to sharks made out of cheese. Daniel summoned cheese roots from the ground and hit the sharks out of the air and into the water with a sound like a bullet through the air. They hit the water with extreme force, sending cheese waves up high, and yet the sharks didn’t have a scratch. No dents in the cheese or anything.

Wait, Daniel thought, If these sharks are invincible, then how do I defeat them? Then, a shark much bigger than the others emerged from the water with a man made out of cheese wearing a cheese poncho riding it.

“This is what you might call a cheesy fight,” he said.

“Ha ha,” said Daniel. “Very funny.”

“To have the privilege to summon a portal to get off this island, you must first defeat me and my sharks,” the man said, squaring up.

“Oh yeah, before I destroy you, I want to find out your name,” Daniel said, bracing himself. “So… what is your name?”

“My name is Maxarella.”

I’m almost out of ideas to stall him, but I still can’t figure out how to defeat the sharks. Okay, it’s time to resort to the back-up plan, Daniel thought, sweat beating down his forehead. Suddenly, Daniel noticed marks on some of the sharks’ fins that looked suspiciously like bites. A happy, confident thought popped into his mind. Daniel bent his legs and jumped onto a shark and bit it as hard as he could. He focused all his anger on the cheese man for trying to kill him, all while trying to stop himself from gagging. The cut on Daniel’s knee immediately healed with little, green sparks flying from the wound. The feeling was refreshing, like being in a painful position and then being allowed to relax. I didn’t know I could do that, Daniel thought. The shark dissolved into mist with a sound that sounded a lot like a fart. That’s it! Daniel thought. That’s their weakness. Daniel summoned vines that carried him to the other sharks.

Some sharks ran away, realizing that Daniel knew how to beat them, while others tried to fight and ended up thrashing while Daniel was on top of them. Multiple times, Daniel was almost thrown off before he got the chance to bite them. Maxarella, meanwhile, was summoning balls of cheese from his hands and throwing them desperately at his oppressor.

“Well, Maxarella, it seems I’ve learned two things from this experience,” Daniel said as a cheese ball flew over his head. First, your weakness is that you can’t survive being bitten. Second, if I focus on my anger, I can heal anything.” He bit into the shark he was standing on. Just like the last one, the shark dissolved with a fart-like sound. Then, his roots carried him to the next one and the one after that and the one after that until all the sharks were gone, except for the big one that Maxarella was standing on.

“Well, Max, you’re looking a little blue like blue cheese.” Then, he hopped on the shark and bit it. The shark dissolved into mist with a fart sound.

“NOOOOO,” said Maxarella, as he dissolved into mist when Daniel bit him. Daniel rushed back to the island and looked around the tiny island for the portal. He soon found it waiting for him. Daniel quickly spit into the cheese sand to get rid of the terrible taste in his mouth. He thought about his friends and jumped into the portal.

 

Hopscotch with a Lava Pit

“Oh man,” Jack said, trying to catch his breath. “That… was tiring.”

“I know, right!” Ben said, also out of breath. “How did we even manage to defeat that spider?” Jack and Ben were sitting in the temple which had rocks strewn across the floor. Sweat was covering their bodies, and their hearts were pounding like drums.

“Well, we survived, and that’s the important thing… except for one of us,” Jack said.

“Don’t say that,” Ben said. “For all we know, Daniel could be fine, just trying to find his way back.”

Jack stood up suddenly. “Let’s see if we can dig through the rubble.” He tried lifting one of the rocks and fell back with a crash. “Man, these things weigh more than a ton, literally. There is no way we can get through.”

“Hey, look,” Ben said. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” He pointed to the spider with interest.

“Uh, an endless temple which we will never get out of?”

“No dude, I’m seeing a door inside the dead spider’s mouth,” Ben said.

“Yeah,” Jack said with sarcasm in his voice. “And pigs can fly — wooah!” A wooden door with a brass handle, shiny and new, was actually sitting in the spider’s hairy, slime-covered mouth.

“Should we go in?” Ben asked.

“I… guess,” Jack replied. They slowly walked in. The spider’s mouth was hot and sticky, covered in hairs. Jack and Ben tried hard to crawl around the hairs and also tried hard not to gag. Once they made it, Jack grabbed the brass handle and opened the door. The room on the other side was a long hallway with doors at the end. It smelled like sulfur and ash. They paused and listened, feeling the earth tremor below like the earth itself was angry.

“Whew!” Jack said. “I’m glad we made it out of that, because that was disgusting.”

“That must be the way out,” Ben said.

“There is only one way to find out,” Jack replied. He took a step toward the doors. Suddenly, fire sprang up out of the ground and engulfed his foot.

 

“Ah!” Ben yelled.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “Remember fire plus me equals no harm.” Then, a pit appeared at the end of the hall, and lava erupted from inside. “This hallway is filled with traps,” Ben said. “I can guide us through them.”

“Okay, the first part was obvious. The second part, not so much. How will you know how to guide us through them?” Jack asked.

“Oh, I’m surprised I didn’t tell you,” Ben said. “Remember that science class where we learned about electrical currents? Well, in that class I learned that I can sense electrical circuits, so I can sense the traps in the walls.”

“Cool, very cool,” said Jack. “But what about you? I’m okay with lava, but will you be okay? It could probably fry you.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Anyway, basically what I’m saying is, follow me and step exactly where I step.”

“Fine with me,” Jack said.

They slowly made their way across the hall, dodging axes, logs, flames, toxic gases, and random holes that appeared in the floor. They ducked, rolled, jumped, ran, punched, and ducked some more until they reached the lava pit.

“This whole thing reminds me of hopscotch,” Ben said. “Okay, last part is the lava pit. There are small columns of stone that we can use to get across. Step on the columns that I step on because some of them will collapse when you step on them,” he added hurriedly.

Step by step, jump by jump, they finally made it across the pit of lava. Then they ran to the doors and were about to open them when they suddenly disappeared.

“I guess this is some kind of illusion,” Ben said.

“Hey, look in the lava pit,” Jack said. In the pit there was a door about twenty feet down from the top, lying horizontally in the air. The smell in the air was worsening rapidly.

“Okay, this is definitely real,” Ben said, “so let’s get jumping.”

He jumped down and landed on the door.

“Now it’s your turn Jack.” Jack bent his legs and jumped but missed the door by a millimeter and flew down towards the lava. Suddenly, a lava geyser appeared and shot Jack back up to the top of the lava pit. Ash filled the room, making it nearly impossible to breath.

“NO!” Ben yelled. Then, using his electric power, he shot back up to the top and ran over to Jack. Ben knelt down and checked Jack’s pulse. He was still alive although he was laying still, his eyes closed, unmoving. In addition, weird fire swirls were running across his skin. “What am I going to do. He needs help, fast!”

Suddenly, an eerie glow rippled through the room. Then, a portal appeared in the wall and out of it shot a figure that almost knocked Ben into the lava pit.

“Sorry, Ben,” Daniel said.

“Daniel!” Ben said. “What happened to you?”

“It involved a lot of cheese with a cheese island and cheese sharks and a cheese man with a cheese poncho.”

“Well, Jack needs our help. He fell into a lava pit but is still alive.” After he said this, Ben stared at Daniel for a whole minute until Daniel coughed into his shoulder.

“Right, right. Well, what are we going to do about Jack?” Ben said, getting back to panicking about Jack.

“Okay, stand back. I got this,” Daniel said. He focused all his anger on the lava pit for hurting Jack and put his hand on Jack. All the swirls immediately disappeared, and Jack sat up.

“Whoa,” Jack said. “What happened?”

“Thanks to a lava pit, you nearly died!” Daniel said.

“Hey Daniel, you’re here!” said Jack. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel. “But now we’ve gotta get out of here. The door down there is the way out, right?”

“Yeah, I certainly hope so, because we went through all this trouble to get to this door!” Jack said with irritation. “Also, I now know what it’s like to be burned. I think the lava is enchanted to burn even me. I haven’t been burned like that since, you know.”

Daniel summoned roots, flowers, and leaves and created a bridge down to the door.

“C’mon,” he said. They walked down into the lava pit and stopped at the door. Jack bent down and opened the door.

“Alright,” Ben said. “Let’s go.” Together they jumped through the door.

 

Deja Vu

As they sat up, they became more aware of their surroundings. They were sitting on a stone bridge, except the stone bridge wasn’t really stone at all. It was half rock, half molten magma, and they had bubbles around them to protect them from the heat and radiation. The bubbles were in the shape of their outlines and seemed to move with them. Not only that, the walkway was floating in space. Black with stars everywhere, in every direction. The infinite expanse of space was so beautiful, it was hard to describe. They could see the Milky Way, and they could see Mercury, Venus, and Earth. And, of course, they could see the infinitely huge sun stretching out before them.

 

Sunspots seemed to stare at them like huge, black, beaded eyes. Arcs of gas leaped up, and settled down again. The gas seemed to envelop them as if it was mist made of fire. They walked towards the sun slowly, in awe, but surely. As they approached the wall of fire that was the sun, the gas pulled back, revealing a tunnel made out of what seemed to be solid gas, like an arc of fire. They stepped into the tunnel, and then the gas wall closed behind them like a door. They walked through the tunnel for what seemed like forever. Then, they approached this pod-like object that was a disk with a semicircle of swirling ice on top.

“I think we’re supposed to jump on it,” said Jack with anticipation.

They held hands and stepped in it. Power surged through them like nothing had ever done before. Arrows made of ice that appeared on the walkway pointed them down the tunnel, and they knew exactly what to do. They ran. Because of the energy, they ran at over 10,000,000,000 miles per hour, speeding along the tunnel so fast they basically flew. The sun’s gas was rushing past them, resisting their speed, but they pressed on. Then, after a few seconds, an invisible force told them to slow down, and they came to a halt at a gateway made of ice, broken in half down the middle. All that energy drained out of them, like water in a spilled cup.

They seemed to be standing in ruins of a castle. There looked to be an invisible bubble of force that made a sphere-shaped hole in the sun, and that hole is where the castle was. Shards of white stone were everywhere. However, the path to the main part of the castle was still intact, with a little bit of chunks floating around it. They walked slowly up the path to the front gates of the castle. An entire half of the castle had been blown apart. They came to a staircase. Liquid nitrogen was foaming and dripping from two bowls, one on each side of the door. They walked down the spiral staircase, so deep in the castle that it was very cold, and they could feel ice-cold power trying to take over the heat that was the sun. They emerged in a room that was completely blown up. It was supposed to be a smooth field of ice, with walls surrounding it and a ceiling on top. However, instead the walls and the ceiling were completely blown apart, and where they were supposed to be were holes looking out at the sphere of gas that surrounded the castle. The only thing intact was the floor, but it was covered in rubble.

“Wait,” Ben said. “Look at that, in the center of the room.” They gathered around a circle carved into the field, with a mini circle at the center. Both of the circles’ outlines were glowing. Then, a line appeared, cutting both circles down the middle, and then the mini-circle split apart at that line and out rose a ball of light, so filled with energy and heat that it blinded them for a second. It smelled, emitted, and sounded like pure energy, humming with power. The ground around it was black and crackling with energy.

Then, light from the ball poured into Jack, making his hair turn red and blaze with heat and fire. His pupils in his eyes turned into little fireballs, and his entire body seemed to be emitting smoke. Light from the ball then poured into Ben. His hair turned blue and coursed with electricity. That electricity ran down his entire body and into his hands which sizzled with power. When the light finally poured into Daniel, his hair turned the color of wheat, with strands of hair turning into leaves. Markings like vines engraved themselves into his arms, neck, and legs, and a wave of dim light burst from him, healing injuries, and making everyone feel wonderful. They all knew instantly what this was.

“The Eternal Flame,” said Jack with awe.

 

A Cold-Hearted Reunion

Then, something else came out of the circle hole. A white wisp, almost like a ghost. Then, the white wisp landed on the ground. It swirled around and around, and then it began to change. It grew and shaped itself into a human shape and solidified into a woman with icicles for hair, a scythe on her back, and a long robe on her body. Chloe.

“AFTER THEM!” she screamed. Then, the ground shook, and thousands of wisps exploded out of the hole, solidifying into Icers, their teeth bared, their staffs swirling. Jack, Ben, and Daniel ran back all the way to the entrance in the field and stood there, facing the impossibly huge army.

“Now I remember,” said Jack to his friends. “This is the castle of that ice spirit we fought last year.”

“You dare try to steal the core of the sun,” said Chloe.

“Oh, so that’s what that was, besides being the Eternal Flame,” said Daniel in realization.

“This is vengeance for the last time we met. Icers, ATTACK!” Chloe yelled, waving her scythe like a maniac.

Jack jumped up 30 feet in the air and summoned an incredible amount of fire. He then blasted that fire in a wave of heat that vaporized at least five hundred Icers, shrieking as they faded into puddles. Ben raised his hands to the sky and summoned a very powerful lightning bolt that struck him. His hands sizzled, and he sped in the air towards the enemy and blasted them with electricity from his hands, cracking with heat and static as they pounded their targets. Daniel summoned a storm of leaves as sharp as daggers and pushed them telepathically towards the enemies. Then, he ran towards another group of Icers, raised his hands, and summoned vines that wrapped around all the remaining Icers, and around him. He drained their energy the way a tree drains nutrients. All the Icers were now melted water, or piles of snow.

 

“Your turn,” Jack said to Chloe with glee. Chloe screamed in rage, leaped up, swung her scythe above her head, and smashed it down. Ice power hit the three fighters, and they flew backward, their bodies smashing into the ground when they landed. Chloe then summoned a small ice and snow tornado, and sent it flying towards Jack.

 

The snow swirled around Jack for a second and then quickly dissipated, evaporated by his fire. Jack summoned a fireball that grew bigger and bigger in his hands. Heat rippled around him like water flowing. Ben stood up and started waving his hands majestically. Electricity arced between his fingertips, trying to escape. Meanwhile, Daniel breathed in and out heavily, and green energy flowed peacefully out of his mouth in tentacles towards Chloe. As they grew closer to her, they solidified into branches and wrapped around her body, tying her to the floor. Suddenly, a lightning bolt came from what seemed like nowhere and struck Ben’s hands. His fists were completely enveloped in electricity as he jumped up, swung his fists back behind his head, and crashed down towards Chloe.

The sound was unbearable, and the smell of ozone filled the air. Chloe was thrown back, her body rippling with electricity and her cloak flew around her. There was now a small circle of charred ground where she lay. Then, Jack threw the fire ball at Chloe. The whole world was on fire as Chloe screamed and the fireball exploded.

When the dust cleared, Chloe was gone. In her place was a divot in the ground, and in the center, was a man.

 

Germany

       

“Why can’t we leave this place?” Michael said.

“Why would you ever want to leave East Berlin? You have everything here. Food, school, medicine. Why would you ever want to leave?” his parents responded.

“I want to see the outside world!”

“Outside world? Pfft. Now go to bed before the Stasi comes to whip you!”

He went to bed without questioning it. He had seen people get whipped to the point of bleeding and get beheaded for more serious crimes on top of a platform that was right in front of the Brandenburg Gate, where the scandalous West Germans over the wall as well as the public could see it happening. These people were people who tried to escape through the wall or tried to steal something and survived but got beheaded (head melted off with a very powerful laser) on a daily basis. After he thought of this idea, he got up quietly and got on his computer. He searched on Deutschesuche and searched how to leave Germany. His computer started freaking out and spewed warning messages saying, Warning. Leaving Berlin will result in death or severe punishment. Do not attempt to do so. You have been warned.

He hoped the government wouldn’t find out what he searched, but they controlled the Internet, so he thought they might have already known and would come to arrest him the next day. He heard footsteps and instinctively fell on the bed to pretend he was sleeping. The door opened with a creak behind him, and he heard his mom whisper, “I think he is asleep,” and closed the door behind her.

The next day at school, he asked around with the teachers and students about how to leave Berlin. It was like the word “leave” didn’t ring a bell in their head. Besides the one or two people who whispered to him about how people got punished and beheaded for trying, the rest just stared at him blankly and said, “What?”

When he asked his friend Fritz, he said, “Shhh!! Don’t ever say that in public! If the Stasi gets wind of that, they’ll kill you and your parents at Brandenburg gate! No questions asked.”

He thought he might have already alerted the Stasi that he wanted to escape because he had basically asked everyone in the school. People had been known to rat out their friends and family so they would get a reward or a promotion in school or work. He couldn’t even trust his friends or parents. They could have easily turned him in and not blinked an eye. One lead he could follow was an old baker, a friend of his when he was little, who owned a bakery down the street and had tons of books in a secret closet. He used to read Western stories to him. But when he escaped through a tunnel that he built under the shop, which only he knew about, he found that the bakery was abandoned along with the books and the tunnel. He had not visited the place since.

A few blocks down the road was the bakery, an old building around when the cruel Nazis were around. The third and second floors were bombed out and boarded over the sign and the windows. He went to the back of the building and opened a dusty door, which creaked. He walked down the stairs to the basement. If you looked at the basement, there was nothing wrong with it. There was a pile of boxes in one corner and three sacks of flower in the other. But he knew there was a small tunnel just behind the pile of boxes. He moved the boxes with some effort and stared down the long, damp, and low tunnel. He crouched and moved forward. It felt like forever, but finally he made it to the end of the long tunnel. He came out in an old building’s basement. He could tell it was a basement because of all of the house junk that was lying around. He climbed up a hatch and got onto the street.

He heard, “Hello.” He understood that was English. He had made it.

 

Little Lemon

Once upon a time, in the village of sugar lemons, Momma and Poppa Lemon had just announced the arrival of Lester the Lemon. Even from miles away, you could still hear Lester crying while his parents were celebrating. Sugar Lemon Land is all yellow and happy. There are positive quotes everywhere. The water is bright blue and sparkling. Everyone knows everyone.

“Lester, sweetie, don’t cry,” said Momma Lemon. Sweet lemons normally learn to speak right when they are born, so Momma could tell something was wrong. Speaking was an important aspect in sweet lemon life, because they need to communicate if they lose a sugar crystal or if a drop of juice gets squeezed out of them. If any of those problems occur, they will be taken to Sugar Sweet Lemon Rescue Center and get fixed, and if they don’t get fixed, they could have a permanent scar or injury forever. At day care, Lester was the only lemon who could not speak, and the teachers couldn’t give him what he needed. Ten different teachers came, and not one of them could teach Lester to speak. On Lester’s first birthday, a big surprise appeared. Lester spoke, and his first words were…

“When can I eat the sugar cake?” Momma and Poppa were overjoyed. At day care, Lester started making friends now that he could say “hi” or “what’s your name.” Lester was about to turn two when another obstacle came along.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday… ” sung Lester’s friends. At that moment, Lester realized something. He saw that all his friends were sugared, and he was the only lemon that was sour. He suddenly felt so alone, so different. He ran into his room and shut the door. Back in the living room, Momma and Poppa were deciding whether they should talk to Lester or leave him be.

“I can’t believe he found out this way!” exclaimed Momma.

“I know, on his birthday as well. Let’s get him a sugar suit!” said Poppa.

“Are you crazy?! That would make Lester feel even worse!” said Momma. Up in Lester’s room, he was lying in his bright yellow bed, reading The Yellow Book: Volume Two. Then suddenly he thought, It’s okay that I am different. It means that I am special. I will prove that I am the same, maybe better than those sugar lemons! And with that, Lester jumped out of bed and opened the door. He looked at the better picture.

Even though sometimes Lester was left out, he also didn’t have to deal with problems like losing a sugar crystal. But Lester wanted to enjoy sugar lemon activities. He wanted to play Don’t Lose Sugar Hopscotch and Sugar Swimming Class. His friends included him as much as they could, but sometimes they just couldn’t. His parents tried to sugar him, but the sugar fell right off. There was also one problem. Lester couldn’t smile. He was sour. He wanted to, but he always had a bitter, mean look on his face which gave him a threatening appearance, even though he had a kind heart.

So for a few more years, life went on in the same way. He graduated from middle school, high school, and college. He got a job as a chef making banana pie and other yellow foods. Then one day, Lester did something unforgettable. He saved someone from going to Sugar Sweet Lemon Rescue Center. So here’s the story. It was a normal day, and Lester was taking a walk along Lemon Lane, and he saw a little lemon eating ice cream. Suddenly, he saw a sugar crystal fall off of her from the lemon peel. It was like in slow motion. He jumped and caught the crystal and put it back on her.

“Thank you so much, sir!” she said.

“You’re welcome. Make sure that doesn’t happen again!”

Soon, every lemon knew. News spreads fast like a busy bee. Lester became famous. He received huge amounts of money, which he donated to charities to help find new cures for illnesses, such as rotton sugar disease and such. He got the Sugar Award for saving a little lemon and when he got the reward, he smiled. A big, fat, non-sour smile.

 

Damaged World

The light was just coming up while Abby Red crept along the side of the river. The cries of the werewolf echoed in the distance. Glaring out of narrowed eyes, she hid behind a tree as the werewolf slunk past her. Abby breathed out.

“Abby, are we ‘afe?” her little brother Theo whispered, his front toddler teeth still somewhat nonexistent. She was about 15, her little brother about five. He looked up at her with wide brown eyes, his dark curls bouncing in the soft breeze. Abby’s eyes widened as she noticed the movement, grabbing Theo’s hand and pulling him along the path to town. She stopped after a while, licking her finger and holding it up to the breeze. Theo watched her intently.

“It’s going… east. Okay.” Abby glanced down at Theo. “Our scents will be blown to the werewolf, and then where will we be?” Abby looked up and screamed, shoving Theo out of the way. He tumbled to the ground, looking ahead just in time to see Abby get snatched up by the werewolf.

“ABBY!” he yelled.

“Run!” she shouted to him, kicking the werewolf so it would drop her. “Liam, this isn’t you!” she yelled at the werewolf, breathing quickly. “Let me go!” Theo couldn’t look away as the werewolf bit Abby, tearing her up and throwing her to the ground. Theo got up and ran, yelling for help from the other warrior patrols that were stationed out in Foxtail Forest. At last, he got to the Thundersong’s base, unable to get out any words but “dead.” Patrols went out to look, but they didn’t see anything besides a large amount of fur and a huge claw stuck to a tree.

 

Chapter One

I live in a damaged world. My old town, which I can’t remember anymore because I was barely one year old, burned to the ground when a group of pyromaniac elves got hold of Yoli County’s flint and steel supply. My old city’s inhabitants left when the famous Foxtail Forest werewolf, formerly known as Liam Towers, attacked Abby Red and we had to evacuate. Now I live with the Thundersong, a group of amazing people who are all dedicated to defeating evil. My dream in life is to be a warrior of the highest order. To be honored and respected. For people to know my name all over the world.

“Alexa! Are you up?” I look up sharply from my careful writing, accidentally smudging the last word in the paragraph.

“Yes, whoever you are, I am up. I was just finishing the summary of my entire goddamn life.” My little sister Katherine struts into my room, wearing a brand new, stretchy fighting suit. She’s about 11. My mother died just after she was born, so the only memory I really have of my mother is her brown, curly hair. I inherited it. Kathy twirls around, grinning at me, and I raise an eyebrow.

“What do you think?” she asks eagerly.

“Sweet,” I say, shutting the door to my tiny room in the Thundersong base. “Who got that for you?”

“Jacob. He’ll make one for you, too, if you want.” I shake my head, leaning back on my chair and putting my legs up on the desk. My room is one of the bigger ones, with oak paneling and a rug made from wool. I actually have windows to the outside. My bed probably has the best sheets, except for the hospital room. My desk is one of my prized possessions, except for my leather gripped daggers. One of them, which I never use, has a real ruby on its pommel. I’m a skilled knife fighter. It’s my calling card.

To the fighting suit I say, “Nah, that’s fine. Purple isn’t really my color.” Kathy moves my head up a little and ties my dark brown curls up in a ponytail. Most people at the Thundersong northern base have dark hair and dark eyes, skin of all colors, but I’ve never seen somebody with blonde hair and blue eyes up here. I myself have hazel eyes, a healthy mix of brown and green. Different people see different colors, usually — I like to ask.

“Okay, then. He could make one in blue or something,” Kathy says about the suit. She knows better than to press me, on anything, letting the subject drop after the last sentence. “Alexa, did you know that Theodore Red is going to join the Northern Thundersong base? I’ve heard he’s hella dreamy.”

“Theo Red?” I repeat, incredulous. “But… doesn’t he… he has post-traumatic stress disorder. Right? I mean, he saw his sister get bitten by a werewolf only miles from here.”

“I would think he has PTSD, it makes sense. But rumor has it — and this time the rumor is correct — that yes, Theodore Red is coming up North.”

“Wow,” I breathe, exchanging a look with my sister. “That’s actually pretty cool. He’ll have the best room in the base. Ya know, his sister was an honored warrior. And when she got bitten, Theo started training right away, so now he’s a really important person. At least he was, until he moved down to the South base and had to start all over again.”

Kathy finishes with my hair, handing me a mirror she got from one of our friends in the South.

“So, you’ve been working on your writing assignment?” Kathy asks me, peering over my shoulder to see what I’m doing. I nod, handing it to her.

“Yeah. I accidentally smudged the bottom word, but I’ll turn it in anyway. See how I do.”

“It’s a competition, right?”

I roll my eyes.

“Obviously. So apparently I win a training lesson with some really skilled dude. He’s only really skilled if his — ”

Somebody screams from down the hall. I’m on my feet in an instant, grabbing my shotgun and racing down the hall. My sister stops in her room to grab her katana. Adrien Young from the downstairs boys dorms comes sprinting up the stairs as we’re going down, causing a slight collision.

“What’s going on?” I yell, struggling to regain my balance without shooting anyone.

“I don’t know,” Adrien says, breathing heavily. “I just ran out of there. I think it’s a mutant or something.”

“Mutant what?” I demand, grabbing Adrien before he can run out.

“I don’t know!” he wails. I shove him and Kathy, and I run down, out into the main hallway. It’s a mutant, all right. Two huge wolves, no doubt from Foxtail Forest, are circling two of the youngest recruits of Thundersong.

“Eloise and Brianna,” Kathy tells me, looking pretty heroic in her new fighting suit. Her katana has a new handle cover, and it’s pretty awesome. “Hang on guys, we’ll be right with you!” she yells to the other girls. Brynn, Lee, and Josh are already there, trying to figure out a way to distract the wolves. Brynn tosses her black braid, pacing just like the wolves when she sees me. As I mentioned before, I’m a very skilled warrior, if I do say so myself, and I am respected. I worked hard to be where I am today. I started from basically nothing, joining the Thundersong just a little after the Abby Red scandal when I was seven.

“Okay, Alexa, what’s the plan?” Ross asks me, coming beside Kathy and me.

“I’m not sure,” I reply. “I want to try get someone on top of the wolves, and then we can try to stab them. Once one is down, the other one will either run — ”

“And we pursue it and kill it.”

“ — Or we trap it and find out how it got so… big and ugly.” Kathy laughs. Ross nods pensively.

“I think Kathy’s pretty nimble.”

“No, she’s not getting up there,” I say protectively, flinching when I imagine Kathy getting either thrown off the giant wolf or maimed by it.

“Got it. Katherine, run across the room and tell Brynn, Lee, and Josh what the plan is.” Kathy nods, zipping across the room and talking quickly to Brynn.

“Stay!” I yell. “I’ll go up!” I hand my shotgun to Ross. “Throw this to me once I’m up there.” Closing my eyes, I bend my legs and run. I leap on top of one of the wolves, just barely getting onto its back and getting a good grip. Ross hurls the shotgun up, but I miss it, just barely. The wolf howls, bucking wildly, and I yell in spite of myself. “Oh, God,” I mutter. I grab one of its ears, hanging on with my left arm while I try to reach my dagger at my belt. People are yelling, but I can’t focus on what they’re saying. Cursing softly, I grab my dagger and struggle to cut its neck deep enough. It yowls with fury as I score its neck, cutting the skin just barely. Desperately, I sink my knife into the wolf’s neck and surrender to gravity. I land on the floor nimbly, glancing up and feeling almost like I’m in an action movie. People clap, and I smile slyly to myself as I get to my feet. My ankle cries out in protest as I put weight on it, but I ignore it.

“Alexa, what was that?” my sister demands, running over to me furiously. “We all thought you’d fall off. Or die!”

“But I didn’t,” I say easily, brushing off my legs. “Nope, on the contrary, I killed one of the wolves.” Kathy rolls her eyes. “Let’s just focus on the last wolf.” We look up at the other giant wolf. It’s starting to fidget nervously, ticked off by the death of its friend. Brynn and Lee are taking turns slashing its legs and tail. By now, more warriors have arrived, including the heads of the North Thundersong unit, Jack Miller and Liana Beacon. Their son, Matthew, is my age and one of my closest friends.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Jack demands. We’re actually friends outside of battle, but right now he has to call me by my last name. I quickly salute the pair of superiors, explaining the situation with tense terms. The other warriors have caught the wolf and have it tied up in a corner. Matthew, who must have joined the fight, runs up to his parents and me.

“Should we kill it, Miller?” he asks formally, running a hand through his dark brown hair.

“Don’t kill it. We’ll do some experiments on it. But we do have to have it hidden somewhere before Mr. Red comes. I don’t think he would appreciate the sight of a mutant wolf,” Liana interrupts.

“Do we maybe have a spare building we can put it in?”

“We can put it in the empty basement,” I suggest. Liana nods, calling a couple warriors over and giving them orders to drag the wolf away.

“Are we going to try to shrink it down again?” Matthew asks.

“I guess? We’ll figure it out.” Liana and Jack walk away, leaving Matthew and I alone in the middle of the battlefield.

“Hey,” he says, as I start to walk away. “Did you start working on that writing assignment?”

I nod, turning around. “Yeah. What did you write for it?”

“Eh, just some crap about how I’ve lived with the Thundersong all my life. Honestly, I don’t know what they expect from me, that I came from three different villages and six different cities and that I want to be a blacksmith?”

I laugh. “What about you?” I’m about to answer when Matthew answers himself. “Actually, let’s head up to my room.”

“Okay, let me just grab my dagger from that wolf.” I quickly run and grab the dagger from the wolf’s neck, cleaning it off with my sleeve and sticking it in my belt. We walk together up the spiral stone staircase. “So, basically I wrote about how I came to the Thundersong. It’s not that interesting.” We turn left, scouting our way through the boys dorms and coming up to the biggest one. I love Matthew’s room. It has the most amazing bed, with giant windows that open to the forest. He has a dark brown rug with the Thundersong logo on it, a golden eagle with a silver lightning bolt going across it and a silver circle around the whole thing. I have one too, but it’s just a tapestry. I flop onto Matthew’s bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’d love to read it sometime,” he says, grabbing my ankle and pulling me off the bed. I flinch as my foot twinges again. He tries to discreetly pull his sword out, testing my reflexes, but my dagger flies out and blocks the sword. Matthew sighs playfully, tossing the sword casually to the side. Its rubber cover makes it bounce harmlessly off the floor.

“En garde,” he says, smirking. I smile, holding my ankle close to my chest.

“I need to go to the hospital room. I banged my ankle when I fell off the wolf.”

Matthew grins.

“Say no more.” He leans over, scoops me up in his arms, and we head down to the medic center. I laugh, hanging out of his embrace. He laughs too, grabbing my dangling arms. Our relationship is so easy because we’re nothing but friends, and probably won’t be anything more.

 

John the Cow, Escape Artist

The cow was named John. He loved to play with his master named Ron. Ron was a good master because he could be playful like when he patted John on his head, but he was sometimes bossy. Ron would also whip John. John was brown with white spots. One day, John was thinking about running away. He knew his master would know that he ran away by morning, but that would give him at least five hours to run. So that night, John started to escape. He ran and ran until it became dawn. He was so far away from his home that he did not know where he was. It was still countryside, which told him that he still was not away from his master. He continued to roam around until he stopped at a small village. He was curious because he had never been to one before. He walked up and down the street until he felt tired. He went to one of the alleyways and fell asleep.

Sleeping in the alleyway was dark and cold. John was used to the warmth of the barn. When he woke up, he was in a truck. Had his master found him? Where was he going? These questions scared him, so he tried not to think about them. When the car stopped, he could make out the word Slaughterhouse. He was going to get killed. He had to find a way to escape. When John clomped out of the truck, two men grabbed him and dragged him to the slaughterhouse. He got put in a locked cell, so he could not escape. He guessed that he had 24 hours to escape before he got slaughtered for meat. He had to come up with a plan, and quickly, for his life. Just then, a person shot a tranquilizer dart in his body, and he fell to the ground.

While John was sleeping, he had a dream about a plan that would get him out of the slaughterhouse. He would break the door of his cell open with all his might, then when the security came, he would go out the back entrance where there was no security because that was where the food got loaded up and shipped to markets in the country. He would run to the nearest ranch where he could blend in and sleep for the night, and maybe even make a friend to help him in his journey of running, though he would not give help to them after they ran with him. He had the perfect plan, all he needed to do was execute it.

At midnight, John broke the chain of his cell and started for the back entrance. He was met with security at the back end to his surprise. He tried to back away, but one of the men saw him.

“Cow!” he shouted and started chasing him.

John’s only chance to escape was to go through the main entrance which was heavily guarded. At least the guards at the front did not know what was happening. He had the element of surprise. John ran at full speed toward the gate which shocked the guards. At the last possible second, he jumped the fence and ran away from the slaughterhouse.

John started to roam around, trying to find a barn to stay at. He wanted to find a cow who would help him in his travels. At 9:00 P.M., he finally found a small barn to sleep in. It was a little smaller than his original barn, but it would do fine. Quietly, John crept into the barn. After he lay down, sleep overcame him, and he dozed off. In the morning, John woke up and looked at the other cows. When he talked to some of them, nobody wanted to run away with him. Saddened by this, John skipped breakfast and headed on his way. As he walked and enjoyed himself, he started to wonder what he was going to do now that he was free. All he wanted to do was to live in peace and not get captured. Suddenly, another cow came down the road. She was white with brown spots, and she was pretty.

She asked, “What are you doing out here?”

John said, “I am on a mission to stay away from captivity.”

“I hate being stuck in a barn. Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t mind,” said John cheerfully.

“I escaped by jumping the fence because I was curious what you were doing,” said Stephanie.

John and his friend Stephanie began talking about their lives and how they got to this point in life.

“I was born on a farm that was very small. My master’s name was Shawn. He was a well-caring man because he would always give me enough food to eat. He would tend to me every time I mooed, and I liked him. One day I mooed, and he did not come. This was strange because it was nearly noon, and Shawn should have been awake. Then, an ambulance showed up. I heard the sirens like it was my master calling. I figured out that the ambulance had taken my master to the hospital. I loved Shawn, and I didn’t want him to die.”

Stephanie told John that she had been living in the barn for five years and had never seen the real world. Stephanie and John decided that they wanted to live together, so John got a job killing weeds. He saved up five hundred dollars to buy a big shack.

John was living in a big shack with his wife Stephanie in Oklahoma.

“I don’t want to live in the small room,” said John. “I am bigger than you Stephanie.”

“But I want to be in the bigger room,” replied Stephanie angrily. “I’m staying here and that’s final.”

“You are being more bossy than Ron,” replied John angrily. He just wanted to get over it. “Fine. I’ll let you have the bigger room.”

“Thank you.” Stephanie put her hoof around his head and gave him a hug.

“I remember the old days when I hated my life. Those days are over now, and I have a new future ahead of me that I am waiting for us to explore together.”

 

Sandy VS The World

It was a cold, windy day in December. Sandy was huddled into the corner of the barn. The barn was empty except for her. The owners did not keep it very tidy, as there was hay scattered all around, and her deer poop was also scattered. The roof was crumbling, and the paint was coming off the walls. It was pouring outside, with thunder and lightning that made Sandy scared. She tried to make herself comfortable, but she couldn’t. She kept shivering, her teeth chattering. She wished she wasn’t alone. She wished there was someone, anyone, to hold her close and tell her it would be okay. Sandy knew that it wasn’t. Something was off, something happened, something was wrong. The owners did not like other animals, they only liked deer. The owners were not like any other owner Sandy knew. Sure, they fed Sandy and took care of her, but they weren’t the same. For one thing, the owners did not like other animals, only deer. They also rarely went outside of their property, only to buy groceries and other things like that. On top of that, they treated Sandy like a dog, which in some ways was good. Sandy learned how to be civilized and stay calm while someone pet you. She learned how to eat dog food, much to her dismay. The only thing that wasn’t like a dog was that she lived in a barn. She figured this was because the owners did not have much space in the house. She was used to this and was not ready to leave her home and be a normal deer like everyone else.

***

When Sandy awoke, the air was clean and bright, almost like last night didn’t even happen. The sky was blue, clouds were white, Sandy was calm. She walked to the front of the barn and used her nose to push the door open. The ground was wet and when Sandy took each step, the water flew up into the air like a bird. She walked towards the house. Her head was held high, trying to keep positive. She again pushed the door open with her nose. The owners always kept the door mostly open so Sandy could get in. They didn’t fear that she would run away. She pushed it open and saw her owners. At first, Sandy thought they were sleeping but when she stepped closer, she saw the owners’ face, their eyes fully closed, not wanting to open ever again. Their fingers were cold when Sandy put her head on them. Their faces were wrinkled but looked even more wrinkled than the last time she saw them. Then, Sandy started hearing rain. Then, thunder and lightning. Sandy jumped onto the bed with her dead owners and cuddled, wishing they were still alive. She stayed there for a little while, not knowing how long. Then, she got up and walked out of the room and onto the first floor. She walked out of the house and into the barn. She cuddled in the corner just like last night.

A few hours later, Sandy saw a stick pushing at her body. She looked up and saw a man with sunglasses and a blue uniform. He stopped pushing the stick into Sandy’s body when he saw that she “woke” up. The man was moving his mouth, but Sandy didn’t understand what he was saying. Then, he pointed outside of the barn. Sandy stayed still. The man pointed again. She stayed where she was. Then, the man took the stick and slapped it onto Sandy’s back. Sandy whimpered quietly. She stood up and slowly walked out of the barn. The man growled and left too. Then, he closed the barn door and locked it. Sandy saw yellow tape around the house, her house. She started running towards the house, but another man in a blue uniform stopped her. He also pointed her away, so Sandy left. She walked into the forest and kicked the sticks off the ground. The leaves fell on her face when she walked. Sandy sat down on a rock. Soon, it started to rain. She didn’t move under the tree. She let the rain drip on her skin. The rain moved down her back and onto the floor. Sandy just stayed there, not moving. She was scared, sad, and angry. When she finally did move, she wandered around the forest looking for food, any food, so that she could survive. Soon she saw some berries hanging from the trees. She lifted her head up and ate the berries. They were a little raw, but good enough for her to eat. She ate more berries until she was full. The berries made her a little drowsy, but she powered through and looked for water. She found a lake nearby where she was. She started licking the lake rapidly, leaning more and more forward. She was becoming careless, and soon enough, she fell headfirst into the lake.

Sandy couldn’t swim. She had tried to learn in the small river near the house. It resulted in her almost drowning and a wet house. Now she tried to remember the weird motions her owners had made to tell her how to swim. There was one that made a motion like scooping ice cream. Sandy tried that one now, and realized her limbs were too short to make the motion. Then, she remembered one where you made your hands go up and down frantically. She liked that one more. But soon she was too tired to do that one, and the lake was moving too fast. Sandy worried what would be beyond the river or if it went forever. She hoped it would be a big rock that would stop Sandy from moving and would allow her to go to shore. Unfortunately, that was not the case. When she came to the end of the lake, she saw that there was a waterfall. As she got closer and closer, she frantically tried to hold onto shore or at least not fall into the waterfall. Her hand fell on a piece of grub, and she managed to pull herself mostly up from the water. As she was about to step her foot on the land, a large wave washed her back and under the water. When she finally did get up from the water, she saw the waterfall just a few feet ahead of her. She knew she was doomed, so she closed her eyes and waited.

When she fell off the waterfall, her body was a mess. Her arms were frozen from the water, and her legs were cut from a rock in the bottom of the lake. Her body was soaked, her face scratched up. When she hit the water, her whole body slapped on it, hard. She was suppressed under the weight of the water. She pulled herself up and was very relieved to see land in front of her. She walked onto the land, bruises and all. At least she wasn’t dead. She found a leaf to cover her bleeding. She took it and laid it on top of her body. She let the blood ooze out of her leg and onto the leaf. Sandy ripped some of the leaf off and with some sap from the tree next to her, she put it onto her leg. Her owners did this to her when she got hurt, which was a lot. Sandy slowly stood up and walked, or rather limped, to the edge of the forest. She didn’t care what the man in the blue uniform had done to her. She wanted to be home and safe. She sneaked around the house and into the back door. She knew that the men wouldn’t know to come in this way since it was covered in moss and grass. When Sandy walked in, she saw men all over the house. She didn’t care though. She was done with the forest. She stayed low and avoided them as much as she could. She walked up the stairs where they were all huddled around the fire. Sandy went up to the owners’ room. The owners were not there. Sandy wished they were there, sleeping in their bed with Sandy between them, just like it was when Sandy was a baby.

A sudden knock jolted Sandy awake. Sandy quickly moved under the bed. Through the blankets she saw another person with a blue uniform, this time a woman. She heard moans and things that she couldn’t make out. Then, the officer started walking around the room, almost looking like she was looking for someone or something. The officer was getting closer and closer to Sandy until she was at the bed. Sandy’s body was shaking uncontrollably, The officer’s head slowly moved downward until it saw Sandy. Sandy jumped, and her head hit the bottom of the bed. Her body felt lifeless for a second until the officer grabbed her and carried her out of the room. Sandy was strung over the officer’s shoulder and carried outside of the door. The officer laid Sandy down on the pavement. She pet Sandy’s head softly. The officer took out a first aid kit and took out a bandage. She softly put it on Sandy’s head to stop the bleeding. For a while, the officer sat there beside Sandy until she had enough strength to stand up and go back into the forest.

***

Sandy was wet, cold, hungry, but most of all, alone. She didn’t want to be in the forest, but no matter what she did, she always ended up there. It was like the forest wanted her forever. Sandy knew she wasn’t meant to be in the forest. She was meant to be in the barn or in a house! Sandy was walking around the forest, perhaps to get some exercise, or to clear her brain of the horrible things that had happened to her. Her feet scratched the dirt down below. She focused on the different footprints. Large, small, large, ahh! Sandy had bumped into something. She looked up and saw herself? No, it wasn’t herself. It was another deer? It had brown marks on its nose and blueish eyes. The deer had the same color fur as Sandy but instead of having white spots in the back, it had a fully brown coat. Its ears were much bigger than Sandy’s but had the same shape. The nose was also bigger than Sandy’s but had the same color. The other deer grunted and brushed past Sandy, but as it did, Sandy tripped on a small rock and fell on top of the other deer. The deer grunted again. Sandy sheepishly stood up and shook the leaves off of her body, but instead of the leaves falling on the ground, it fell on the other deer. The deer grunted. Sandy saw a tree nearby with berries that she could store for the winter. The deer was watching her as she opened her mouth and started to bite the berries. Just then, the other deer pushed her away from the tree and shook its head. Sandy understood, she wasn’t supposed to eat that berry. The other deer took the berry and held it in its hoof. Sandy stepped forward. The other deer pointed to some black spots on the berry. Sandy nodded. The deer signaled to follow. Sandy followed. The other deer walked to the middle of the forest. Sandy saw a hole in the ground. She assumed it was his barn. The other deer jumped into the hole and disappeared. Sandy stood still for a moment, and then she too jumped into the hole. The hole was dark and only lasted a moment until she came to the deer’s barn. The barn was dark and wasn’t especially cozy. It had some moss in the corner, probably for sleeping. Another hole was there for going up. When Sandy looked up, she saw the ground, nothing more. The other deer lay down on the moss and closed its eyes. Sandy stayed where she was and sat down. She thought of her owners, how they held her close when she was scared, how they made her feel warm and cozy inside, how they taught her everything she knew which apparently didn’t help her in the wild. Sandy decided to wake up the other deer since she was bored. Sandy lightly tapped the other deer on the shoulder. The other deer jolted awake and groaned. It looked up at Sandy who was looking down at it. It slowly stood up until it was fully standing on the floor, then it started to move across the barn and up the ladder. Sandy followed, but the other deer stopped her, almost to get rid of her. Sandy waited until it was fully up the ladder and couldn’t stop her. Then, she too went up the ladder. The other deer was drinking water on the lake. Sandy was thirsty too, so she got some water too. She was again becoming careless, just caring about water. Then, it happened again. She fell in, but she didn’t. The other deer had stopped her. It had grabbed Sandy’s leg and pulled her up to land. Phew! Sandy knew she needed a protector, but she didn’t want one, so she just left. Into the wild.

Sandy shivered in the cold. She saw a man in green and white carrying a weapon of some sort. She had seen it on the owners’ wall. Sandy tried to hide from the man but soon enough, the man saw her. He quickly pushed something that made a bullet fly past Sandy’s face. Sandy’s face went pale when she saw it make a hole in the tree behind her. She couldn’t even see it anymore, only the hole that it had made. She wondered what would happen if it had hit her instead. She didn’t want to know. Soon another bullet was shot, Sandy ran as fast as she could. She didn’t want to run, but she had to. Her legs started moving as soon as the second bullet was shot. She soon was out of breath and had to stop. More bullets kept coming. Sandy shivered again but not because she was cold. The man came closer and closer, his weapon slowing him down. Sandy whimpered when she saw the gun aimed right at her face. She waited for the moment, but it didn’t happen. She looked down and saw what had stopped it.

The other deer had sacrificed its life for Sandy. Blood oozed out of the deer’s chest. Sandy felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She took a leaf and sap even though she knew there was no hope. Sandy looked up and saw the hunter. He aimed at Sandy, and Sandy realized he wanted the other deer for himself. Sandy ran away in fear, although she would miss the other deer a lot. She ran out of the forest and still saw the yellow tape and blue uniforms. She saw the woman policeman that had taken care of her and walked over to her. The woman smiled as Sandy put her head on her neck. The woman then looked at Sandy seriously and started to carry her through the streets. Sandy didn’t feel alone anymore. She felt welcomed and loved. The officer stopped at a house labeled 491. Sandy had learned to read from her owners. Endless hours and hours of letters and words finally paid off. The street was dirty mostly. She saw some stray dog near the trash can. She saw dirt on a lot of the houses which somehow made Sandy feel more welcome. The officer obviously didn’t have a lot of money, but Sandy liked that better. The officer opened the door and stepped inside. The officer started to write something on a piece of paper. The officer held it up for Sandy to see. It read welcome home.

 

140 Miles to You (Excerpt)

     

Chapter One: The Blood Test

“This is not how I would like to spend my weekend.” That’s exactly how my best friend,

Isabel Cheston was feeling. Sitting in the doctor’s office one Saturday morning. She actually wasn’t really sitting. She was pacing the large white room while freaking out about her blood test. I could see why — she was getting four vials of blood drawn! Her hands were sweaty and clammy from her worrying. Her short brown hair tangled and knotted from her pulling.

“You’ll be fine, I promise” I said. “They just want to make sure your blood is healthy.”

“That really makes me feel better, Kosette!” Isabel snapped.

Surprised by her icy tone I paused. “At least I’m coming with you on a Saturday. Give me that much!” When Isabel didn’t respond I added, “Your mom is taking a long time parking the car.”

She glanced at me, but before she could respond the doctor opened the door. “Isabel, you may come on back.”

Isabel looked back at me and mouthed “Thank you.” She turned toward the doctor. “Can my friend come back with me?”

The doctor hesitated and looked like she was about to say yes. Then she thought better of it and said to Isabel “How about your friend stays in the waiting room, and you can see her when you come out. You’ll be done in no time and besides, your mom is coming up. See there she is!”

Isabel slowly nodded, her face crumpling up like she was about to cry.

Suddenly, Isabel’s mom hurried in. “I’m sorry I’m late Dr. Blakeman. The parking lot — it’s insanely full!”

“It always is” he agreed. “Isabel, can we come back now that your mom is here?”

Isabel nodded. The doctor took Isabel’s bony shoulders and guided her to the back rooms. Her mom following behind.

“You will do great!” I called. “I will be here when you are done!” I sat back down and sighed. I grabbed a Sports Illustrated magazine but my eyes weren’t reading the words. I couldn’t focus. Isabel’s blood was fine, wasn’t it?

 

A week later I was with Isabel in her backyard. The Florida air playing with our hair. Isabel had emerged from the back of the doctor office last Sunday acting fine. My worries had left… somewhat.

I still couldn’t shake the last few months out of my head. All the times Isabel had seemed okay, but then suddenly not okay.

One time that really worried me was when we were at Daytona Beach together. We were boogie boarding as we always did when we went to the beach. She suddenly looked up and said

“I’m tired, I need a break.”

“What about a few more waves? Then we can take a break and recharge.”

Usually Isabel was as active as me, preferring soccer and basketball to reading and writing. So I was pretty surprised when she strongly replied “No my knees are really hurting. I NEED to stop.”

“Fine” I agreed. “We can hit the ground running this afternoon. Sorry you are not feeling well.”

 

And now we were here. Sitting outside her house braiding each other’s hair. This was also a break from yet another fun activity, soccer.

And yeah, Isabel had been the one to ask for it.

Suddenly her mom ran outside and hurried over to Isabel. I expected her to yell that Isabel and I had left the ball in the street. Despite there being barely any cars on the road. She just looked at the ball without really seeing it.

“Isabel come with me.” Isabel stopped braiding my long brown hair and followed her mom back into the house. She turned around and shrugged as if saying she didn’t know what was going on.

I automatically followed Isabel. Her mom turned and said to me “It would be best if you could just stay here, alright? I need to talk to Isabel about a few things.”

I nodded but of course, being the nosy nine-year-old girl that I was. I had to know what was wrong. As soon as Isabel and her mom disappeared into the house I silently crept to the sliding glass door to listen.

“How?!” Isabel’s response was high-pitched. She always got like that when she didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t either. My heart pounded so hard I thought both of them would hear it. I wanted to stop listening. I couldn’t tear myself from the door. I heard Isabel’s mom reply. Her voice sounded muffled, as if I was underwater. I tried desperately to piece together what I was hearing and only grasped this: Isabel’s blood test from last week came out positive for some type of cancer. She needed the right blood. She needed to go to the hospital to get the wrong blood removed from her system.

 

I slid the door open a crack. I could now hear clearly.

“Isabel it’s called leukemia” Isabel’s mom said slowly.

“What’s that?” Isabel asked. “I don’t understand!”

“Imagine you put gas into a car” Isabel’s mom explained.

“The gas does not react well in the car. It’s the wrong gas. The car becomes sick. The car has to go to the automotive shop to get the right gas put into it. Then the car becomes healed. You have to do the same.”

The doctors will put the right blood into your body. And you’ll get better.”

“When do we leave?” Isabel’s voice cracked like it was on the verge of breaking. When her mom didn’t respond Isabel asked again. “When? When?!”

My heart felt like it would break out of its cage. I anxiously raked my hands down my hair. My fingers running along each strand.

“That’s the thing, Isabel, we have to start treatment quickly,” her mom responded after a long pause. “We leave for the hospital tomorrow.”

 

19 minutes

I woke up in the morning to realize that my alarm clock hadn’t even gone off yet. It was only four in the morning. Meh, who cared? I would be early for work. Plus, I was the head of the company, no one could get mad at me for being early — right?

Wrong. My assistant publisher was always screaming at me, like, “Grant! Don’t forget your meeting at ten o’clock sharp!” Blah blah blah. Now, I know that I talked about her as if she were annoying, and don’t get me wrong, she was; but she was a real lifesaver.

One time, I had planned a meeting with the president of France, and I totally forgot about it. But thanks to her screaming, I didn’t miss it. Today though, I’m not here to tell you about how dumb I could be sometimes, because today I’m going to the Amazon rainforest. I was flying to a lab where they tested on plants — or, that’s what they said. I was here to find out if that’s what they really did.

Nine hours later, I was at the Harper Labs Plant Experimentation Center. First of all, the place was huge. I don’t mean like the White House huge, I mean like if the Empire State fell over huge. I was twenty-three, and I was the most famous reporter in the world. That meant I’d seen a lot of things, but never something like this. They had hundreds of thousands of plants everywhere. If they were trying to hide something, it was one hell of a cover story. Dean — the man who scheduled all of my interviews — broke me out of my daydream.

“Grant, Grant!”

“Huh,” I replied like an idiot.

“Your interview is in a half hour, so pull yourself together!”

“Sure, dude,” I replied. Dean acted all tough, but on the inside he was a total softie. I’d actually known Dean since I was 15. He was 17 at the time, but we were — and still are — best friends. Dean told me that the name of the man who was going to give us a tour of the lab was Jaden William Smith. When he came to give us the tour, I was quite surprised to find that Jaden was actually a man in his mid-thirties, tall (about six foot one), with light blond hair and green eyes.

“Welcome to Harper Labs. My name is Jaden Smith, but you can just call me Jaden.”

“Thank you for having us,” I replied, slightly in awe.

“So, you ready for that tour?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Please, just call me Jaden.”

“Okay,” I replied.

 

After about a half day of the tour we, ended like this.

“This is the experimentation room,” Jaden said, pointing to a room on the right, “and finally, this is the testing room.”

“What are all those rooms?” I asked, wondering why he hadn’t shown us those rooms.

“Oh, just boiler rooms,” he replied.

I wasn’t convinced, so I said, “Why do you have so many?”

“It’s a big building.”

“Ah I see,” still suspicious.

“Dean,” I said, “can I have a word”

“Sure, wassup?”

“Well, you know the boiler room?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I don’t think they’re boiler rooms.”

“Why?” he asked curiously.

“Well, why do they need so many boiler rooms in the Amazon?” I told him.

“Big building,” he suggested.

“I don’t think so, let’s check.” I walked up to the door and turned the knob.

“Damn, it’s locked. Dean?”

“On it,” he replied. What most people didn’t know about Dean is that he studied in the police force. Nobody knew why he became my interview assistant. If anybody asked him why, he would just say that he didn’t want to talk about it. Thanks to his experience though, he knew how to open locked doors.

We couldn’t be seen, so I told Dean to stop. I went over to Jaden and asked him where the bathroom was. “Two hallways to the left,” he said. I thanked him and called Dean to come. When we got to where he said the bathroom was, we kept walking until we got to a boiler room. Dean worked his magic, and the door clicked. The first thing I noticed was that it was freezing in there. This was no boiler room. The next thing I saw were shelves, thousands of them, lined with a purple liquid. The room was huge, as if it took up half of the lab, but how could that be? We had already seen two-thirds of it. Then, I realized that this room was far bigger than that. It stretched about four floors down. I looked at Dean to see him staring at everything through slitted eyes.

“Dean,” I whispered. “This can’t be a la –”

Beep! Beep! Beep! A loud alarm went off, and then we heard a voice over the speaker. “Evacuate the premises quickly. We have had a leak in sector 1382 C.”

“What the… ” I was confused. What was sector 1382 C? What type of leak? I checked my watch, and it was 6:22. Then, I was reminded of the evacuation. Dean and I dashed out of the place and into the hallway. It was chaotic. People were running everywhere, but as a reporter, my job was to find out what was happening. I started running against the tide, Dean on my back, until bam! I lost consciousness for a moment. When I came to my senses, Dean was standing in front of me with a woman. She resembled my sister Claire. Wait. It was my sister Claire. She helped me up and told me to follow her. She led us into a strange room with lots of strange looking animal statues.

“Claire! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, brother. I work here.”

“What! You told me you were a travel agent.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. We need to get out of here.”

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Ugh. Fine. This isn’t a lab for plant experimentation.”

“Yeah, I realized that,” I interrupted.

She continued, “It’s actually an animal mutation center.”

“What do you mean? What about the purple liquid. Is it — ”

“You saw that?”

“Of course, it’s my job to see what people don’t want me to see.”

“I knew it was a bad idea bringing you here. You find things out too quickly.”

“Well, can you explain to me what’s going on please?”

“Okay. Umm, so the purple serum is called a SeurgaGene Serum, and it’s supposed to help us speak to animals. The leak that you heard about over the speakerphone is referring to the serum.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“The serum is still in the testing phase, so there is no telling what it will do to the animals in the rainforest.” Just then, a huge bang hit the other side of the wall. I checked the door window. A huge jaguar was walking down the hallway. There was blood everywhere. The large animal was carrying two humans — dead humans. A man and a woman. Horrified, I noticed that the the man was Dr. Jaden Smith. He had blood on his neck and looked like he had died terrified. The woman I did not recognize, but I could tell that she had been a very good-looking woman, no more than twenty eight.

I checked my watch. 6:41. It had been 19 minutes since the leak, and the animals had already started to react. I ran to my sister and said, “Wha — ” She covered my mouth with her hand. I looked into her eyes and saw her fear. She removed her hand from my mouth and shushed me. By now, I realized that the animal has heard us. Claire showed us a secret exit, and we ran. I heard glass shatter, and I realized that the jaguar was following us. I turned to see the jaguar leap at me, and then I screamed. I closed my eyes and wondered why I was not dead. I opened my eyes and saw that the animal was on the ground.

“Is it — dead?” I ask, horrified.

“No, it’ll just be too weak to do anything for a few minutes. Now, let’s get moving,” my sister said, like it was obvious. We followed her outside, and that’s when we saw about forty animals waiting in front of the lab. They immediately noticed us, and Claire shot darts until she ran out of ammo. Crap, we were screwed.

“Run!” Claire shouted. If the other animals hadn’t noticed us earlier, they definitely noticed us now.

We ran through the jungle until we ran into a nest of anacondas. “SSSSSSStttttooooooo pp,” I heard a voice in my head.

“What? Who said that,” I said out loud.

“You are looking at us,” replied the voice in my head. I looked at the anacondas.

“How can you talk to me?” I asked.

“Yessss, now I suggest you run before I kill you.” He didn’t even answer my question.

“Come on, let’s go,” Claire shouted.

“Okay,” I replied. We started running. I looked back to realize to my horror that the anacondas were slithering after us. My sister stopped.

“Why did you stop?” I looked at her, panicking as I realized that the snakes were closing in.

I looked at what my sister was looking at, and I realized that we were on the edge of a cliff. A huge waterfall hit the bottom into a river. Jump. It was our only option. I breathed deeply and told my sister, “Follow me.” She looked at me confused, and then I jumped. I hit the water, and then I saw nothing.

 

Change It Now

I was walking home from school on a normal Wednesday afternoon. I woke up, ate a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast, walked to school, and had a great day. I had aced my spelling test, and someone gave me a Fruit Roll-Up during lunch. My life as a second grader couldn’t be better. My mom said she would buy me ice cream after school because she was so proud of me, so we were on our way there. I thought nothing could ruin my perfect mood. But then, in front of me, I saw an evil man. He had a gray beard and a hunchback. He was wearing a long black coat that looked a size too big for him. He had just finished his milkshake, and he threw his cup on the sidewalk! I couldn’t believe it! There was a garbage can at the end of the block he was on, but he still threw it on the ground. How selfish of him! Now over my seven years of life I had seen people do this time and time again, and I always thought that I couldn’t do anything about it because I was just a little girl, but there was something about today that felt different. Maybe it was the fact that I had a little extra sugar from the Fruit Roll-Up, or a little extra confidence from acing my test, but I decided to go confront him.

I sprinted away from my mom, despite her screaming at me to stop. I stopped right behind this man and poked his back. He looked at me over his shoulder, and for the first time, I saw his full face. He had small brown eyes and chapped lips. He squinted at me, turned around, and mumbled, “What do you want.”

“Hello sir,” I said, trying to mask my fear. He squinted at me again. “Well, I saw you dropped your milkshake cup on the floor, and I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind possibly picking it up?”

“Okay, I guess I’ll do it next time.” He rolled his eyes and began to walk away, but I knew he was lying to me. So, I walked in front of him and stopped him again.

“What do you want now,” he said.

“I don’t believe you. I don’t think you are going to do it next time.”

“So? Why do you care? It’s not my job. There’s other people who can do that. Now let me walk home.”

I knew he was a stranger, and I knew I shouldn’t have even talked to him in the first place, but I felt the anger boiling up inside of me. This happened to me a lot. I would become furious at people like this all the time. Usually, I just ignored it, but instead, I exploded.

“No! You just don’t get it.” I was almost screaming by now. “It is nobody’s job but your own! You know that polar bears and penguins and even dolphins are dying because of you!”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “Get out of my way, you little brat.” I was mad. I was really, really mad, but this man was scary, with his wrinkled hands that looked like they could knock me out in a second and his creepy squinting eyes. I decided to let him go. I walked back to my mom.

“Mommy! That man threw his cup on the ground and didn’t pick it up, even though I reminded him to!” My mom gave me this look that I got a lot. A pitiful smile, sad eyes. She looked at me like I was some crazy kid who didn’t understand the world. I hated it.

“Honey, it’s okay. He’ll throw it out next time. Also, what did I tell you about talking to strangers! It’s not safe. You’re just a little girl.”

She said it. Those words that I had heard time and time again. They made me so mad. I knew I was smarter than every grown-up who had said this to me, but there was nothing I could do about it.

“Okay, Mommy. I understand.” Suddenly, my day wasn’t so great anymore. I didn’t want ice cream. I walked the rest of the way home with a slump in my back that was almost as big as the evil man’s was.

I got home, went straight to my room, and plopped down onto my bed.

I wish I was older, I thought. Then, people would take me seriously.

Later that night as I was laying in bed, I was unable to fall asleep because I was consumed by my thoughts. I imagined what my life would be like if I was just a little bit older. Even just today would have been different. I bet that old grouch would have listened to me if I was a grown-up or even just a teenager. Sure, I might not get to eat Fruit Roll-Ups as much, and I might not get ice cream just for acing a spelling test, but that wouldn’t matter to me if people actually listened to me. But I knew I was still stuck as a second grader.

The next morning, I woke up, ate my Cheerios, and walked to school again. It was raining, but I didn’t have an umbrella, so when I got to school, I was soaking wet. School was fine. No Fruit Roll-Ups, though. I walked home with my mom, got home, and plopped down on my bed again. I lay there for a little while and thought. Then, I did what I usually did when I felt hopeless or upset, I talked to my sister. I walked to her bedroom and knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she said. “Hi, how’s it going?”

“Not great,” I admitted. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.”

I lay down next to her on her bed and sighed.

“What’s going on?” I wanted to talk to her, I needed to talk to her, but I thought she wouldn’t understand. She was in high school, almost a grown-up. People took her seriously, people didn’t ignore her. I decided to stay quiet.

“I bet I can help. I was seven once too.”

“Fine, but you might not understand. It’s just that nobody takes me seriously! They think that since I’m a little girl, I don’t know anything.” She looked at me for a moment.

“That’s not true,” she said. “People take you seriously! I know I do and — ”

“No, you don’t get it! It happens constantly. Like yesterday, I was walking down the street, and I saw this old freaky man throw his cup on the ground, so I told him to pick it up, but he didn’t! He just called me a brat and walked away!”

“Okay, so you might be right. People don’t take you seriously ‘cause you’re a kid. But that’s okay, you can just wait until you’re older, you shouldn’t have to worry about this. You’re seven! Have fun and make it last.”

“Fine. I guess you’re right.” I began to walk out of the room, but paused mid step.

“I have one more thing to say… ”

“What is it?” My sister walked back to my bed and lay down next to me again. I took a deep breath.

“Well, it’s just that, I think actually… um, I might be afraid of growing up… ”

“What? You just told me you wanted to be an adult so people can trust you to change the world or whatever.”

“I know, and I have been telling myself that. I thought that all of my problems would go away if I grew up, but that’s kind of why I’m afraid of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what if when I do grow up, people still don’t take me seriously? I try to help people do the right thing, and they still say that I don’t know anything or that I’m just being stupid.”

“I don’t think that will happen. You’re so smart. I know it, you know it, and the rest of the world will know it soon enough.”

“Yes, I know I’m smart. And I’ve always thought that it was a good thing that I am determined, but Mommy has told me that sometimes I don’t know when to stop, and I don’t think that will change with age.”

“I think it’s great that you’re so perseverant. Sure it annoys some people, like that old grouch, but not me.”

“You have to say that ‘cause you’re my sister. If even my own mommy thinks it’s annoying, then it probably is. So maybe I just use my age as an excuse, because really I am insecure.”

“Well, I don’t know if you can say that for sure, and — ”

“No, I think I can. I haven’t told anyone before. I’ve barely even admitted it to myself. But you’re my sister, you know me better than anyone in the world. So tell me, will this ever change?”

“Well, I guess it kind of doesn’t. But it’s not just for you, it’s not just because you’re so smart and determined, it’s true for everyone. Whenever someone disagrees with you, they won’t listen. Sadly, there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“I think you can always do something about any situation. I’ve always thought that I don’t have to try to make a change yet, because it will be easier when I’m older, but now that I’ve realized that it might never get easier, I might have to do something now.”

“Okay, I guess you might be right, but what can you do?” There was a moment of silence Then, my face lit up. I had an idea.

“Well, even if I can’t make other people pick up their garbage, I can just do it for them. Maybe I can go and pick up all that garbage from the streets myself! I’ve been waiting for so long to help solve this issue, and I thought I’d have to wait till I was an adult, but maybe I can start now. I know people might not listen to me, but I can still make a change. I’m going to save all the polar bears and penguins and dolphins!”

“Alright, have fun! You can do it!” I was ready to begin. I didn’t care that it was raining. In fact, that just made me want to do it more. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a bunch of garbage bags. I went into the closet and put on a pair of stained yellow gloves that were a bit too big, because they were meant for Mommy. Then, I went back into my room and grabbed my swimming goggles just in case anything happened. I put on a rain jacket and rain boots, and sprinted out the door.

“I’ll be back soon!” I yelled. The door closed behind be with a slam. I stepped into the rain, I took a deep breath, and began.

There was hardly anyone on the street since it was pouring out, which made this much easier. I kind of got into a zone. Pick up garbage, put in bag, drag bag forwards. Over and over again. It might sound boring, but I actually had lots of fun. I imagined that each piece of garbage I picked up was a polar bear, or penguin, or dolphin that I was saving. I had no sense of time, because it was already dark out from the rain, but after a while my mom came out and told me it was time for dinner. I told my family about what I had done.

“I picked up garbage off the streets, and now all of the animals won’t die anymore.”

“That’s great, honey,” my mom said. She still gave me the look, but I didn’t care. I knew I was making a change no matter what.

That night, I fell asleep much happier than I had in a very long time.

The next morning was Friday, my favorite day of the week. Mommy always made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast, so I had that instead of another bowl of Cheerios. It was still raining, but I was okay with that. And it was someone’s birthday at school, so we all got cupcakes!

When Mommy picked me up, she offered to get me ice cream since we never got it the day before, but I told her I wanted to go home since I was so excited! I had been looking forward to this all day. Again, I grabbed the garbage bag, the gloves, the goggles, and my rain jacket and rain boots. As I was running out the door, my sister stopped me.

“Wait! Can I come with you?”

“Of course! Yay!”

She grabbed her own pair of gloves, goggles, and rainboots. She threw on her jacket.

“We’ll be back soon!” she yelled, and we ran out the door.

We decided to go to a slightly different neighborhood today, just a few minutes from ours. We rode our bikes there, got off, and got to work.

It was great. We were soaked from head to toe, but we didn’t care. I told her about imagining each piece of garbage as an animal, and she laughed at me at first, but then realized that it was actually quite fun.

I looked around and realized how great this was. I was no longer making excuses, but instead making a change. I looked around. I saw the clean streets that almost looked like they sparkled. It was dark and gloomy, but still, I thought the neighborhood had never looked better.

 

Emery’s Revenge

Emery woke up in the morning with a yawn. Emery lived in a very small cabin near a mountain. He was the son of King Timothy, one of the strongest kings that were alive today. But he was only strong because of one stone that carried strength. He desperately wanted the stone, and he was jealous of King Timothy. King Timothy kept the stone in a mountain that had the strongest gusts of wind that would blow anyone off to their death. Emery hated his dad a lot, because he was weak.

“How can you not even lift an apple up? You should be ashamed of yourself, Emery. You’re a disgrace to our family!”

Emery was disgusted at how King Timothy insulted him every time he saw him. He wanted revenge, and he wanted to show who was stronger. But Emery first needed to know how he couldn’t lift something up that was really light, like an apple.

 

Emery trained hard so that he could reach the cave on the mountain to snatch the stone of strength. He knew hundreds of people died from climbing the mountain, so he needed to train hard and be the strongest he could be. Emery then could carry horses, and tables, with only one hand. But he knew he wasn’t as strong as his dad. The next day, Emery decided to start his journey to the stone. He knew he was strong enough for the journey. The tiring and dangerous trip to the cave was going to be two days, and Emery packed enough food and water for his trip. The journey had just begun.

 

Emery walked on a bridge over the river and saw a stranger standing on the bridge. He turned his head and saw Emery step on top of the bridge.

“Now who do we have here? Emery Farman, you really think you can climb this wall? Pffff. Loser. I heard you couldn’t even carry an apple! HAHAHAHAHA!” said the stranger.

“Who are you?” asked Emery.

“You’re as stupid as you look, Farman. I’m also here to get the stone, and nothing can stop me. Can someone weak like Emery Farman beat me in a fight? No?!”

“Then why don’t we fight here now?” challenged Emery.

Emery then took out his sword, and the stranger took out his sword too. Emery and the stranger then started to fight each other hard. The stranger then went for Emery’s legs. Emery blocked it and then kicked the stranger in the face. The stranger couldn’t keep his balance and fell to the ground. Emery then decided to kick him off the bridge.

“Bye bye!” Emery said.

The stranger then fell to his death. It was a good start for Emery Farman.

 

Emery saw the big mountain he was going to climb. There was a big amount of snow on top of the mountain. He then saw a small sparkle on top of the mountain inside the cave.

It’s the stone, Emery thought. Emery then stepped on the mountain, and he decided to take a path with a bunch of rocks and sand around it. Emery walked and walked. His legs were sore and heavy. Then, there was fog and mist everywhere. Emery then got hit by a gust of wind.

 

Emery was freaking out. His hand was on a piece of sandy rock. He was dangling off the mountain like a Christmas tree ornament. He took a few deep breaths.

“AHHHH!” Emery screamed.

Emery was tired and sore in every muscle of his body. He was back on the mountain. He then faced the same stranger right in front of him.

“Y-y-you’re not dead?!”

“What else did you think, Farman? Now I really want to kill you!”

The stranger then tried to kick Emery off the mountain. Emery then tripped the stranger, and put his arm around the stranger’s neck. This was Emery’s chance to finally kill the stranger. But then, the stranger disappeared out of sight.

 

The stranger was now making Emery furious. Surely there was another way to get rid of the stranger, Emery thought. Emery then decided to forget about what had just happened, and he just continued his journey. Emery was sure that the stranger was going to come back. He knew that the stranger wouldn’t just give up for the stone. Emery then felt drowsy. He knew he needed rest, so Emery made himself a sleeping spot and slept.

 

Emery dreamt of all the insults he heard from his father in his childhood. He also dreamt of all the misery he went through. He then dreamt of him getting kicked out of his father’s kingdom and of how he was really weak. He then woke up with sweat dripping all over his face. This dream was basically a nightmare for Emery. Not only did he wake up with sweat dripping all over his face, he was basically on the edge of the mountain.

“GAHH!” Emery screamed.

Emery took a few deep breaths and stood up and acted like nothing just happened. After that, Emery hiked and walked, and he felt the strongest glow ever in his life. He felt a loud buzz against his skin, and he also felt warmth. When he looked to his left, there it was, the stone of strength.

“Finally! Now I can show father who’s stronger.”

Emery ran up to the stone until a dark shadow appeared out of nowhere. I bet you can guess who it is. The man who annoyed Emery’s journey. The stranger.

“Hey, Farman! You should’ve seen the face you made when I disappeared. It was so funny!”

“What?! How can you not die!” Emery shouted.

The stranger then formed into the man Emery hated all his life. His father.

“Now Emery, you’re not going anywhere near my stone. You better get out now before I shred you into pieces.”

“Well, I’m not leaving until I get the stone,” Emery said.

Emery took out his sword and put it on his father’s neck.

“So, you still want to kill me?” his father asked.

“Yeah,” Emery answered.

He then used all his strength to slice his father’s head off. Instead, King Timothy stabbed Emery in the stomach. The sword stuck through Emery’s stomach. Blood dripped everywhere.

“Goodbye, Emery,” his father said.

 

His father then left Emery’s dead body and disappeared. Emery groaned and groaned. He knew he would die in just seconds. He saw the stone of strength on top of a rock. It was glowing on a piece of rock. Emery realized that he could retrieve the stone in time before he died. Emery crawled with all his strength. His shirt was already soaked with blood. Emery then knocked the piece of rock down, so then he could catch the stone of strength in the air. It seemed like everything was in slow-motion now. Emery then extended his arm out with his final amount of strength…

 

The stone twirled around and around. The stone then fell between Emery’s fingers. Boom! The cave exploded in bright yellow. After the explosion, Emery realized that he was not dead. He felt stronger and more powerful. Emery then jumped off the mountain and brought the stone with him so that no one could ever keep the stone and retrieve the strength and power he had. Emery jumped off the mountain and landed in no sweat. Emery was ready, and now all he had to do was kill his father.

 

Emery entered the kingdom. People gasped and spit at him. They shouted insults and said that Emery was not welcome to his father’s kingdom. Emery murdered the people who insulted him in one second. People backed off and ran away and were scared of the new Emery. Emery then stormed into his father’s room and saw his father reading a book. His father gasped and was surprised to see Emery alive.

“Uh, uh, I-I am sur-sur-prised to see you a-alive, E-E-Emery,” King Timothy said.

“Hello, Father. Now I have one more thing to do. Kill you,” Emery said.

Emery then struck his father in one punch. Crack! His father collapsed, and his eyes turned white.

“You made my life miserable,” Emery said.

Emery then spit at his dead father’s body.

 

If Only

Long ago, when people didn’t destroy the Earth and people were the Earth, there were two. The water belonged to the Goddess, and the land belonged to the God. The Goddess and the God were in a relationship of sorts, as they worked together and around each other. But that was all they could do, because the land and the water were separate. They longed for each other. Every morning, the Goddess would bathe in the water and greet her aquatic friends. They looked up to her. Her, in her green, grassy-skinned glory. She was different from them, and powerful. The Goddess looked across the world to the land and to the God. The God, whose long beard reached his toes and beyond, met her gaze easily. His skin was different from hers. It was smoother and rosier. His beard was different from anything she had seen in the water, too. Cherries and fruits and leaves were growing from it, and the Goddess wanted nothing more than to reach out and be able to hold it in her hands. To pick the cherries and the fruits and the leaves and eat them, adorn her meals with them, cherish them. She wanted him. His smile was shy and tentative, but it was there, and the Goddess smiled back like she would with any of her friends in the water. The God turned around to talk to one of his own friends in the land, and the Goddess looked down, content with the interaction. She continued with her day, and he continued with his, and it went on like that for years. They would meet eye contact, smile, and then look away.

One day, the Goddess decided she wanted more. More than just seeing a smile, but instead holding the smile closer to her, in her hands. She called out to the God. He looked back, shocked. They had never dared to talk to each other. Nobody would dare to talk between worlds. But he responded.

“I want to meet you,” the Goddess said.

“We’ve already met.”

“I want to feel you.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t allowed. Not in this lifetime,” the God said after a pause, and he frowned.

“But why isn’t it allowed? What are we scared of?” the Goddess said, her voice liquid hope. Everyone was staring at them now. All of the Goddess’ aquatic friends, and all of the God’s woodland creatures. They all looked at the God and the Goddess as if they were insane. No one had ever even thought to break the unspoken rules, and no one had ever even thought that the leaders would think of doing so themselves. “We could be happy together.”
“We could get banished.” His eyes were skipping around her, looking everywhere except her.

The Goddess looked at him, hurt. She couldn’t believe her ears. After all this time — she thought that the God wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She would be willing to throw everything away for him, why didn’t he feel the same. The God looked up at her again, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes crowded by a cloud of confusion. The Goddess reached her arm out, across the world, trying to grab onto the God. There were gasps all around: that was never done before! The God didn’t move back, but he didn’t move closer either. The Goddess was getting closer to him, closer, closer, closer… Her arm was thin and cracking from the stretch, like elastic in freezing temperatures, and she knew she couldn’t go much further. But she was so close… Suddenly, the God stretched his arm out too and easily clutched onto the Goddess’s grass covered arm. Light beamed from the interlapse, and again, the crowd gasped. The God pulled at the Goddess, and the Goddess pulled at the God, bringing the two worlds closer. The light was growing in size and in power, until finally, the two worlds connected, and the God fell into the Goddess’s arms, and the Goddess fell into the God’s arms. The light between them grew and grew until it took over both of their visions, and all of the visions of the aquatic friends and woodland creatures. Abruptly, the light fizzled out, and the God and Goddess were one, as were the water and the land. The woodland creatures walked around and looked curiously at the aquatic friends, and the aquatic friends reciprocated those stares. The God and the Goddess were together from that point on, and they couldn’t be happier. The one catch was that now there wasn’t a God or Goddess to look over the aquatic friends or the woodland creatures. They were on their own, and the Goddess thought to herself that they’d be just fine. She knows them, and the God knows them, and they both know that none of their own beings could ever be cruel.

If only they could see what the world they created has become today.

 

Dave

Sharpie Dave was a very shy brown cactus who came from Colorado and was “born” in a toilet,  a.k.a thrown in the toilet to die by some random cactus farmer. Since then, Sharpie Dave had always felt unlovable and scared, but Dave had learned to accept that bad things happen in the world.

One day he was found in a local sewer in Ohio by a thrifty woman named Peach. Now in his new home, a thrift shop a few years later, Dave learned about this new interesting thing called “dating.” Maybe, he thought, if I try this, then I can understand what feeling loved is like! One day Dave gathered up all his confidence and went up to Brenda the Blender and asked her, “Will…y-y-you go on a date with me?”

“Sure, I have nothing better to do” she replied.

“Okay, I guess I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 2:00pm?”

“Whatever.”

The next day Dave woke up very chipper and thought about what they should do for their date so he asked around.

“I’m going on a date today, and I’ve never done this before. Do you have any suggestions for what I can do on my date?” he asked his friend Larry the Candle.

“Aisle 7, most romantic place of all time! That’s where I met my wife Joan Bean,” said Larry dreamily.

“Hmmm Aisle 7…okay thanks!” Dave said as he sped off. “If it is the most romantic aisle that maybe she can be my wife, too! Even though I don’t really know what that means, do you know what it means?” said Dave to his dog Bagel, who stared back at him glass eyed.

In the meantime Dave looked around his spot on the shelf to prepare himself, but could find nothing except dust bunnies, so he clumped them all together and made a dust bunny bow tie. Finally after minutes of waiting, the clock struck 2:00pm and Dave made his way towards Brenda’s aisle.

“Brenda? It’s me Dave. I’m here to take you to Aisle 7, the romantic of all the aisles!” said Dave happily.

“Okay, I’ll be down in a second!” replied Brenda.

Patiently Dave waited when suddenly Brenda appeared with her blades shining and her pitcher as clear as the windows in the store.

“You look nice,” said Dave.

“Let’s get going. I don’t have all day,” snapped Brenda.

So Dave and Brenda made their way towards Aisle 7, which contained a whole line of shelves with red satin on the interior, a Barbie play table set with a small lit candle, and romantic jazz music in the background.  “So, do you have any hobbies?” asked Dave politely as he and Brenda sat in a vacant shelf.

“I mean I love to wear makeup since you know, blending is kinda my thing. What about you?” said Brenda.

“Well I uh, I guess like to take care of my dog Bagel” smiled Dave.

“I hate dogs.” And with that Brenda left, and Dave had failed at his date.

Later that week, as Dave made his way back from Larry’s aisle, he spotted Brenda with an eggplant named Ernesto who bullied everyone. As Dave hurriedly tried to hide from them, Ernesto called out, “Hey, Sweet Cheeks! Come over here and give us some love!” Ernesto must’ve thought Dave hadn’t heard him so he made his way over to him. “Yo, I heard you tried to date my soon-to-be wife. Just so you know you’re never gonna find love, and that farmer was smart to throw you in that toilet.” Then he touched Dave’s clay pot, which made Dave very uncomfortable, plus he said more insults.

Dave felt so heartbroken and dirty that he cried himself to sleep that night and dreamt that Ernesto was wrong and he could find love.

   Meanwhile, a young, magenta-colored balloon named FloorBoard who lived in Kansas wanted to see the world and find true love but she was scared she would never find the right guy or be popped. “I want to be in a place where there is a beach and no sign of corn stalks but, alas I cannot possibly do this for I am nothing but a balloon,” she said sadly. “No, I shall leave this place and make my way to the place farthest from here!” And with that she left her Kansas home. Floorboard blew with the wind at a great height and saw the driest deserts she’d ever seen along with a very swampy bayou with murky waters and alligators trying to snap at her. As Floorboard blew through all these extravagant places she finally crossed Indiana into Ohio.

When Floorboard arrived in Ohio, Sharpie Dave was feeling very melancholy and deep in his thoughts about what Ernesto had told him. “Maybe he’s right, I am unlovable,” gulped Dave. He started to cry. Bagel who didn’t know what to do curled himself around Dave’s pot as he wept.

“Oh what a sight this is!” exclaimed Floorboard as she glided over The Great American Ball Park and saw the crowd cheering for men holding strange, wood-like objects. As the Floorboard explored more and more of Ohio she caught sight of Peach’s Thrift Shop. A small bell tinkled as she entered the shop. Looking around Floorboard was entranced by all strange objects such as a porcelain cat, a sun mirror, a lamp, and a buduaar. While going up and down the aisle, she could hear faint sobs in the distance. She came across Dave and Bagel. “Are you alright?” she said softly.

Dave, who had been crying for who knows how long, looked up with his little puffy red eyes and said, “I don’t know. Someone said that I won’t ever find love and I really want to, but now I’m afraid I never will because I am unlovable.”

“I’ll…love you,” said Floorboard comfortingly.

“Really!?” said Dave as he jumped up from his slouched position.

“Yes, I don’t want you to be sad and feel unloved so I will love you!” she said happily.

So Dave and Floorboard left Peach’s store and went to go love each other. They went from the shore and island gateways to the Toledo Museum of Art! They dined out every night and stayed up till morning talking and laughing. Dave had never felt this kind of happiness before, and everytime he looked at her he felt an amazing sensation in his heart. He nor Floorboard ever wanted this to end. Dave knew that he was once afraid of love because of the cactus farmer’s bad mistreatment towards him, but he overcame that fear because of Floorboard’s love for him.

One day, Dave got some bad news from Floorboard, “Dave, there’s something I need to tell you,” said Floorboard bleakley. “I love you Dave, I really do but, I long for my home back at Kansas so I must go now. I’m so sorry.”

     Dave knew that something bad would happen but he didn’t know that it would be this bad. As Floorboard made her way back home to the deserted barn in which she lived, she noticed something odd about it. She floated towards a weird misshapen fence and realized that it was actually barbed wire! In her final seconds she thought about the times she had with Dave and at the barn, also knowing that her fate was right before her. She closed her eyes and was popped.

Meanwhile, Dave who still longed for Floorboard to return was informed about her death. A feeling like no other in Dave’s life came over him like a black shadow of sadness, feeling heavy and alone. Now that Floorboard was gone, Dave decided to go to a local gas station to light himself on fire.

“Oh Floorboard, thank you so much for showing me what it feels like to experience love,” he sobbed and thought of the pros and cons of taking his life. “If I do this I shall be with her again and we can be happy forever, if I don’t do this then… no, I must do this, there is nothing left for me here.”

Looking up at the sky, Dave could already see her waiting for him and as final tear escaped his eye he burnt until there was nothing left but his little clay pot.

 

The Path of the Soul

       

“Dargos and Herga. Rise. You are now one with the soul of nature.” Tapping them on the shoulder with his knarlwood cane, the cleric’s green and white robes fold as he ends the short and sweet indoctrination ceremony. Bowing to each other and the cleric, Dargos and Herga swiftly leave the auditorium of the city-tree.

“We are now servants of nature,” Dargos whispers excitedly to Herga, “and we have a place in this great city tree. The Forgag will provide us with everything we need. As one of them, we will have the chance to serve the soul of nature. I am so proud, and I can’t wait.” Entering the assignment center, Dargos and Herga rush to the desk of the old sage seated in the room.

“Welcome, Dargos and Herga. Your first assignment will be guarding against the Rogar. You must defend our enclave of nature against their advance. Their so-called progress encroaches on our land. As members of the Forgag, it is your responsibility to protect all of nature. Pick up your weapons and meet the rest of your patrol squad in an hour,” the sage softly speaks.

Bowing to the sage, Dargos rubs his hand against the soft wood of the room, feeling the pulse of the tree’s life. Turning around, Herga leans into a small knot in the tree. “Hlegor leg. Hlegor leg. Hlegor leg. Great soul of the tree, provide us with weapons,” she chants. Two swords of wood form out of the tree, and Dargos and Herga grab them both.

Rushing downstairs to the plaza where they’re going to meet their squad, Dargos looks out a window of sap. “Just look at the beauty. The perfection,” he says in awe.

Herga joins in with a, “And I can’t wait to crush Rogar scum.”

Dargos nods, but a shadow of doubt begins to creep into his mind. All he’s ever known is what the clerics have told him. “But not everything in the Forgag is perfect. You haven’t seen the prison blocks like I have. Maybe the Rogar aren’t as bad as were told,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“We’ve trained all our lives for the moment. I can’t wait.”

“Herga, can I let you in on a secret?”

“Always. What is it?”

“In the prison blocks, they torture the Rogar prisoners. Everyone of them captured is encased into the tree and slowly crushed to death while being ripped apart. That’s how the tree gets nutrients. There isn’t really a point, since the tree can get nutrients from the sun. It just likes the torture.”

“Good. The Rogar have it coming.”

Dargos bites his lip as they exit into the plaza. “Attention, guards. You two will be joining the assault team. Over there. After the rogar burned down our catapults, we’re going to destroy their labs in revenge. Two wolf mounts are waiting for you,” a brightly dressed officer shouts.

Hurrying over to the rest of the assault team, Dargos whispers to Herga “We weren’t told anything about an attack. Aren’t we supposed to just be guarding?”

“I, for one, am excited to attack. Let’s go kill some Rogar scum.”

Dargos just nods, biting his lip so it bleeds. The two mount the wolves as the commander begins to address the squad. “We are about to attack the Rogar, and I need to make sure you know what to do. What do the Rogar prize most?”

“Knowledge, sir!”

“What do you do if you see a Rogar?”

“Kill or capture, sir!”

“Good. Very good. Now, none of us have ever attacked the Rogar before. But knowledge gained when the last squad died… Oops. Anyway, information gathered from several secret, hidden, nondescript, and unknown sources tells us that their buildings are armed with fire shooting cannons that can burn straight through a wolf. Be strong and decisive in your attack. The Rogar are armed with strange and unrighteous mechanical devices. In order to beat them, half of our wolf riders will go straight into their compound as bait, while the other half will dismount and destroy their labs. But those who are bait, don’t worry. The soul of nature will protect you. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Then we strike at once. Onward!”

Rushing out of the gates of the tree, Dargos feels the wind blowing through his hair and the soft touch of the wolf’s fur against his skin. Tightly grasping onto the reins, Dargos confides in his wolf.

“Hey, boy. Listen up, okay? Did you hear what the commandant said about the Rogar compound? How did they get all that information? I feel like this isn’t the first attack, or there’s something they’re not telling us. Anyway, thanks for listening.”

As the squad crosses the bridge leading out of Forgag territory, they look at the horizon. The area right in front of their noses is a deserted wasteland, ruined by centuries of war. Scorched bodies of wolves, clerics and warriors in the traditional Forgag robes, Rogar creations, and Rogar agents litter the ground. The earth is scorched to a crisp. All around, houses are crushed to the ground. All that can be seen left standing are the waves of tombstones seemingly stretching endlessly. Dargos leans closer into one, reading the words on a single tombstone out of the many, bearing neither the Rogar nor Forgag emblems.

“Morie Yehar. C.E.730-C.E.738. Killed in a Forgag prison, for healing wounded Rogar soldiers. May she rest in peace for all the people she healed by such a young age. She will never be forgotten as long as we tread this land.”

Pulling away the vines covering the tombstone, a shudder goes down Dargos’ spine. He looks down at his wolf. A single tear rolls down his cheek, but it’s wiped away by the wind. Looking down at the Forgag emblem on his robe, it no longer stirs up the same pride in him.

As his squad slowly passes through the wastelands, Dargos drops to the back of the pack. He is no longer excited to be part of the Forgag. Pulling up to talk to Herga, at the front of the pack, Dargos leans over and begins to speak. “Hey, Herga! Listen up! Do you see those tombstones?”

“How could I miss them?”

“A lot of them were probably killed by the Forgag.”

“I bet a lot were killed by the Rogar too. Definitely more.”

Clenching his hand into a fist, frustrated by Herga’s blind devotion to the Forgag, Dargos falls to the back of the pack, yet again.

 

“Halt!” the commander shouts, “We are right in front of the gates to the Rogar lands. Once in there, everyone is an enemy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. The compound is about a mile into Rogar lands. There is one town along the way. We will stop there for the night and — ” The commander raises his fingers for air quotes. “ — respectfully mingle with the enemy citizenry. If you, um, acquire any objects while respectfully mingling with the enemy citizenry and/or cause immense destruction and pain to them, you will be pardoned of all of your crimes while fighting these heretic infidels who do not honor the soul of nature.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then let us begin.”

The commander unhooks his equipment from the wolf’s saddle and puts it on. Throwing a barbed vine up to the roof of the gate house, the commander pulls it taught. Climbing up the vine, sword in hand, the commander quickly scales up to the roof and silently slices off the guard’s heads, and he wipes the blood on the dead mens’ robes. Beckoning for two more men to come up, the commander pulls a little vial out of the pouch pocket.

“Now this here is a very potent sap-based acid. Just a drop or two on anything made of nature, like our wooden swords, will make them strong enough to cut through a roof or wall,” the commander whispers.

Crouching down, he smears a little bit of the liquid all over his sword, plunges it through the roof silently in the corner, and almost cuts out a whole circle, leaving it holding onto the roof by a little bit. Pulling out his sword in one hand, the commander slams through the roof, sword in hand, and spins 360 degrees. Killing all the guards in one clean stroke, he beckons for the other men to come down and sheaths his sword. The three men pull up the gate, and the squad goes through.

Riding along the countryside, the Forgag soldiers slice up the Rogar creations tending to the fields as they go along, and sow weeds into the ground. Collecting whatever supplies the Rogar had and breaking them, they ride into the Rogar town like kings. Dismounting, they quickly kill the local Rogar garrison with the loss of only two men and begin to sack and pillage the town. Knocking down houses, destroying equipment in items, looting valuables, pillaging, shops, murdering the local inhabitants, and just generally causing destruction. Staying for the night, they begin to turn into harsher, more crueler versions of themselves. Dargos runs around, desperately trying to find Herga.

“Arrg!” Herga yells, stabbing a local family through the chest.

“One second of cruelty, four lives ended.” Dargos mentions casually, but with a serious tone in his voice.

“They deserved it.”

“But you just killed two innocent children!”

“They must pay for the crimes of their parents.”

A fire begins to burn in Herga’s eyes.

“How does that justify killing? What makes their lives worth less than ours?”

“Because they’re Rogar,” Herga replies, with more than shadow of malice and cruelty in her voice. Beginning to hollar, Herga yells, “All Rogar deserve to die! I granted them mercy with a painless death.”

“Herga, snap out of it!!”

Getting down on his knees and begging with Herga, Dargos began to plead.

“Make it stop! All this bloodshed, for nothing. We have been taught from a very young age that all of nature is valuable. What makes the Rogar any less? What?!”

“Everything.”

Herga twists her heel, kicking dust into Dargos’ face and spits on the ground.

“You deserved that for even questioning the Forgag.”

“Enough with the looting and pillaging! It’s time to make camp for the night. In the name of the soul of nature, I hereby declare this town thoroughly destroyed and pardon you all. We set off tomorrow at four in the morning, sharp.”

“Yes, sir!”

Pulling the bedroll off his wolf, Dargos quickly sets up camp. Dropping it onto the ground, he clears the bloodstained dirt. Collapsing, he looks up at the bright starry night. Scooting over to let his wolf lie down next to him, he begins to whisper to it.

“Just look at the sky. It’s probably the only place here free from the blood. Why do we have to fight? They’re not so different from us. Underneath, we are all sort of the same. While there may be some differences, it’s not worth all this fighting. Who decided to divide the world into Forgag and Rogar anyway? Just look at this massacre. The little town here isn’t that different from the ones we saw in Forgag territory. There doesn’t always have to be a them and an us, a Forgag and a Rogar. Why can’t there just be people?”

Turning over, Dargos falls soundly asleep, dreaming of a world where there isn’t so much bloodshed.

“Rise and shine! It’s time to move out. Just leave the bedrolls. You won’t need them. We leave in five minutes! Five minutes!” the commander shouts. Shaking his head and slowly standing up, Dargos sees Herga towering over him.

“It’s our first battle! I can’t wait.”

“I can. This isn’t what I trained for, you know? A cleric’s supposed to heal people, not kill them. They had us sign an oath never to take lives. Now they send me into battle?”

“So you can heal people. Duh. You should no better than to question the Forgag.”

Sneering at Dargos, Herga spits in the dirt. Stomping off, Dargos climbs onto his wolf, leaning in.

“What’s the matter with her? Can’t she see what is happening? Urrg. At least you understand, boy.”

Pulling out his sword, Dargos sticks it into the ground and snaps it under his foot.

“I won’t be needing that.”

“Let’s move out! Everybody, we’re going!” the commander shouts and then hops onto his wolf. Riding out, the squad all mount their wolves and ride out towards the Rogar compound. “The right half of the company here will go straight in as bait, and I will lead you. Left half, you’ll be commanded by our loyal and faithful Herga. Praise the soul of nature!”

“Praise the soul of nature!”

Veering off to the left, Dargos charges forward with the rest of the pack, dismounts, and rushes into the Rogar laboratory. Pulling out the same bottle the commander had earlier, one of the Forgag soldiers smears it all over his sword, cutting through the wall into a Rogar lab. Nocking an arrow, another Forgag soldier shoots the two Rogar agents in the room, and they sweep into the building. Glass flying everywhere, they smash Rogar petri dishes, break beakers, and crack vials. Charging forward, the Forgag team rushes further into the building, wrecking as the go. Dargos, however, stays behind.

Raising his staff over two dying Rogar agents, Dargos begins to utter a powerful life saving incantation. “Alhost nep. Alhost nep. Alhost nep. Save these two agents.”

“Thank you. You are a very good man. But why are you helping us, since you are Forgag?”

“I’m not Forgag. I’m not Rogar. I’m just a human, and so are you,” Dargos declares, helping them up from the ground.

“Now, this special tree grows incredibly fast. Plant this seed anywhere, and it will go straight up through anything. Plant it below this Rogar laboratory. Dargos has a special spell to blow through the floor. Where is he? You two. Over there. Go find him,” Herga orders. “We can’t get down to the basement to plant the seed until Dargos gets here, unless we cut through. You two. Start cutting. I hope they find Dargos.”

Panting, Dargos frantically searches for a Rogar officer.

“Rogar officer! Somebody! Anybody! You need to listen! The Forgag are going to destroy your labs! The other team is bait! It’s a trap!”

Hwap! A blindfold and gag are thrown over Dargos’ head. He blacks out.

 

A blinding light shines into Dargos’ eyes.

“You betrayed the Forgag!” Herga yells into Dargos’ face. “Your petty warnings were worthless. We cut through the floor and destroyed the Rogar labs. You failed. Dargos, you are a disgrace to the Forgag. I pity you.”

Herga turns around and spits on the floor.

“Where are we?”

“In a house in the wastelands. You were so interested and horrified at the wasteland graves, we decided to have you join them. Goodbye Dargos.”

Herga sneers.

“I thought you were my friend. We’ve been raised together since we were born.” Dargos cries, tears gushing like rivers and flowing down his robe, pulling out the dye. Pools of now green tears form on the floor, flooding the half-destroyed house.

“We’ve never been friends. Merely accomplices in serving the soul of nature.”

Pulling out her sword, high above his head, Herga touches the sword onto Dargos’ chest. Heartbroken, Dargos’ eyes drop. He falls onto the floor. He sinks slowly into the pool of his own tears. His arms droop. His head falls onto his chest.

“Why? Why, Herga? Why?” Dargos chokes out through the tears.

“Because the soul of nature is above all, and you are a traitor. Goodbye, Dargos.”

Herga picks up her sword, brandishing the wood. Dargos looks up to see any hint of remorse in her eyes. All he sees is cold, hard hatred. Herga raises the sword high above her head and —

 

Envy and Murder

Sweat trickles down my neck. Why am I here? How did it come to this? I stand over the body and let the moment sink in. I look at my hand and see a gun. I drop it. It clanks against the floor, echoing for what feels like forever. I turn to the shattered mirror and see the monster I have turned into. My usually neutral face is red with fury, in stark contrast to my pale body. My neat red hair is tangled and appears as if I have blood on my head. Maybe I do. My green eyes are so small and frightened, I almost can’t see the evil that rumbles beneath. I start to hear her dog bark.

My confusion is replaced by the fear that seems to seep through every bone. I pick up the gun and put it in the pocket. I pull down my shirt to cover the handle. I look at the body. The eyes are still open from the shock of my killing. I quickly turn and stumble to the bathroom. I wash my hands and turn back. My body tenses up as I walk closer to the body. I close the eyes of the murdered. The green eyes, so similar to mine. I thought killing someone would bring justice, but it doesn’t, it just brings regret. I look at the pool of blood. Betrayal is written all over it. But I am the one to be seen as crazy and unfair. What justice was I expecting? I pick up the body and carry it to the bathtub. My muscles are tense, and I feel the bones on my hands. I let the body sink into the bathtub, and I fill it up with water. I let the body get clean, and then I refill the tub. My hands shaking as I close the door. I take the dog as I leave because I don’t want the risk of anyone knowing what I just did.

The dog whimpers as I put the collar on him. I pick him up and let him see who I am. His eyes go wide because he knows me and knows what I did. Not many people kill their sister. I get him on a leash and walk out the back door. I sprint to the neighbor’s yard, and as I do, I hear a scream. I think of it being directed toward me, and I turn to run. My heart is beating in my chest, matching the beating of my feet on the sidewalk. I run to the corner and pull out my phone.

“Hello?”

“911, what’s the emergency?” says a lighthearted woman.

“My dog owner seems to not be opening the door, and I heard a scream.”

“Where?”

“Gerland Lane, house 67.”

“Thank you. And what is your name?”

“Phoebe.”

“We are sending people over now.”

I put my phone back in my pocket, but I realize it doesn’t fit. Oh no, I still have my gun. How suspicious would that be. I shudder and feel the sidewalk start to sway. I feel myself heave as I proceed to throw up on the hard gravel beneath me. I look at the ground, astonished, and the floor continues to sway. The dog starts to run and bark in circles. I pick him up as I wobble toward the nearest trash can. Since it is quiet and dark now, most people could hear the dog bark, but everyone seems to be asleep. I throw the gun in the trash. Not in my possession, not my problem. I’ll pick it up after the police leave. I glance around to make sure no one saw me, but since it is very late at night, no one is awake. Hopefully no one heard me. A chill shoots through my spine because I realize that the shot of a gun is very audible. I shake my head because that doesn’t point the murder to me. I don’t have the gun anymore. The police arrive about five minutes after I called them, and by then it is pitch black, except for the lights from one house half a block away and a single lamppost.

A single police car pulls up. I nod and walk over to them. A cop with a gray mustache steps out of the driver seat. The red and blue lights from the car show his face. He is obviously not happy to be here. I mean, who would be? It’s like 12:30 in the morning. I see his wrinkled face. His uniform is quite sloppy, and his badge is definitely used and old. The regular shine is lost. He must really know how to do his job. I try to calm myself down while talking to him because I don’t want to seem suspicious.

“Which house is the dog owner’s?”

“Well, actually, she is also my sister. I just did not mention that to the dispatcher. Sorry, I am just really worried.”

“Okay.” His brow furrowed when I said that.

“I just really care about her.”

He interrupts me and says, “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure.”

“No, in the police station.”

“Oh, okay,” is all that I am able to squeak out.

He turns away from me to walk toward the house. I am silent, just letting my mind race with fears. He turns around and motions for me to go ahead of him. I swallow my fear and let my feet take me toward the police officer. He knocks on the door. No one answers. I knock this time. Again, no answer. I put on my mask of worry and knock one more time. He takes out a single key. Unlocking the door, I feel my heart beat for what feels like a thousand beats per minute. I hope he can’t hear it. We open the door, and it creaks. I step in first.
“Hello?” I shout. My words feel dull and fake as they hit the walls and echo so softly. He takes out a flashlight and looks for the light switch. I point to the wall, and he hits the switch. He scouts the first floor and finds nothing. I follow behind him and put on the emotion of fear and worry. He keeps glancing back. Does he suspect me? He finally reaches the stairs and starts to walk up.

“Should I follow you?”

“Yes,” he replies in a gruff voice.

I nod and continue to walk with him. We get to the top of the stairs, and I glance around the room and see that I left nothing suspicious around. I start to look around the room, and I hear a gasp. He saw the body. I rush to where I hear the sound and see him in the bathtub next to my sister. I open my mouth and realize there is a way to get out of his questions. I faint. I hold my breath, and my face goes red. My legs shake, and I drop. My head hits the floor. I’m…

I wake up on a hard bed almost worse than the floor. My eyelids flutter as I slowly get up. I see the cop that wanted to interrogate me. He looks at me as I yawn. I see him start to come my way. I debate fainting again but don’t have the chance.

“You up?”

“Yeah.”

And silence falls like a wet blanket.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Your sister was shot.”

“Oh my gosh.” I decide to put on the face of horror with a hint of despair.

My mouth drops, and my eyes get big as I command my face to become pale.

“We have a few leads,” he says.

“Really, who?”

“Well, first we must ask a few questions about you and your sister’s relationship.”

“Of course.”

He takes my arm and drags me to another hallway. I see a group of teenagers arguing in a room. I feel the fluorescent lights shining on me. I feel watched as I glance around. We walk for a good amount of time. Enough to make me not know how to get back to that bed. I see a room at the end, and it’s empty, and I realize I’m about to be interrogated. I suddenly remember, where is the dog? Oh well, never liked that mutt anyway. He opens the door with ease and motions for me to go before him. For the first time, I see his badge, and well, he is Officer Crumpy. What type of name is that? I step toward the chair. I suddenly see the chair buzz and fill with sparks. The room goes black. I blink, and it’s back to normal. What the hell?? I know I am going to have to sit in that chair. As I walk, my feet feel like they are going through slime. I go slow, and I feel my knees wobble. I reach the chair and sit down, and I block the image of me dying here.

He stands in front of me and walks around me as I just paint the face of confusion. He looks at me, and his brown eyes are deep and full of mystery. I just can’t tell what he is thinking. He asks, “Were you and your sister close?”

“Yes. We used to be closer, but we still talk very often.”

“Are your parents dead?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Like two years. It is still a fresh wound.”

“Why did you call her your dog owner on the phone?”

“Because I thought if I said sister they would think I am overreacting. I honestly thought that is better to explain.”

“You had the dog for how long before you decide to call the police.”

“Like an hour.”

“Did you call her phone?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay. Did you notice any other weird people around her?” he questions.

“Yeah, she has a boyfriend who is very sketchy.”

“Okay, well, thank you, and I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say.

I walk out, and he brings me to the exit. I smile. I could smell my freedom. Maybe I can get justice for what she did and what she always had done. What my parents couldn’t see. What my friends couldn’t see. What my own lover couldn’t see. She always gets what she wants. It was time to end that vicious cycle.

***

I knocked on her door. I saw the doorknob move, and she opened the door. Her strawberry blonde hair glistened in the sun. Her teeth shined so brightly, and her skin seemed to be glowing.

“Sister! How are you? I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too,” I said with a small smile.

“I mean, so much has happened! I got the promotion, and now I found the absolute man of my dreams. He has brown hair with little curls. His eyes are green. It is so beautiful.” She giggled while saying this. I felt my face flush, and my hands curled with envy. I pushed down the emotions and just decided to be happy for her.

***

It was a buildup. I love my sister. She just always gets lucky and takes everything, and that was my life. I wasn’t Phoebe. I was Bridget’s little sister. That wannabe. She always got the friends. Once they met her, they liked her more. Same with boyfriends. The final straw was when our parents died.

***

We were in the living room. She was dripping with tears. I was numb. Why didn’t I feel anything? What was this? I looked at her at her worst. Her face puffy, and I felt jealousy. Why didn’t I feel something? I painted my face to be as sad as possible. She looked at me and said, “It just feels so surreal. I mean, they aren’t even old, they don’t deserve death.”

“I totally agree.” I gulped down a smile. Why did I feed off her sadness?

“I’ll miss Mom’s cookies and Dad’s hugs. And how every time I was sad, they comforted me,” she said in between sobs.

“How they always believed in me even though they never said so,” I said.

“They cooked mac and cheese for us, my favorite,” she said while smiling.

“I always hated mac and cheese,” I said with fury.

“You did?”

“Yeah, they just liked you more,” I said with sadness.

“No they didn’t. I just needed more attention,” she argued.

I sighed. She just didn’t understand that I was not the favorite. I stood up from the couch and left her to cry. I went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. I flicked the water onto my eyes. Note to self, learn how to cry. I came back into the living room and hugged my sister maybe a bit too tight as we sat in silence. All I heard were the sobs of Bridget. I loved her sadness, but I also envied it. What was wrong with me?

***

I feel the wind seep into my room. The window is open. I wonder why. I pull out my phone, and I see it says 3.00 a.m.. Only a day since my interrogation. Let’s hope they already closed the case. I pull out my computer and log in. My screen’s background is still a photo of my sister and me. I freeze from the shock. My computer falls from my lap onto the floor. The screen cracks through the middle. One side has my sister, and the other side is darker. It’s me. I see myself in chains, crying. I turn away and look back, and all I see is a cracked screen. I close my computer and pull the covers to my shoulders. I let the window stay open, letting in the cold from the outside to match the my heart. I drift off to sleep. I don’t dream, only fall into a deeper darkness.

Beeeeeep. I hear the alarm while it shakes, and then I slam my hand against it. It turns off. I look outside. Birds chirp outside. I feel a warmth come from within me. I don’t know how I feel about it, but it definitely feels good. Is this happiness? I smile, and this time, it isn’t from someone else’s sadness. I stretch and hear a dog bark in the living room. I go to it, expecting kissing and love. Nothing is there. I shake the feeling of guilt off of me. I go into the kitchen and prepare toast. I put a bit of butter and jam. I bite into it and feel the warmth spread through me again. My eyes flicker through the room, and I see strawberry blonde hair appear on the corner of my eye. What is my sister doing here? I feel more guilt rise in me, and again I push it down into the pit where all my rare emotions go. I quickly throw on a red blouse and some ripped jeans. I look in the mirror. I look like a normal, happy girl. A little like my sister. I run out from my apartment as if I’m leaving behind that thought. I run down the stairs until I get outside. I take a deep breath and punch into the side of the building. Even when dead, I compete with my sister. I look at my hand, and there are bruises on my knuckles and cuts on my hand from where I slammed down my alarm. With these cuts are my own wounds… But they are more mental. I decide to go for a walk, to clear my head. I walk around and just take in my surroundings. The houses are so perfect, so neat. The blocks are the exact amount of distance apart, with a trash can at the end of each block. It hits me. The gun. I start to pick up the pace. My fingerprints are on that gun. That gun is still in the trash can.

All the blood from my face seems to leave from my face into my legs. They start to wobble, and I slowly lose my senses. My eyes focus on the floor. I see the little bits of shiny rock between the bland gray. My legs regain their balance. My eyes drift up, and I see the house of my sister. How am I here? I blink, and I look down to see I am in the same place. I still have walking to do. What are these illusions? Am I going crazy? I start to run. Letting the wind pick up my hair as it falls behind me. I let my life be carried away by the wind. I let my feet hit the sidewalk. It is not fair! I close my eyes and feel my feet hit the sidewalk harder each time. My head lifts, and I open my eyes. I’ve reached the block. I can just feel how the air seems denser. Without my sister here, it seems dead. I feel like a trespasser. I look around me. The garbage truck. It’s right behind me. I sprint to the trash can and start to rummage around it. A glint of metal shines in my eye. The gun. I grab the gun. It feels heavy in my hand. It is a harsh memory. One I wish to forget. I pick it up and wipe it on my shirt. No more fingerprints. I scream. The man comes out from the garbage truck. He rushes over to me. I feel my face take on the emotion of horror. My mouth wide open.

“What is a gun doing in the trash?” I say.

“What gun?” he says.

“Look!” I say.

He looks in the trash and sees nothing. Nothing is there.

“What?” I scream.

Right there. I grab the metal object and out comes a water bottle.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“I think. I just need to breathe.” I look past the garbage truck man and see a group of police who seem to be interviewing people. My face flushes, and I turn away so they can’t see my face. I am going crazy.

“I am sorry for your loss,” I hear behind me, as I just walk away. My feet feel like they have bricks strapped onto them. Do they already have the gun?

***

I opened the screen door to the back. The sun beat down on me. I smiled even though it seemed a bit forced. My dad was just humming a song as my sister happily walked around picking up flowers. I closed the screen and noticed the swings were still, with no one on them. I galloped to the swings and let my face create a smile. I hopped on the swing and let my legs pump me to the point of flying. A warmth flowed in me. I almost never had this feeling. The first time I remember having it was when I turned seven, and my sister was in the hospital for breaking a bone. All my friends were singing me “Happy Birthday.” My parents were there, and they were paying attention to me. It was my day. If only every day was my birthday. It had been two years, and I’d felt it about ten times. It felt like a fire was starting from within you but a good fire. Not the kind that destroys. My memory was shattered from my sister’s talking.

“How are you going so high?” she said with her little ten-year-old voice.

“I just let my legs do the work,” I said.

“I’m so jealous,” she whispered.

I smiled so hard it felt as if my face were to fall off. This was the strongest warmth ever. I felt happy.

***

My phone buzzes against my skin. I pick it up.

“Hello?” I say.

“You left your dog here,” says the the cop.

“Oh, thank you,” I say. Relief falls from within me because I was expecting them to find the gun.

“Okay bye, come pick him up — ”

“ — Are there any leads?” I quickly say.

“No, we didn’t even find a weapon near the house,” he says. I hear him sigh.

“Ugh!” I start to mutter gibberish.

“Come pick your dog up soon!”

“Of course! Thank you,” I say, even though he already hung up on me. I smile. It seems like my sister might get what she deserves.

 

Dull Blue Dresses

One Sunday morning, my mind felt like a cloud of haze and dust. I had only gotten four hours of sleep the night before, and I felt myself strapped to the covers, unable to rise out of bed. However, I was supposed to attend a dance party later that day at a dance hall, between 11:00 AM and 12:00 PM; my best friend, Renee, had sent an invite via Facebook Messenger to which I could RSVP, and told me that the cost of purchasing tickets was expensive. However, she didn’t send me a link to where I could purchase tickets. Therefore, I didn’t buy them to get into the dance. I also didn’t have an outfit picked out; should I wear a dress or a skirt? If I was going to wear a dress, should it be flowy and long or a pencil skirt dress? Oh well, I decided not to worry about that issue until an hour before I had to leave.

After thirty minutes of resting in bed and gazing up at the ceiling, I finally lifted myself up, slipped into my slippers, and walked out into the cold air of my kitchen, where a box of pancake mix enticed me and awaited for my mouth to devour it. I propped open the lid, turned on the stove to medium heat, put a seared pan on top, and gathered sugar, milk, eggs, etc. in order to make the batter. Once I finished whipping up all of the ingredients in one deep bowl, I poured the batter onto the butter-seared pan; the dripping of the batter was like a slow waterfall, dropping onto the pan and making a sizzling sound that was piercing throughout the kitchen. The sizzling sound kept ringing and ringing out until I used up all of the batter and made seven pancakes; I was ready to devour those moist cakes! However, you can’t have pancakes without the sticky and sweet goodness of maple syrup and the creaminess of butter! As I was pouring maple syrup onto the mountain of pancakes, my mouth started salivating and drooling, just like a dog. The last ingredient that I had to put on those pancakes was butter; I pulled out a stick of butter from my bare-to-the-bones fridge, cut it in half, and smeared it across the surface of the top pancake in the mountain that I had made. Now, the pancakes were ready to be devoured! I took one bite and was immediately in heaven; the sweetness of the maple syrup and the creaminess of the butter combined with the moistness of the pancakes was the perfect breakfast food for today.

I don’t really like to eat with other people because I don’t want to see them staring at me while I eat my own meals. I would rather just eat alone in the quiet space of my kitchen, mindlessly chewing and humming along to myself.

Ugh, why did I eat so many freaking pancakes? What was my reasoning behind this decision? Was I truly ravenous, or was I eating in order to bury deeply rooted negative emotions? I came to understand that I wasn’t starving after all; instead, the pancakes were filling an emotional void.

I checked my watch and realized that it was time to pick out a dress for the dance that I was going to in exactly thirty minutes. I looked through my closet, and I found three dull blue dresses, all of which were long and flowy; I felt insecure about drawing attention from strangers by wearing a shiny dress even though I desperately wanted to, so the dullness of the dresses exposed me less.

Did I really want to try on each of the blue dresses, though? The immediate thought of trying them on filled me with dread and agony. What if I didn’t like the person I saw in the mirror reflected back at me? I was afraid of confronting my own body in the mirror.

When I finally mustered up the courage to try on all three of the dull blue dresses, I realized that I didn’t like how they looked on me because of my figure. The dresses made me look like an overweight pig. To be honest, I didn’t want to go to the dance because I felt self-conscious about having random strangers stare at me; even though I was wearing a dull blue dress, people would still have noticed that I was there and would have judged how I looked in that dress. I especially didn’t want to see anyone I knew because then I would have felt more exposed and vulnerable. At the same time, I wanted to feel good in my own body and to be able to look like a goddess in a glittery dress that highlights my figure, and to have people compliment me on my looks, but I felt too insecure to show myself off.

I asked myself this question: Should I arrive late, or should I arrive on time? If I arrived late, I wouldn’t have to spend as much time at the dreadful dance. However, if one of my friends saw me, she would most likely accuse me of being late, and then I would have to deal with that internal guilt for the rest of the time. If I didn’t go to the dance, Renee would text me, asking me where I was. Ugh, I really, really just wanted to block the world out. Maybe I could just disappear from reality under my covers, in the exact same position as when I woke up.

Even though I wanted to hide under my covers, I realized that it was not healthy to isolate yourself. The real question was: Should I call Renee to tell her that I’m not going to the dance party? If I called her, she might or might not be angry at me for calling at the last minute. After a few moments, I mustered up the courage to make that phone call.

“Hey Renee, how’s it going? I’m calling you because I really, really, really don’t want to go to this dance party you’ve invited me to,” I said with my heart beating in my chest, feeling nervous about how Renee was going to respond.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Renee asked with a concerned tone.

“I’m just feeling extremely insecure about having people stare at me and judge me based off of my appearance. I know that this is a last minute call, but I sincerely hope you aren’t pissed off at me,” I replied with sweat beads forming on my forehead and my internal body heating up like an oven preheating.

“Of course I’m not mad at you. I understand that sometimes, crowds can be fear-inducing for many people. Just know that I’m here for you whenever you need someone to talk to.”

Upon hearing those magical words, I exhaled loudly, sighing with relief; the weight of the world had just been lifted off my shoulders.

“After the party ends, I would like to spend time with you. Do you want to get together with me?” I asked, with anticipation in my voice and hoping that she would accept my offer.

“Umm, I would love nothing more than to spend time with you, Annie! Do you want to go have lunch with me?” Renee asked.

“Let’s go get coffee instead. I’m still stuffed from breakfast this morning,” I said.

“Ah, okay. Let’s meet up at 12:30 PM! So excited to spend one-on-one time with you!” Renee excitedly replied.

I was excited to spend one-on-one time with her too.

 

Attack of the Potatoes

                     

Prologue

There once was a man named Bob, who was a homeless man in New York City, and he lived in a cardboard box in an alleyway. You might think he was a sad man, but he was perfectly happy with his life. Most of the time, he had two to three meals a day.

 

Story

I was walking in New York City. It was a nice and sunny day. There were lots of clouds in the sky, and it was 87 degrees with cool breezes, the perfect day. I looked around. Everything seemed normal, the buildings tall and bustling with people, and the subway stations were crowded. Everything seemed normal until I was walking close to the Empire State Building. People seemed to be frantically running away from it. I looked around, and I didn’t see anything. I went up to someone to ask if they knew what was happening.

“Excuse me, sir, but do you know why people are running away from there?”

“Yes,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “People are running away because there are tons of potatoes attacking people in the Empire State Building!”

“What?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

He must be lying, I thought. Potatoes are something you eat, not something alive! Since I didn’t believe that man one bit, I continued walking down Fifth Avenue. I was seven blocks away. Everything looked perfectly fine except for the people running away and shrieking. One person even tried to get me to turn around and run away, but I just brushed her off.

I was six blocks away.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” some man in a business suit holding a briefcase said. “THERE ARE GIANT POTATOES ATTACKING!”

Now I was as baffled as ever. Another person said the same thing! I wanted to confirm that it was 100 percent true, so I went up to another person.

“Excuse me, miss,” I asked. “Why are people running away fr — ”

“RUUUNNNNNNNN!!!” the woman screamed.

“But why are people running!?” I repeated.

She just ignored me and continued to run. I’m just going to go there and figure out what is wrong, I thought. I continued on my way, a half a block away, and I heard tires screeching. I turned around, and I saw big military Jeeps and FBI bulletproof trucks speeding towards the Empire State Building. I jumped out of the way and heard some man on the Jeep shout “Get out of here! This is a really dangerous area.”

“Okay, sir,” I replied.

I turned around and walked the other way for 30 seconds and then continued towards the building when I couldn’t see the army trucks anymore. There were no more people running away. They all left. The streets looked deserted like a ghost town. There were some phones on the floor, so I decided to take one. After all, it’s not like they would come back and get it. I heard my stomach grumble. I needed some food before I continued. Luckily, there was an abandoned hot dog cart with hot dogs sizzling on it. I also took a bottle of Gatorade for when I would be thirsty. I took a hot dog with a bun and spritzed some mustard and ketchup and sprinkled some relish on it. I turned off the stove so nothing would burn and continued on my way. I was two blocks away from the Empire State Building. I could hear booms and explosions and shots being fired. It sounded dangerous. But I didn’t worry that much. I’m a curious person, so I really wanted to see it.

Being curious is what got me fired from my job. I used to work for a restaurant, and the owner once asked me to drive his car back home. My boss had a Lamborghini, so I agreed right away. I got in his car. It was a green Lamborghini. I started up the car and went zooming down the road. While I was driving, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a red button. I love red buttons, so I decided to push it… and the car all of a sudden stopped. Everything went flying, including my boss’s favorite glass cups, drinks, and all sorts of food. Two cars bumped into the back of the car, and inside the airbags came out, and everything was a mess. The seats were stained with all sorts of food and drinks, the trunk was smoking, and the glass on most of the windows was cracked. I knew I was going to get scolded for hours by my boss, so I did what my instincts thought I should do. I ran out of the car and never went back to my job. As a matter of a fact, I saw a billboard on top of a building asking where I was. It read, Ten thousand dollar reward if anyone finds this man! and it showed a picture of me. I always felt really guilty for breaking the car and not owning up to my actions.

I was on the block of the Empire State Building, and I almost passed out… They were right! Potatoes were attacking the Empire State Building. Some potatoes were eating the bricks of the building, some were standing outside of it doing nothing, and some were shooting the building with some laser gun! I hid behind a trash can and watched them in horror. Then, I heard something behind me. It was like someone was panting…

“AAAHHHHHHH!” I screamed. There was a huge potato that was 15 feet tall and had branches sticking out like it was a month old.

Then, the potato said in a deep voice, “Hello, puny human, we have come from the planet আলু ভাজা. We have come to take over Earth because our planet’s resources have been depleted. We have been studying humans for 567 years, and we learned everything about you. Now it is time for your death.”

“Please don’t eat me!” I begged. “I just wanted to see why people were running away from here.”

“I don’t care, I do not have emot — ”

All of a sudden, the potato fell down, and I saw why. There was a man with a big machine gun that shot it!

“GET OUT RIGHT NOW!” screamed the man who looked like he was from the army. “IF YOU DON’T LEAVE, I WILL HAVE TO STUN YOU.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I will leave,” I replied.

I ran as fast as I could away from the war between humans versus potatoes. I got to East 32nd street. I turned off of Fifth Avenue and went towards Sixth Avenue. I still wasn’t done exploring and figuring out exactly what was happening. I made a turn onto Sixth Avenue and went back to the commotion. I saw a Forever 21 store with nobody inside. Clothes were spewed everywhere. I should get some new clothes. I haven’t gotten a new T-shirt and pants for a few years. I went inside the store, and I took a new striped shirt and blue jeans and put them on. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a gun, like the one the man had when he shot the potato. I went over to the gun, and then I almost passed out. There was a man who looked like someone had taken a bite out of his leg. There was blood gushing everywhere. I felt his heart for a heartbeat, but sadly, there wasn’t one.

I grabbed the gun and went on my way. Then, I heard some footsteps, and I quickly ran behind a clothing shelf. I heard panting, just like the previous potato who tried to kill me. That must have been the potato who killed the man! Chills went down my spine. I heard the potato getting closer and closer, and then… I jumped out and shot it. The potato fell to the ground, and I saw what it looked like. It had small legs, like a cartoon character, and it didn’t have any arms. It must have some type of telepathic powers that allow it to carry things, I thought. It was a small potato, a few inches taller than me. Then, I thought of a genius idea. I would carve a hole for me to fit in, and I’ll sneak into the Empire State Building. I looked around, scanning my surroundings and making sure nobody was near me. I took my trusty Swiss Army knife and went to carving. The inside of the potato looked extremely unusual. It didn’t have any insides that would possibly allow it to breathe or speak. It was like magic! All the insides of the potato consisted of some whitish mush like in a normal potato. After 45 minutes of carving, I was done. I crawled inside the potato and filled the hole back up. I made sure to make it small hole, so it would be easy to fill up. I made some eye holes and a small hole near my mouth and nose, so I could breathe. I walked outside and continued my way towards the war.

After a few minutes, I saw the Empire State Building in sight. That must be their headquarters, I thought. There were approximately 20 potatoes with things that looked like guns from the movie The Fifth Element. The guns in The Fifth Element look long and tall, and they have all sorts of buttons and levers on the bottom. It also has different bullets/weapons that you could shoot. I need to think of a good excuse to get into the building… I know! I need a new gun. I think I saw some potatoes run in there without a gun and come out with one.

I walked to the Empire State Building, and a pickle walked up to me, and he asked, “Why are you coming in here? It looks like you need a gun.”

“Yes I do,” I replied in a gruff voice, trying to sound like one of them.

“Follow me.”

I followed him down the lobby, and we turned in to another hallway. I looked around. There were potatoes walking everywhere. I had sweat all over me. I was shaking, hoping that they wouldn’t find out the truth about me. If they did, I probably would die instantly. Everyone around me had a gun. After 30 seconds of walking down the hallway, we reach a room with two potatoes guarding it. The potato escorting me told the pickles something and brought me into the room. I was amazed. There were all kinds of things, like guns that had some blue substance inside a tube. There was even a rocket launcher! The weapon that caught my eye was a sword that looked exactly like a lightsaber.

Then, the potato asked me, “What weapon do you want?”

“I’ll take the rocket launcher,” I replied. I took it off the shelf and started walking out.

“Hey! Do you know how to use that weapon?”

“Ummm, yes,” I replied. “You just click the trigger.”

“Okay, you know how to use it. Now go outside and fight for our leader, মাস্টার আলু.”

“I will fight as hard as I can.” Then, I thought, Why don’t I kill him and walk out and try to kill the leader. The leader would probably be upstairs… I quickly grabbed the sword weapon and sliced the potato in half before he could say anything. I hid the two halves of the potato behind a shelf, and I walked out. I walked back to the main lobby, and I stood around, trying to look as casual as possible guarding the building. Why don’t I ask someone if they know where the leader is? I’ll say I need to tell the leader something important, and I can go find him and kill him. I once read in a book where they killed the alien leader, and all the aliens died. Maybe it will be the same in this situation.

I continued to pretend to guard, and then I saw a human. He looked like he was part of the army, and he had a small pistol like from Star Wars.

Then, the potato next to me screamed, “KILL THAT HUMAN!”

I didn’t know what to do. I could kill my own kind, and then I would die because they would think I was a human, or I could shoot him, and I wouldn’t die, but I would always regret it.

“C’mon! Shoot the dude!”

“Okay, Okay,” I replied. I decided I would shoot him. I pulled the trigger and closed my eyes.

Boom, the man turned into smithereens. I hope I don’t get arrested after the war… if we win…

“Good job. Next time, don’t wait, just shoot,” a random pickle said.

I still wasn’t sure what to use as an excuse to see the leader. I was so tired I could barely stand up, this costume was itching, and it felt like it was a million degrees in here. But I persisted. I knew that I had to continue if I wanted to help save Earth from this attack. I felt extremely regretful for killing that poor, poor man. If I ever met his family, I would give them whatever they wanted to make up for it. But it was a sacrifice for a worthy cause, saving the world. After 40 minutes of doing nothing, I thought of the perfect excuse. I needed to tell the leader, মাস্টার আলু (I remembered his name!) that I had an amazing way to defeat the humans. I would tell him that humans cannot live if they don’t have water and that the potatoes should steal it. It was a genius plan!

I walked back into the building, and then a voice behind me said, “Hey, stop! Get back here! You have to guard the tall structure.”

“I’m going to the leader, I need to tell him a genius plan I thought of to get rid of the humans,” I responded.

“Okay, you can go, just take the box cart that goes up and take it to the 42nd floor. If you do anything weird, we will kill you.”

Yes! I thought. I can finish my plan! These aliens are so dumb! I went to the elevator, and I got on with another potato. The potato looked at me suspiciously. He clicked floor 32. I wonder what’s on that floor. Then, at the worst time possible, the hand of my potato costume fell off. The potato in the elevator gasped.

“YOU’RE NOT REAL!” he shrieked.

I quickly pulled out my lightsaber, I was just kidding about putting it back. I stole it. I stabbed the potato, and I clicked the 34th floor and hoped nobody would be there. I ran out of the elevator, my whole body shaking. Phew, there wasn’t anybody there. I got out of my costume and hid the dead potato under a desk. It’s extremely weird when potatoes die. Their insides turn green almost seconds after they die, and they become lighter than a feather. I found some towels on the desk, and I dried up the inside of my potato costume. It smelled like the worst B.O. ever. After 20 minutes of cleaning, I got back inside. I was about to go to the elevator, but then I heard a bump. Oh no! Some potato probably saw me! Then, I heard a bump coming from across the room. I walked over to where I heard the noise, and I saw there was a human hiding in a closet!

“Please!” he begged. “Don’t kill me. I have a family! All I want to do is make money to feed and support my family.”

I felt so guilty, so I told him the truth.

“I’m not really a potato,” I whispered. I peeked my head out to show him that I wasn’t. The man breathed a sigh of relief.

“Just hide here. I’ll come back and get you when the potatoes are gone,” I advised and walked into the elevator… hoping that I won’t ever have to have an encounter like that again.

I was in the elevator, I clicked the 42nd floor, and it went zooming up. I took out my sword getting ready. There were probably around five to ten potatoes up there guarding their leader. I will go up to the leader and tell him the “amazing strategy” and then stab him with my sword. I tried to look as casual as possible, even though I was shaking and sweating like I just sprinted a 24 mile run. The door opened, and I saw a potato… but instead of being big like the other potatoes, it was small. It was an average size potato, like one that you would buy in the supermarket. It also floated, and it didn’t have any arms. Around the potato, there were five big potatoes, like from downstairs. They were holding a long staff that had some knife at the end. Around the knife at the end, it had lines of blue things that looked like electricity.

One potato asked me, “What do you want?”

“I know a weakness that the humans have. We can use it to defeat them,” I replied.

“Tell me, my fellow potato.”

Shaking and sweating, I walked over to the leader’s desk and told him the plan, “The humans need water to survive. If we take all of their clean water, they will all die out.”

“What a smart idea!” exclaimed the leader. “We will send our ships to steal the water.” The leader clicked some button on his desk and said, “জল ধরুন.”

“I would like to show my gratitude for helping us take over this planet by promo — ”

I grabbed the potato and ate it.

*Gulp.*

It tasted pretty good. After eating the potato, all of the other potatoes fell to ground, and their hands and feet disappeared, and they shrank to a normal size.

 

Epilogue

I heard cheering outside. I got out of my costume, and I looked out the window. There were tons of people cheering and clapping. I went back to the floor where the man was hiding and told him the good news. He started crying in happiness and hugged me. I went downstairs with the man, and everyone started pointing at the man who I found on the 34th floor.

I asked the man, “Who are you? Why is everyone pointing at you?”

Embarrassed for some reason, he replied, saying, “I’m really a senator for New York. I should have told you earlier.” Then, the senator found a couch and stood on it and started to speak, “I would like to thank this man for saving me and our whole planet.”

Everyone started clapping and cheering. I was so excited! I was going to be acknowledged for what I did! Soon, the police came and tried to control the crowd. Then, the news trucks came and started taking pictures and tried to get over to me and talk. Luckily, the police helped me from getting crushed by journalists. At the end, someone wrote a book about me, I got a job as a police officer, and I got a really special medal and five million dollars. But still, I will never be happy because I killed that man.

 

A few weeks later…

In Bob’s brand new penthouse on the top of a skyscraper in Manhattan, (which the president gave him as a gift), he was watching television, and he heard something that shocked him.

“Breaking news: one of NASA’s satellite dishes in Hawaii got an unusual radio wave that was not from a star, a planet, nor even from a black hole. It was from something that must have been intelligent. NASA turned the Hubble Space Telescope towards the radio frequency, and what they saw was astonishing. There was a ship, and it was coming straight towards Earth. While the spaceship was flying towards Earth, it went in a weird pattern that spelled the letters P, O, T, A, T, O. Scientists say it will reach Earth in approximately 666 years.”

I looked out the window and saw that the big screen in Time Square also was playing that same message. Oh no! There must be more potatoes coming to attack us!

The End (For now… )

 

Field Trip: An Account of the Earth Invasion (2677)

           

Roughly translated to English

 

The permission slips for this trip took forever to sign, considering that Earth had countless armies and weapons of mass destruction, and there certainly was a chance that my classmates and I would be dead by the end of this field trip. We were an advanced alien elementary school class, after all, not gods. When my dad saw the slip, he immediately began to rant. “Gorp, I remember my first invasion; we did it on the planet Vaksmeeg. Ha, I remember there was this one little girl, she was crying and crying, until she wet her pants. I shot her then — what a way to go, huh? Oh, oh, there was actually this club meeting that me and a couple of my friends stumbled upon, and they were reading one of my favorite books, Microwave Down, translated to Vaksmeegian, of course, and, so me and your uncle #$@#^*&#^^$ decided to have a bit of fun, so we lined all these people up, and we would ask them questions about the book. ‘On which page does the microwave go down?’ You know, stuff like that, and if they answered wrong, we shot them.”

I decided to leave the room at this point. There was no telling how long these things could go, so I had my mom look over the slip. “Oh, is Korg going?” she asked me before signing.

“Of course he is, Mom.” Korg had been my best friend since we were little, and we had been discussing our first invasion for as long as I could remember. He was even more excited than I was, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

She finished signing after about an hour, and I was all set. Later that night, just before I was to begin my evening hibernation, I looked out my window and out into the city of Bondex, the place I had grown up in. The sprawling skyscrapers of The Egley district, the low rundown building of The Booga (I’m not allowed down there, because apparently that’s where bad people sell gog). Despite its flaws, Bondex was home, and I was going to miss it during the invasion. I went back to my bed. I had a big day ahead of me after all, and at least from what I’d heard, the overthrowing of a planet required a good night’s sleep.

 

The room of teaching was buzzing the morning of the trip. How could it not be? None of us had ever done this before, and this elated confusion continued to spark between us until we got to the ship, but when it came into view, everything stopped. It seemed as though all noise had been taken from the world, because the great black mass that lay before us seemed to require all the energy that had been in us moments before just to look at it. And then the silence was broken, and we all started to run toward the ship.

I was one of the first people on board, seeing as I was one of the fastest in the class, and I was absolutely shocked when I stepped inside the craft. The space inside was cavernous, and it seemed more like a hangar than a ship itself, seats sprawled evenly, none of them within five feet of each other. It was like each of us had our own world. Korg and I quickly grabbed seats and sat down next to each other (or as close to each other as we could be) and began talking excitedly.

Once all 900 of us had sat down and we had taken to the sky, an automated voice came on. It was soothing and monotonous as it began to talk slowly. “Hello, welcome aboard the vessel. Seeing as this is your first invasion, I’ll be taking you through some safety tips. First, try to kill the scarier humans that have guns while the confusion is still setting in, then move on to the more panicked ones, as they will cause less threat.” I thought about what the voice had said for a moment. I’d never killed anyone before, so the announcement spurred a sort of unease in me, but these feelings quickly became mixed into excitement. The announcement continued, encouraging us to have fun and really “take in” our first invasion, see the sights, relish in the humans’ fear. And also that we should just relax, because Earth has one of the least advanced life in our universe, so as long as we stayed calm, the invasion should be a smooth ride. After the announcement finished, it was quiet for a bit. I supposed that everyone was taking in what we had just heard, when a new voice, that of our teacher, came on.

“All right, kiddos, right now we’re entering the Milky Way galaxy, so if you’d all please stand up walk over to the windows and check it out.” I unlatched my buckle and moved to the giant window in the wall and looked out. Many of my classmates gasped in awe at the sight of the galaxy. I thought it was fine, but I again found myself distracted by the task ahead of me, the massacre I would soon commit, and suddenly I began to feel ill. I rushed back to my seat where I curled up and tried to forget about how sick I was. Korg, who had been reading Microwave Down Pt. 2, Multiple Microwaves Down! turned and saw me.

“Gorp, are you okay?” he asked, worried.

“I’m fine, just a little nervous, I guess.”

Korg wasn’t buying it. “Gorp, an invasion has never, ever failed before, all right?”

“All right.”

“Gorp?”

“Yeah?”

“This is gonna be great, and when we get home, we can tell our parents about it all. Man, you’re gonna love it.”

My stomach pain calmed down, and I felt better right away.

 

I fell asleep eventually but was jolted awake soon after by a final announcement. The lady with the smooth voice came on. “Now that you have landed, suit up, go out there, and have fun.” I looked around to see my classmates freaking out and screaming and rushing towards the battle station. I followed suit, and so I rushed to the small cubicle with Gorp etched on its door. I went in and saw what I had seen so many times in pictures, but I had never been so close to touch: the Bondexian suit, in all its shimmering glory. It was a lightweight titanium thing with a complex helmet piece covered in designs native to my home planet. I then picked up a light rifle and walked back to the seating area where some of my fellow classmates waited. I could feel the craft descending and hear the faint screams outside. Just as Eegee, the last of us to change and the student widely considered the runt of our class, had come out of his dressing room, I felt the jolt of the craft landing.

The screams were loud now outside, and I heard a ripping screech as a car tried to avoid the crash that came moments later, giving off its own terrible noise. We were all instructed to line up horizontally, facing the front of the ship. This took little time, as we had been training for months, and after we had all lined up, there was a sharp hissing sound as the front of the ship fell away, and a ramp extended down towards the ground in its place. We began to march towards the ramp, and as we moved forward, I took in the surroundings of the outside world.

I saw that we were in a metropolistic area, and despite the fact that the sky above was dark, there were thousands of glowing screens mounted to buildings, advertising strange people and things. A man with rosy red cheeks and a flowing white beard with a bottle of brown substance that looked like gog tipped over his mouth, and a dark-skinned lady was staring out of the screen. Under her picture was a name, Be once? When we began to walk down the ramp, all of us in a line, in perfect unison, I could now see real life people standing below us either running in terror or staring at us curiously. Korg leaned over and whispered to me, “The ones that ran, those are the smart ones.” I chuckled at the thought, but all of a sudden, the feeling I had felt before, on the ship, came back, the feeling that my brain was being shredded to pieces, and it seemed as if a wave of guilt had crashed down on me, crushing my body with its power.

But then the feeling passed. I could hear my teacher telling the square of people exactly what we were doing, but not why we were doing it… Why were we doing this? For power is what I had always presumed, but is genocide the best possible way to go about it? I could feel the guilt coming on again, but I was once more jolted back to my senses, this time from the sharp report of a light rifle. Near the front of the crowd a huge human man fell down into a pile of dust.

The invasion had begun.

 

The next hours went by in a blur. We were split off into groups, Korg in mine, luckily enough, and roamed the streets of what I found to be called New York, destroying the buildings around us, watching them crumble like sandcastles, being diminished to dust, just as the man from the crowd had. Before I demolished another building, I looked inside and saw through one of the window a flickering screen mounted on some sort of box. On the screen was a man with a blue suit on and a greasy wad of hair sticking out of his scalp. He seemed to be talking fast and distractedly, and behind him there were pictures of our ship. I knew he was reporting about us, about our invasion. Then the screen abruptly succumbed to static, and so I backed up twenty feet and shot at the building twice, and it was no more.

It almost made me sad, doing all of this. I couldn’t imagine my own home being wrecked like this, everything I had disappearing with a couple shots from a light rifle. I was being too nice; empathy is not the correct invasion mindset for invasion. With that, I looked back in the direction of the ship, almost a mile away now, and I saw what looked like a hallway of flames and ashes against the dark night sky, framing the streets we had walked. I turned back, and I realized how far I was from my group. I began to run towards them, but after I had gone only five steps, I was stopped in my tracks, for I saw a dark shape in the sky, coming towards my own group far ahead of me. It was a dark flying machine, with a spinning wheel on top, and the sharp chopping noise it made jolted me back to my senses. I ran towards it trying to shoot it, and so did my groupmates far ahead, but they seemed to have no effect on the plane, or whatever it was. Then, from the machine was released a bright yellow shape, flying through the air, down towards my friends, and then it reached them.

I was thrown back by the blast, and I skidded across the street like a rag doll. And when I managed to stand up, I realized I was crying. The helicopter flew away, and I could hear similar sounding blasts from far away, the sounds of more of my friends dying. I stood in the middle of the street, petrified, for a very long time. All I could see were flames, from our destruction, and the humans’. I took my helmet off, and I felt the heat on my cheeks; it hurt, but I ignored it. I thought I could make out the mangled bodies of the others in my group, singed arms outstretched in terror, mouths stretched in frozen screams. I thought about what my dad had said the day before, which seemed like so long ago, about the girl he killed who wet her pants. “What a way to go,” he had said. Not with my group mates though, no sir. On a foreign planet, with no warning whatsoever, it was just, snap, and then you were gone.

The street I stood on seemed all of a sudden like a road straight to hell. I thought about how I could get home, if there were, by some miracle, any survivors, and about how Korg and everybody else was never going to get to tell their parents about how fun the field trip had been. How did this happen anyway? Earth isn’t even advanced, so how is it that so many of us are dead? Too many questions.

I realized the aircraft was coming back around, searchlights swooping across the ground in an arc, and unless I hid, I might join my classmates. But why shouldn’t I? What was there for me? I was never going to get home. Who cared, right? So I raised my hands, felt the light pass over me, burn my eyes, and then the plane-type thing landed. I looked towards it, confused. Men without faces, wearing yellow suits, were hustling towards me. Why hadn’t they shot me? The men grabbed my arms and started to drag me toward their ship. I kicked and screamed. Why hadn’t they shot me? I stopped struggling, and they removed the plate of armor on my arm. I suddenly felt a sharp jolt of pain in my arm, and then everything got blurry, then black.

The table I lay on was cold on my back, and the sharp objects that lay around me on racks shined in the empty white light of the room. I could feel my own blood running down my stomach, a lot of it, so I too could feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness. After the invasion had failed, after all my friends had departed, strange men had brought me here, where they proceeded to cut me open, sift through my insides. I didn’t know why I hadn’t died, but no fate was worse than this. At least if I died, I might have been able to see everyone again. At least if I died, I wouldn’t have to think about the fact that I was never going to get back home.

The blood kept on flowing, and I grew tired. I thought I’d just go to sleep.

 

He Doesn’t Even Have a Name

There was a cool spring breeze brushing up against the park trees. The branches danced with their forest-green leaves. Upon a single great oak, there was a boy. He decided that one of the tree’s limbs would be the best spot to enjoy his novel. After thirty pages, the boy looked up from Moby Dick and saw the sun was close to setting. It was time to leave. The boy stood up, and with a slip of his foot, he fell off the oak. The drop must have been at least fifteen feet. As soon as his back hit the ground, ominous darkness aroused.

The boy woke up in a hospital bed. Two doctors and a nurse were staring right at him. The child said nothing. He searched the eerie room for his foster parents, and they were nowhere to be found. His back hurt, and his head throbbed with pain. The nurse opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by one of the doctors.

“Do you remember anything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours? What was the last thing you remember?” asked the doctor. The boy tried to remember. He tried to think of the latest events that occurred but could not. He shook his head.

“The last thing I remember is going to the park to read my book,” said the boy. The doctors frowned.

“Do you know your name?” the nurse questioned. The boy nodded.

“Dick,” he answered.

“What about a last name?” asked the second doctor. “We need to file a report for everyone that comes into the ER.” Dick scanned the area again. It didn’t seem like an emergency room at all.

“I have never had a last name. Being completely truthful, I don’t think Dick is my real name either,” Dick confessed. They all seemed shocked, except for Dick.

He doesn’t even have a name, poor boy, thought the nurse.

***

The streets of New York City were cold during September. All Dick owned were sweatshirts and jeans. The school bus pulled up to his town house. Dick’s new foster parents weren’t even awake to see him go off on his first day of high school. Dick didn’t mind, he never expected much from the Torris. They were just like every family the Foster Care system put him in, no matter if they lived in Texas, Arkansas, Virginia, or New York. They never cared for Dick, so he never cared for any them. Dick didn’t know it, but deep down inside him, he felt a longing for family. It was stronger in Texas, where he first lived. But this desire for a family connection died down after he —

“Sorry, this seat is taken.”

“Oh. Alright, sorry to bother you,” Dick replied. He must have said that five more times, before he found an empty seat. Dick gazed out the bus window. He watched as townhouses passed by, but then they turned into buildings, then into skyscrapers. The massive towers hovered over the puny school bus. Dick could feel their cool shadows brushing against his window. Screech! The bus jerked into a full stop. Everyone started to unload and enter Amsterdam High School. Dick pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. He checked his schedule.

First period is math with Mrs. Hether. It’s in room 2037. I have four minutes and 29 seconds until the late bell rings. I should be able to get to class on time, thought Dick. He looked up to find two boys staring across the hallway at a girl. One of them seemed to be drooling. Beauty is an abstract thing that I just don’t understand, Dick thought. He grabbed the railing as he walked up a stairwell. It was cold and rusty. Dick calculated in his head it was made of mostly copper, with a small percentage of zinc and iron. As he was walking, he passed a big clump of people. Everyone in the group seemed to be centered around one person.

“Are you excited for this season, Johnny?”

“Hey, Johnny, are you in any of my classes?”

“Yo, Johnny, do you got a date to HOCO?”

While thinking about Johnny, Dick entered room 2037. Judging by his varsity football jacket, Johnny must be on the football team. He seemed like a popular kid with lots of friends.

“I would like that many friends,” Dick whispered to himself.

“Did you say something?” Mrs. Hether questioned. Dick looked up to meet her gaze and quickly shook his head. “I am Mrs. Hether, and who might you be?”

“My name is Dick,” he answered.

“Oh yes! You are the freshman in my class. I am very impressed with you. This is an honors class for juniors, and you’re taking it as a freshman. You must be a very smart, young man.” Dick forced a smile, but truth be told, he didn’t feel much happiness. Emotion wasn’t very strong in Dick. “Take a seat, class will start soon.” Dick immediately thought she wanted him to take ownership of one of her chairs. After a second of recognition, he normally sat down in the front of the room.

The school day went on, and it didn’t occur to Dick that he was excelling in all his classes. Then, the lunch bell rang, and in the hallway Dick noticed a commotion behind him. He looked back to see Johnny helping a girl pick up her books. At that moment, Dick wanted to be friends with Johnny. Johnny appeared to be a great guy. Dick thought Johnny would be nice enough to not reject him as a friend (like everyone else has). During lunch, Dick found Johnny and all his friends sitting at a table.

Dick approached them and asked, “May I sit here?” The girls looked at each other with disgusted faces. The guys were rolling their eyes and ignoring Dick. Johnny finally broke the silence.

“Get lost, freshman,” Johnny demanded. Dick turned around and walked the other way. He kept his head down and accepted the truth. Nobody wanted to be his friend. Splat! His blue hoodie was ruined by a mash potato cannon ball. Dick kept walking while Johnny and his friends laughed at him. Dick didn’t understand humor or how that was funny. He believed the correct emotion, at the time, was misery. Dick found a quiet corner near room 2037. He ate his lunch there, without any company. He sat in that corner alone during lunch, for the rest of his school year. He never cried though, most likely because he was incapable of such actions.

***

Dick didn’t realize he was excelling in his classes with ease. He has never experienced academic difficulty before. Dick would answer questions the teacher asked and get his papers back with 100 percents. He never tried to show off his intellect. He didn’t think it was a big deal. But in the third week of school, other kids really started to notice.

Mrs. Hether asked the class, “What is the answer to question three?” Naturally, a few kids raised their hands, including Dick. Dick didn’t want to give the answer, but he felt obligated to raise his hand because he had the answer. He already gave Ms. Hether the correct answer to question two. Yet, Ms. Hether chose Dick.

“The answer is 4.39 over pi,” said Dick. Ms. Hether was pleased with his answer. She smiled and wrote 4.39 over pi on the chalkboard. Johnny, on the other hand, was not pleased. After class, Johnny stopped Dick in the hallway. Neither one of them moved. They locked eyes, their toes were a foot apart from each other. Some students stopped walking to see what would happen.

“You’re a freshman taking AP Calculus. We get it, you’re smart. You don’t have to show it off to everybody though!” Johnny growled.

Dick responded, “I only answered three questions.”

“Liar! I’m sick of your $%@&, don’t you ever talk back to me!” Johnny snarled. He pushed Dick onto the floor and walked off. Dick was startled and confused. He didn’t understand what happened. Ms. Hether saw Dick getting up from the floor. She didn’t bother to go near him.

When going home that day, Dick tried to reflect. He knew he was intelligent, but he also knew he still didn’t fully comprehend the world he lived in. He grasped the railing along a staircase. He understood its purpose but didn’t know why some people slide down the railing. It seemed impractical and dangerous. The only reasoning Dick could think of was that it’s “fun.” Dick didn’t know how to define “fun.” He didn’t have much fun in his life either.

“I want to have fun,” Dick said to himself. Hesitantly, he sat on the railing. He scooched along the railing, then began to slide. Bam! Dick fell off the railing and onto the stairs. While he tried to stand up, he tripped and fell down the rest of the stairs.

Dick returned to his foster home that day, with more bruises than intended. His foster parents didn’t pay him much attention. The Torris couldn’t care less if Dick was hurt. They only cared if he needed them to pay for a hospital bill. Dick went into his room and quickly shut the door. He went under his covers and tried to fall asleep. He failed to do so.

***

The bell rang after fourth period. Dick began to make his way to his lunch corner. He scanned the hallway for any potential threats. He saw one. Dick turned and walked in the opposite direction. All of a sudden, Dick was slammed into the wall. He didn’t see Gavin coming. Johnny and Henry walked over to Gavin. They looked down on Dick, as if he were a dead mouse soon to be preyed on by vultures. Johnny cracked his knuckles. Dick looked around, the hallway was empty except for them. This was the last thing Dick wanted.

“Take this smart@$#.” Johnny sent a right jab into Dick’s nose.

“Nerd!” Gavin kicked Dick into the wall.

“Loser!” Henry pushed Dick onto the floor. The three juniors started to kick at Dick’s half-dead body. All Dick could do was lay there. His arms covered his face and his body curled up, in order to protect himself. But it was no good.

“Please stop!” Dick cried. “Leave me alone! I’ve done nothing wrong! PLEASE!” he shouted.

“Shut up, Dick-head!” Johnny ordered. He kicked Dick with enough force to push his back into the wall. Suddenly, Dick’s arms felt immense pain, as if they were sore from over usage.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m hungry,” Henry said. The boys left Dick alone in the hallway. Then, Dick’s arms felt normal again. He struggled but managed to stand up. Dick went to the nurse’s office for some ice. Dick told the nurse he fell down the stairs. Nobody in Amsterdam High School would believe their beloved quarterback was a school bully. So Dick didn’t bother telling the truth.

Dick was regularly getting bullied now. It seemed almost weekly. Johnny, and maybe a friend or two, would find Dick and verbally and physically harass him. Originally, it was because Johnny was upset about Dick being so smart. Except, after a few times, bullying Dick was just a fun thing for Johnny and his friends. Dick never understood why being smarter was why he was bullied. Dick didn’t want to believe Johnny did it for enjoyment.

The worst part about Dick’s bullies, was that he couldn’t do anything about it. He had no friends to talk to. He didn’t have any trusted adults or anyone that cared about Dick. And it was never a fair fight. He was helpless and, in a way, internally dying.

***

Gym class was also a problem for Dick. He wasn’t very athletic or good at sports. Dick got embarrassed every time he tried to play a sport in PE. The jocks would laugh at him and the other kids would smirk. Dick was always the last pick in team sports. Nobody ever passed him the ball. Dick still tried his best, but he still never played well.

One time after Physical Education, Dick was the last one to leave the locker room. He didn’t mind because it was the last period of the day. When Dick tried to leave, the exit door swung open. Johnny and Gavin barged into the boy’s locker room. Dick tried to run. He just suffered a beating two days ago, so he couldn’t take another. Dick ran into the bathroom. They followed him in and jumped into his stall. Johnny grabbed Dick by his oak-brown hair and thrashed his head into the stall wall. Dick could only see blue for a few seconds, then his vision returned. Gavin slapped Dick across the face, leaving Dick’s cheek bright red. Johnny plunged Dick’s head into the toilet. Dick closed his eyes to avoid (what he thought was) blue liquid, in the toilet. After a few seconds, Johnny yanked Dick out of the toilet water. Dick gasped for air.

“This is why you don’t make me look stupid in class!” Johnny grunted. Dick thought for a second. He recalled correcting Johnny’s answer during science class. The teacher asked for the correct answer, and after Johnny gave his, the teacher asked again. Then, Dick provided the right one.

Gavin dragged Dick back out into the locker room. He held Dick’s arms back in an uncomfortable position, twisting his weak muscles. Johnny sucker-punched Dick in the gut. Dick coughed up a little blood. He was mortified. Johnny hit him with an uppercut, straight up the jaw. An image of a syringe flashed in Dick’s mind. Johnny grabbed Dick’s shoulders. Gavin loosened his grip on Dick. Johnny pulled down Dick’s torso in order to knee Dick in the stomach. More blood. Gavin and Johnny both let go of Dick. He fell to the ground. Dick couldn’t get up. Johnny grinned while Gavin handed him Dick’s backpack. Johnny hurled the book bag at Dick’s motionless body. The impact was painful. He hit Dick in the face, pushing his head back into a locker. This woke Dick up.

“I broke my spine from the fall!” Dick exclaimed. He finally remembered what happened when he fell out of that tree. Johnny looked puzzled. He walked over to Dick and began to swing his foot backwards. Before Johnny could kick Dick, Dick was already off the ground. Pow! Dick landed a punch right in Johnny’s chest. Johnny went flying. He flew all the way into the back wall of the locker room. That wall was ten yards away from Dick. Gavin’s jaw virtually dropped to the floor. Gavin bolted out of the locker room, and so did Johnny. Dick was amazed with this new found strength of his. “Where did this come from?” Dick asked himself. He turned to the wall of lockers behind him. Dick stepped forward with his left foot. He then pushed off his right foot, pivoted on his left foot, and punched a locker. His fist went through the locker door. When Dick pulled back his hand, the door came with it. Dick almost screamed with excitement.

***

The next day, Dick didn’t run into Johnny or any of his friends. In PE, the class had to play basketball. The teacher picked team captains, and customarily Dick was drafted last. Dick’s team was playing Henry’s team. Henry knew about what Dick did to Johnny and didn’t believe it. Johnny did look hurt, and that was what drove Henry in the game. Henry would purposefully dribble near Dick and try to embarrass Dick by exposing his awful defense skills. Eventually, Dick was given the ball. Henry ran across the court to personally guard Dick. That was a mistake. Dick dribbled up to the basket, and using all the strength in his legs, he sprung up five feet to slam dunk the basketball. Dick hung onto the rim for a few seconds then dropped back down. The entire gym was silent. Everyone was in shock. Dick didn’t know what to do, so he too stood there motionless and speechless. Suddenly, the bell rang, and everyone went into the locker rooms. Nobody could speak, but their mouths were still wide open.

The next morning, Dick couldn’t get into room 2037. Johnny, Gavin, Henry, and two other upperclassmen blocked Dick’s way. As usual, there weren’t any people in the hallway. Johnny appeared madder than ever.

“Don’t you dare think you’re better than any of us, you freshman %&#@!” Johnny threatened. The two unknown students stepped forward. Dick knew there was going to be a fight, and he was ready for it. Before they could even swing their arms, Dick sent two right hooks their way. The boys flew back, unconscious. Gavin couldn’t move. He was in shock. He just stared at the unconscious bodies. Henry charged at Dick and tried to tackle him. Dick parried with a body throw. Henry was then also unconscious, but thirty feet down the hallway.

It was just Johnny left. Johnny cracked his knuckles. Dick wasn’t afraid. Dick took a step forward. Johnny threw a punch at Dick, but Dick dodged it. Dick performed a roundhouse kick, but Johnny ducked. While Johnny bounced back up, Dick kicked him in the side. Johnny fell, crying in pain. Dick most likely broke one of Johnny’s ribs.

The hallway quickly became quiet and ominous. Dick felt as if the fight wasn’t over. Except, he didn’t know of any other enemies. He looked around the hallway and found it odd that he didn’t see anyone.

Maybe everyone is in class. I should probably go to first period then, thought Dick. Dick walked by the unconscious bodies of his bullies, his conquered fears. He opened the door to Mrs. Hether’s room. A bright light turned on, blinding Dick. He heard SWAT soldiers surrounding him, yelling formation orders. Three red dots appeared on Dick’s chest. “What’s going on?” Dick yelled. He began to regain his vision.

“GOV test subject 02SHS-A is active! Confirmed bodies outside the room. Causation from 02SHS-A!” shouted a SWAT soldier. Dick was very confused and started to get scared. Then, a radio signal came in.

“Go green, neutralize target over!” The red dots on Dick’s chest turned green. Before he could flinch, Dick was shot dead.

 

Everything Perfect

                

Name: Meira O’Kane

Biological parents: Ellen O’Kane and Jared O’Kane

Place of birth: Damariscotta, Maine, USA

Date of birth: August 8, 2555 (6:35 AM)

Date of euthanization: February 3, 2655

Biological sex: Female

Gender: Female

Blood type: A-

Handedness: Right

College: NYU

Profession: Criminal defense lawyer

Soulmate: Anna Vargha

 

Meira woke up. It was Saturday, September 29, 2570. She opened the LifeGuide app. In the home page sat her life’s basic information. Some of it hadn’t happened yet — she hadn’t been euthanized (duh, she wasn’t 100 yet), she hadn’t gone to college and become a criminal defense lawyer (she was only 15), and she hadn’t met Anna Vargha. Whatever. The Algorithm had it all figured out. This was her life.

The app told her she should go to Target at 10:07 AM to buy a gift for Jessa’s birthday. She could rest at home before then. She would meet a new friend there. That was exciting.

She hopped out of bed and went downstairs. Her mother had already taken this morning’s food out of the Murchiest.

“I want candy for breakfast,” Meira’s little sister, Mia, was complaining.

Meira rolled her eyes, sitting down at the table. “Stop whining. You’re such a baby. This parfait tastes great.” Meira shoved some in her mouth.

It was strawberry flavored. Meira liked blueberry better, but this was fine.

Mia stuck out her tongue at Meira. “You’re a baby! I want candy! And play with me after breakfast!”

Meira groaned.

“Now, now, Mia,” Mother chided. “You know this is the way things are. The Algorithm — ”

“I want candy!”

“If you eat candy, things won’t turn out well.”

“But I want it!”

Father poked Mia. “C’mon, my little warrior princess, eat the parfait. Didn’t you pay attention to your teacher?”

“‘The Algorithm knows best,’” Mia grumbled.

“Yep.” Father nodded gravely. “457 years ago, the Algorithm was created so that everyone would be safe and happy.”

Mia and Meira rolled their eyes in unison.

Good going, Mia, Meira thought, Now we’re going to get a lecture.

“The Algorithm has predicted the way to make everything turn out well. All we need to do is follow it. None of those big, scary choices. If you don’t follow the Algorithm, then life will get messed up. Understand?”

“I don’t care!” Mia shrieked. “Ugh, I wish the Murchiest didn’t exist!”

Father opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the wallpaper rippled with blue light. The soft, warm female voice of the Algorithm’s warning system, which was contained within the wallpaper, began to speak.

Mia O’Kane, you are to report to the Damariscotta Center at 9:30 AM for reprogramming. A transport will be sent for you shortly.

“Wow,” Father said, raising his eyebrows. “First time!”

Mother sighed. “Oh, Mia. After you finish your parfait, you can go play with your iPad while you wait for the transport to come.”

She kissed Mia on the forehead. Mia whined, sitting down at the table.

“Children,” Father remarked drily. “Though, I’m surprised that her first time is this late. Meira’s first reprogramming was when she was five. Mine was when I was four.”

Mia, sitting sullen at the table, gave Father side-eye.

“I was such a trouble child,” Father continued. “But I’m better now.”

Mother covered her mouth in an attempt to hide her snort.

“I am!” Father protested. “I haven’t gotten reprogrammed since I was 17. Teenagers are pretty troublesome.” He poked Meira. “You were reprogrammed 13 times. I remember I was reprogrammed 12 times. Almost set a world record.”

Mother rolled her eyes. “Please, David. The world record’s 64.”

“Well, I’m above average.” He winked at Mother.

“You’re one reprogram above average.”

“Still above average.”

Mother laughed, shaking her head.

“Mother, Father, I’m going to Target today at 10:07,” Meira said, finishing up her parfait.

“Okay,” Father said.

There was a knock on the door. The robot had come to fetch Mia. Mother stood up and walked Mia over to the door. Meira finished up the last of her parfait, before walking over to the couch and going on her phone. She opened up Temple Run 10.

“Come and talk to me,” Father said, faking a pout. “I’m lonely.”

Meira rolled her eyes. “The Algorithm said I have free time before I go to Target, not torture.”

“Ouch,” Father muttered. “Gemma! Your daughter’s hurting my feelings!”

Mother laughed as she walked back. “Come on, honey, we’re going shopping.”

Meira frowned. “Shouldn’t you be here when Mia gets back? What if you don’t finish shopping in time?”

Father raised his eyebrows.

“Nevermind,” Meira said quickly.

“Reprogramming isn’t that frightening at all,” Father pointed out.

Mother nodded, her eyes flashing for a moment. Then she was all smiles.

“Have fun, my little sugar glider.” Mother said, hugging Meira tightly.

“Mom!” Meira protested. “I’m too old for that! And you made me lose that round!”

“You’re never too old for me to smother you with affection.”

Meira shook her off, but she was unable to resist a smile as she went back to the game. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of the door shutting.

She had beaten her high score in Temple Run 10 when their doorbell rang. Meira ran over to the door. Mia had been escorted back by a robot. Meira waved goodbye to the robot. She nudged Mia.

“Wave goodbye to the robot.”

Mia stared at Meira blankly. “Why?”

Meira frowned. “Mother said it was polite.”

“Okay,” Mia said flatly, walking inside the house.

She got out her iPad and started to placidly play by herself. Meira stared at her.

Who are you and what have you done with my whiny little sister?

“Umm… didn’t you want me to play with you?”

“The Algorithm said I should play by myself.”

Meira swallowed. “Yeah… but… what do you want?”

“The Algorithm said — ”

“Okay, okay, nevermind,” Meira said quickly.

Meira backtracked out of the room and onto the couch. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was 10:03 AM. Meira had four minutes left. Meira played several more rounds of Temple Run 10, before getting up. Time to go buy a gift for Jessa. She should definitely buy Jessa one of those antique Barbies.

After putting on her neon yellow sneakers, she walked out the door. Meira glanced at the garden as she walked outside their fenced peach-colored house. The organic flowers had died. Mother had decided not to get synthetic flowers, claiming that this way it was more “authentic.” It was for the same reason Meira had agreed not to get the date she would meet her soulmate. Father said it added a sense of excitement to life. Meira supposed not knowing was pretty fun.

She hopped onto a transport and sat down next to an old lady. As the transport began to move, the streets blurred slightly. Finally, when they got to Target, Meira got off. A digital clock on the wall said 10:31. She walked inside the Target.

What was Mia’s mind like right now?

Meira had gotten reprogrammed 13 times, and she didn’t remember how reprogramming happened. She’d tried to hold onto the memories, but she just couldn’t. All she could remember was walking into the reprogramming center, its sterile white walls decorated with beautiful pictures.

Every time after any of her friends got reprogrammed, there was always something off about them. And now… something was off about Mia. Which wasn’t okay. Meira felt a sudden jolt of anger at the Algorithm. Let Mia make choices! Let her be Mia! If she messed up, Mother and Father could help her out. Meira wanted her little sister, not some blank doll.

Her mind was still storming over those thoughts when her body collided with something solid.

“OW!”

Meira stumbled backwards, blinking. She grabbed onto a shelf for support. There was a girl in front of her, looking slightly miffed. There were crimson and purple streaks in her long dark hair. The contents of the girl’s shopping basket were on the floor, but a robot was already cleaning them up.

“I’m so sorry,” Meira gushed.

The girl quickly smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about it. See, the robot’s already got it.” She took her basket from the robot.

“Thank you,” Meira muttered to the robot, feeling slightly guilty it cleaned up a mess she helped cause.

“Why are you thanking it?” the girl asked, tilting her head so that her hair fell to the side, like a curtain.

Meira blushed. “My mother always taught me to thank the robots. She said we should be grateful for them, since they weren’t always around.”

“That’s cute,” the girl said softly. She held out her hand. “I’m Nikitha. You can call me Niki.”

“I’m Meira,” Meira said. “You can call me Meira.”

Niki giggled. “The LifeGuide app said I would meet a friend at Target today. I don’t suppose that’s you?

“I guess so,” Meira said. “I hope I’m up to your expectations.”

“Oh, of course you are,” Niki said, swatting Meira’s arm. “Why are you at Target?”

“To buy a gift for my friend Jessa’s birthday. I’m buying one of those antique Barbie sets that they have for the special back-to-school event. Jessa loves collecting antiques like that. She’s almost got the entire Littlest Pet Shop collection.What about you?”

“Buying a gift and some cards for my grand aunt’s euthanization.”

“Oh. Tell her I said congratulations. It must be exciting.”

“Yeah… ” Niki bit her lip. “Part of me wishes she didn’t have to go, though. She can make the cutest crochet animals. It’s silly, I know. Euthanizations are supposed to be happy.”

Meira shrugged. She walked over to the event stand, Niki trailing behind her.

“Which one should I get?” Meira asked.

“Maybe the Christmas one.” Niki giggled. “Christmas sounds like such a weird thing, huh?”

“Yeah,” Meira agreed. “I mean, isn’t it so much more convenient to have one holiday for the entire world?”

Niki nodded. “Right? My parents came from India, and the transition was totally easy for them. Imagine if Christmas was still around! Then they would have had to adjust to the new holiday customs.”

“It’s insane,” Meira said. She picked up the Christmas Barbie doll box and gave it to a nearby robot to scan, before paying with her credit card. “Life before the Algorithm in general must have been insane.”

“You might have procrastinated on getting Jessa her weird Barbie,” Niki offered.

Meira nodded gravely. “And then we might have never met.”

Niki grinned. “That would be awful. Anyways, where are you going after this? I’m supposed to go to my grandma’s house after resting at home.

“Hey, me too!”

“Looks like we were meant to meet. Do you want to go somewhere else instead of staying at home, though? I’m sure it would be fine by the Algorithm.”

Meira didn’t know if it was such a good idea, going against the Algorithm. Then she thought of Mia, who was off now. She felt another jolt of anger at the Algorithm. Screw it.

“Sure. Where to?”

“I dunno. Do you have any suggestions?”

Meira barely had to think before a location popped up in her head. “The forest.”

“The forest?” Niki asked, scrunching up her nose. It looked kinda cute. “No one I know goes to the forest. Except for you, of course.”

Meira shrugged, turning away and flushing. “I… yeah. I’m kinda weird. I don’t even know when I’m going to meet my soulmate. See, my parents… we talked and decided that it would be more… exciting, I guess?”

Niki smiled gently, tilting her head and looking at Meira, as if to examine her from a new perspective. “It’s interesting. You’re interesting.”

“There are probably other people like me. Umm, you know. Who thank robots and stuff.”

“Yeah… but… ” Niki shrugged. “Nevermind. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Meira said. “You want to walk over or take a transport?”

“Walk.” Niki’s soft cocoa powder eyes sparkled. “Today’s a day for trying new things.”

The two left the store. Meira moved to drop her bag onto a floating pod so that it could be delivered home. Niki nudged her.

“Why don’t we do this the old-fashioned way and carry them?” Niki suggested, her eyes glinting.

“Wow, we’re really getting rebellious today, huh?” Meira teased.

Niki grinned. The two began to walk towards the forest. When they got there, Meira felt a familiar grin creep across her face. This was her safe place. She led Niki through the woods, until they got to Meira’s kinda-secret grove. Before Niki, the only person other than Meira to come here (that she knew of) was Mother.

Niki glanced around, her eyebrows raised. “The walls in my room can change to look like a more perfect version of this.”

Meira sat down on a thick tree root. Niki dusted off a spot next to Meira, before sitting down next to her.

“Yeah… but… ” Meira shrugged. “It’s kinda like… well, you see, Mother doesn’t use synthetic flowers because she says organic flowers are… alive. She can actually nurture them. It’s authentic. Slightly unpredictable. They… I dunno how to explain it. It’s the same concept with the trees.” Meira blushed, waving her hand. “Oh, nevermind. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No… ” Niki frowned. “It kinda does.” She grinned, looking directly at Meira. “Hey, have you ever been kissed before?”

Meira blushed. “Doesn’t everyone wait for their soulmate?”

Niki shrugged. “Today seems to be a day for going over the boundaries. Besides, I do like-like you. I dunno if I love you, but you’re cute and interesting, so yeah, I like-like you.”

Blushing even redder, Meira leaned back against the tree.

“That’s… wow… ” Meira muttered.

“Am I coming on too strong?”

“No… ” Meira swallowed, unable to say that it was part of what made Niki so charming.

Did she like-like Niki? Niki was… she was vivacious. Alive. She glanced over at the other girl. Despite the confidence, Meira could see a hint of hesitation in her bambi eyes. Meira didn’t know either, but what if they tried? Why not? Besides, it might be better than falling in line with the Algorithm. More real. The Algorithm took the realness out of things. Mia had been annoying before the reprogramming, but she had been Meira’s little ball of annoying.

“Yeah,” Meira muttered, leaning forwards. “I think… that might be nice.”

Niki smiled, cupping Meira’s neck with her hand and going forwards to meet Meira.

Her lips were soft and tasted like strawberry lip gloss. She smelled like the November Rain candles Father would burn when he ran out of Vanilla Cupcake candles. The angle was awkward. Meira shifted, trying to make it better, but the angle was even more awkward. But it could be worse. At least braces didn’t exist anymore — they sounded absolutely horrible. How did people back then who needed braces even kiss people? Then Niki let out a little giggle against Meira’s lips, and Meira melted a little.

The two broke apart, falling against the tree.

“Hey,” Niki said softly.

“Hey,” Meira said back, grinning.

“You wanna come here later?” Niki asked, her eyebrows lifted, a fox-like grin decorating her lips.

Meira suddenly jerked upwards, a horrible realization occuring to her. “W-what about the Algorithm?”

Her heart began to race. People were supposed to be with their soulmates. That was just how things were. The Algorithm had predicted things so that everything would be perfect. Things with her and Niki would get messed up eventually. The kiss wasn’t even that good. Niki’s lips were soft, and she smelled good, but the angle was kind of awkward. It was imperfect, which meant it wasn’t okay. Kissing Anna, who Meira was actually supposed to be with, probably would be better. Yeah.

Niki turned pale. “Oh, gosh… ” She grabbed her hair with her hands.

“Wait!” Something came over Meira, bring along with it a wave of relief. “I remember that Mother said the Algorithm’s warning system is only in the wallpaper because of budget or whatever.”

“Oh, thank God.” Niki let out a nervous laugh. “That’s — yeah.”

“People barely ever come to the forest anyways,” Meira commented.

Niki snorted. “Yeah. Lazy weaklings.”

Meira snorted. She lay back against the tree root, glancing at Niki. Her sleek hair was ruffled.

“Maybe we can even bring my grand aunt here,” Niki remarked.

Meira frowned. “Yeah… but… everyone gets euthanized at 100.”

Niki sighed. “I know. Anyways… ” She paused, glancing at Meira mischievously.

“I… ” Meira chewed her lip anxiously. She could still taste traces of Niki. “Yeah.”

“This was fun, eh?”

“Mhmm. Umm… ”

Meira felt her stomach twist. The kiss was starting to feel like a huge mistake. But she couldn’t just say that, right? That would be totally rude.

“Is… something wrong?” Niki asked, starting to look concerned.

“Huh?” Meira couldn’t help but feel bad.

“Well, your brow was all wrinkled, so… ”

“Oh… umm… it’s just that this Anna Vargha is supposed to be my soulmate.”

“And Dave Greenblum’s supposed to be mine.” Niki’s voice was growing tense.

“Also… we’re supposed to listen to the Algorithm because it knows best.”

Niki narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

Meira stayed silent, looking away. She clenched her fists. Meira swallowed, squeezed her eyes shut, and quickly blurted it out.

“We shouldn’t do this again!”

“What?” Niki’s voice grew harsher, like a vulture. “But… that… ugh, Meira! You make no sense!”

“Wha — why?”

Why?” Niki snorted, her voice wavering. “Are you screwing with me right now? You were the one who was all like… like… ”

“Like what?”

“You wanted to come to the forest! You thanked the robot! You and your organic flowers and… ” Niki swallowed. There was a wetness in her pretty eyes. “You just felt… refreshing. But looks like you’re just like everyone else!”

“Isn’t that supposed to be good?” Meira demanded, the words of her kindergarten and preschool teachers washing over her.

Maybe not, Mother whispered in her head.

“I don’t know!” Niki shrieked, roughly wiping off her tears. “You were the one who gave me the tiny feeling that this could work out! Everyone else was just going along with the Algorithm and I was too! Why are you being so dull now, huh?”

“Because this is too much!” Meira wrung her hands, frustrated. “Those are small things!”

“But… don’t you want big things to be authentic too?” Niki was starting to look betrayed, which made Meira feel like a bad person.

“I — ”

“Just — fine! Whatever!” Niki jumped up. “You’re terrible at kissing anyways!”

Meira looked away, feeling tears creep into her own eyes. Niki marched off, her spine straight and stiff. Sighing, Meira tried to relax. She realized that her nails had dug crescents into her palms. Everything was going to be okay now. Meira just needed to get up, go to her grandma’s, and then go home, where she could go to Mother.

What would Mother say to all of this? Meira wondered if she had been rude to Niki. But the Algorithm was the most important thing, right? That’s what everyone said. It was just… common sense. Or was it?

Sighing, Meira got up and dusted off her pants. She began to walk towards the road. The forest was calming, but the calm made her feel uneasy. She wasn’t supposed to like the organic forest so much, but she still did. Would it be the same thing with Niki? Meira finally reached a small road in the forest that rarely had transports. Meira began to move towards the mini skywalk to cross the road. Suddenly, she noticed a familiar dark head with crimson and purple streaks sitting down next to the skywalk.

Meira ducked her head as she walked, praying that Niki wouldn’t notice her. It would be so freaking awkward. Risking a glance at the other girl, Meira saw that Niki was still wiping tears off her eyes. A feeling of guilt crept over her. She began to walk onto the skywalk.

Niki turned over to her with a grin, probably thinking Meira was a stranger and intending to say hi. Then she saw Meira’s face.

“Ni — ” Meira began, but Niki turned and ran.

“Wait!” Meira yelled, stepping forwards.

She had no clue why she wanted to go after Niki. It was a stupid impulse, gained from watching those rare permitted pre-Algorithm movies too many times. Niki glanced around, giving Meira a pained look, before turning and going onto the road.

Meira stopped, stunned. What was she doing? The skywalk existed for a reason! Niki was running across the road, and then everything happened in a horrible flash.

As she ran, a motorcycle sped up behind Niki. Time stiffened for a moment, and then it felt like everything collided. Niki screamed as she was thrown back from the force of the collision, her voice raw, an unfamiliar voice scream, and Meira screamed, because something was definitely wrong. She had no idea what had just happened, but it was something horrible and dreadful that never would have happened if they’d listen to the Algorithm.

Meira ran over to her, too, collapsing on her knees in front of Niki.

“It hurts… ” Niki whimpered, her eyes glazed.

Meira stared at gasping girl, unsure of what to do. What could she possibly do?

“I’m sorry,” Meira pleaded.

A robot that was probably stored a bit down the road came over and injected something in Niki’s arm. Immediately, Niki’s pained gasps stopped, and her eyes grew soft. He then went off to tend to the motorcycle rider. Meira hadn’t even noticed him in her panic.

“It’s alright,” Niki whispered.

Meira hesitantly reached out to touch Niki’s hair. The robot beeped.

Meira O’Kane, you are to report to the Damariscotta Center at 12:15 PM for reprogramming. A transport will be sent for you shortly.

Nikitha Tamboli, you are to report to the Damariscotta Center at 12:15 PM for healing reprogramming. A transport will be sent for you shortly.

“What does reprogramming mean, anyways?” Niki wondered.

Meira shrugged. “I think it changes you somehow. I never remember what happens during reprogramming.”

“Me neither,” Niki said. She frowned. “Does that mean you’re going to forget this?”

“I hope not,” Meira blurted out.

Niki giggled, her joking voice growing weak. “Well… I hope not. Let’s run away.”

Meira cracked a forced smile. She thought about the tales of how people would die before the Algorithm. Was that going to happen to Niki? She felt fear grow in her stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Meira would never see Niki again. It… it was almost like euthanization, except euthanization was… good? Everything was so horribly confusing now… Meira’s head hurt…

“This never would have happened if we’d never kissed,” Meira said shakily.

Niki looked away. “Meh. But choosing to do that… it was interesting. Y’know, I lied when I said the kiss wasn’t good. The kiss felt… real. The angle was awkward, but… that doesn’t mean it wasn’t… ”

“Yeah,” Meira said, smiling. “It was nice.”

“If we had more time… ” Niki said wistfully.

“We might have messed up eventually,” Meira said. She hesitated. “But… trying… I liked choosing. It felt… authentic. Like the organic flowers.”

Niki grinned. The two sat in silence. Meira could see the transport coming closer.

“I don’t want to get reprogrammed,” Meira blurted out. “I’m scared.”

“Nothing bad ever happens.”

“But what if I come back a different person?” Meira asked. “My little sister — Mia — she came back from the reprogramming and she was… she wasn’t annoying.”

Niki laughed. “Isn’t that good?”

Meira shrugged. “But the annoying… that was part of Mia. She always wanted something before — candy, for me to play with her… the reprogramming made her not do that anymore and I — ” Meira swallowed. “I want to be able to want things. To make choices.

“Then… ” Niki squeezed her eyes shut, looking pained. “Then you should go.”

“Huh?” Meira’s eyes widened. “I… but — what about you?”

“Just go. Don’t… don’t give me time to worry and overanalyze and be scared.”

“O-okay,” Meira stammered, a part of her feeling slightly bad for leaving Niki so easily.

She got up and stumbled backwards, before turning and running into the forest. A part of her was yelling at her to stop, that this was rash and useless, but she wanted to escape the Algorithm. She didn’t want to become off-Meira, like Mia who used to smile more and be more annoying.

A terrified tear slid down her cheek. Meira ran and ran. The tree branches smacked her in the face like some sort of punishment. Her lungs started to burn but she went on. And then she hit a road. Meira backed away into the trees, swallowing. A transport passed by, but she went unnoticed.

“Oh gosh.” Meira tried to bit down a sob, her lungs aching as she gulped in air. “I don’t wanna get reprogrammed.”

Turning back to the forest, she ran back into the safety of the trees. She had to run faster. She had to get away from the road. As she bumbled through the forest, she started to feel like Mia, wailing that she didn’t want to be reprogrammed. She ran blindly, her mind swimming with panic. Everything was such a mess. How was Mia? Would there be any differences after reprogramming? What had the Algorithm done to her little sister’s mind? What had the done to Meira’s mind, all those 13 times before? And what would they do if they caught her?

Her foot connected with a tree root, and she fell to the ground. Meira caught herself with the palms of her hands, hissing at the pricking sting. She sat against a tree. Her face was wet. Meira reached up and wiped away the tears. Looking around, Meira realized she was near the grove. She pushed herself up, instinctively going to the place that had always been safe.

Someone was standing in the grove.

“Mother?” Meira asked.

Mother beamed, opening her arms. Meira immediately darted towards Mother, embracing her tightly. She felt solid and warm and safe, her scent like Meira’s favorite banana bread. The two pulled apart. Meira realized she had gotten Niki’s blood on Mother, but Mother didn’t seem to mind.

“Mother,” Meira gasping, shaking. Mother’s hands stayed on Meira’s arms, steadying her. “Mother… oh gosh, Mother… I’m… I’m scared. A-and… something happened — ”

“I know about Niki,” Mother said, delicately brushing Meira’s face.

Meira let out a feeble laugh. “Wow, mothers really do know everyth — ” Meira broke off, frowning. “Wait, how do you know?”

Mother’s hand reached out to grab Meira. Meira stumbled backwards, but Mother pulled Meira close to her chest, holding Meira tightly to her.

“The transport is coming shortly,” Mother said, not looking at Meira.

“Huh?” Meira choked out. Suddenly, Mother’s arms felt restraining. They had never felt this way before. “Mother! No, don’t — ”

“Please, sweetie. The Algorithm told me they were serving shrimp gumbo tonight. You like that, right? I checked the LifeGuide app. We’re going to the mall tomorrow.”

“But… what if… what if they mess up my mind and I forget about the grove and Niki? And I stop smelling the organic flowers like you told me to? I don’t want to! ? Mother! Just listen! I don’t want… Niki… it was authentic! Weren’t you always talking about how things were best when they were authentic?”

Mother looked at Meira, tears glinting in her soft olive eyes. “They are, darling, they are.”

“Then why — ” Meira broke off.

A transport had settled down outside the grove, pushing aside a few small trees. Two robots got out of the transport and moved towards Meira.

“Because I want to keep safe, darling,” Mother said. “If we listen to the Algorithm, we’ll be safe. It’s got everything all planned out so that you’ll have a nice, perfect life. I heard from the Algorithm that Niki got hurt. If you two had listened to the Algorithm, this never would have happened.”

“But — but — ” Meira floundered as the robots took her away from Mother. “But… ”

“I want to keep you safe, my little sugar glider.”

Meira let out a dry sob. “But what about being happy?”

“You are happy. The Algorithm ensures it.”

“Am I, though?”

“Yes.”

“See? This is the thing!” Meira’s voice was getting more frantic as she was hauled into the transport. “Y’know, maybe I wanna have blueberry parfait instead of strawberry, okay!”

Mother looked at Meira sadly as she rampaged on.

“We’re being told how we’re supposed to be happy, but never once, absolutely never, do we get to choose how to be happy! And that just takes so much out of lif — ”

The robot, its mind controlled by the Algorithm, injected her with its slim, silver needle.

Meira fell silent.

***

Major Glitch #79

Directly involved: Meira O’Kane; Nikitha Tamboli

Indirectly involved: Gemma O’Kane; Alex Burman

All four reprogrammed

Motorcycles and forests to be banned to avoid further incident

Everything perfect.

 

Second Chances

               

Angie

We moved to a smaller town in New Mexico on July first. It was a smaller house, with more land to get lost in. By the time Bill and I had finished unpacking, I was ready to take a walk. “I’ll be back soon, Bill. I’m going to explore the neighborhood, okay?” I called, hoping that he would come with me.

“No problem, honey. See you then.” I heard the TV turn on before I stepped out onto the front step into a new life.

The houses were lined along the street next to each other. Each home had a similar structure, but each was unique. I passed a blue house, then a yellow one, then green, then red. But I had only been walking for ten minutes when I came to a dead end. Just past the road was a forest. I thought it might have been nice to journey into the woods on the path, so that’s what I did. I forgot sometimes — well, that was exactly the problem, I forgot. I was not as young as I used to be, so I may have wandered a little far into the forest, forgetting to turn around before my old body got too tired.

Winded, I ended up having to sit down. I chose a large rock next to a tree to rest on. I heard a noise — at first, I thought it was a bird or deer or some other animal, but then it came again.

Bam!

Curious, I stood up and strolled over to where the sound came from. “Huh?” It wasn’t an animal, for sure. Glinting in the sunlight was a strange kind of sword. I noticed a symbol on the handle. It looked like an anchor inside of a space helmet. I recognized it…

I started to get nervous, because who or whatever had this sword could still be out there.

After a few minutes of waiting on the rock to make sure no one came to claim it, I decided to take the sword and hide it under my clothing until I got home. “Bill?” I yelled.

“In here.”

I entered the living room to find my husband on the couch catching up on the news. “I have something to show you,” I told him.

“What is it?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Bill,” I said, “it’s important.”

He looked up at me, concerned, reached for the remote, and turned off the TV.

“Okay, so I walked into the forest — ”

“You what? We just moved here, Angie, you don’t know what could be in there. Why didn’t you just walk around the neighborhood?”

“Relax, Bill, I’m fine. I followed a path,” I continued. “Anyway, I found something.” I pulled out the sword.

His eyes widened. “What — ” he started.

“Bill, before you say anything, I found it after hearing a crashing noise and waited a few minutes to make sure nothing was out there,” I told him.

“That doesn’t help!” he cried. “You don’t just go picking up weird swords in weird places with weird sounds! What were you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter! Look closer!” I said. I watched his reaction as he leaned in to see the symbol on the sword’s handle.

Bill’s expression was blank, speechless. He slowly leaned back into the couch, staring straight ahead. “The metal… ”

“I know,” I said.

The month before, we had visited the house for the second time before deciding to buy it. This time in the garage, there was a large metal plate of sorts with the same anchor/helmet symbol on it. I had asked about it, but the realtor dismissed my curiosity, saying, “It’s just old junk that we found right outside. Don’t worry, it’ll be cleaned out by the time you move in, if you like the house, of course.”

“What does it mean?” Bill asked, lying down on the couch.

“I don’t know, but I want to find out.”

Throughout the month, I researched anything I could find that might have been linked to the symbol. Bill helped me every so often, and together we thought we could solve our mystery.

We couldn’t.

That is, until Izzy showed up. It was early August, and the pale, blue-haired teen knocked on our door rapidly. “I’ll get it,” Bill said. We had just finished breakfast and were cleaning up the dishes.

“Hello,” I heard Bill say. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” said the girl. “I know this seems strange, but may I come in? It’s kind of urgent.”

“I don’t know, miss. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here first?” Bill said. At that point, I began to get worried. I went to stand in the doorway.

“I don’t expect you to understand, but maybe this will change your mind,” the girl said. She took her jacket off and pointed to the symbol on her T- shirt. Bill and I exchanged a glance.

“Come in,” I said.

“Thank you,” said the girl once we were inside. “I’m Izzy.”

 

***

 

“So, let me get this straight. You’re a space pirate?” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Izzy calmly. Her yellow green cat-like eyes were enormous.

“And you want us to pretend to be your grandparents?” Bill said, shocked.

“Yes.”

“But why? And where are your parents?” I asked.

“They died. I tried to save them, but my enemies in space killed them. I was too late,” said Izzy, looking down.

“Oh.” Bill and I looked at each other, and I was hoping that we were both thinking the same thing: I knew she was a stranger, but she was an orphan. We had to take her in. Plus, she could help us figure out why that scrap of metal was in the garage and why the sword was in the woods. Bill asked the question before I could.

“Why us?”

Izzy looked at him. “I know you’ve seen the symbol. Why else would I show it to you before I came in?”

“But why were the objects with the symbol on them near our house? How did they get there?” Bill asked.

She took a deep breath before beginning. “After my parents escaped, the ones who killed them tried to kidnap me in their spaceship. They were flying back to their headquarters, but the ship hit a comet near Earth. It crashed, but I jumped off before it hit the ground.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s, um… ”

“A lot,” Bill finished. I shot a glance at him. He continued anyway. “A lot, not just to take in, but a lot for a teenage girl to go through.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’m actually in my 500s,” Izzy responded quickly.

“What? 500s?” I said.

“Yes, aliens age much slower than human beings,” she explained. “I think in earth years I’m… sixteen?”

“Huh,” Bill said, taking in the information. He seemed a bit skeptical. So was I, but I wanted to find out more.

“Wait, so you escaped, we know that, but you didn’t tell us how the metal and sword got here,” I said, craving answers.

“Right,” said Izzy. “When the ship hit Earth’s atmosphere, it started slowly falling apart. The metal was a piece of the ship that fell off, and the sword was mine. It fell out of the opening in the ship that the fallen metal created. I made a mental note — which is an actual note in my mind, I think that’s different for you humans — about the location the objects fell in. These things are harder to explain, because our brains work differently from yours. Mental notes, locations, and some other minor things.” She must have seen the shock on our faces, because she said, “Don’t worry about it.” Izzy’s face was impassive, untroubled, calm. “Anyway, I figured you two would either believe me because you had seen the objects, or you know too much, disagree with me, and I need to erase your memory.” We were speechless and transfixed listening to her. “So which will it be? Please don’t let that comment about erasing your memories influence your decision.”

There were a few moments of silence before Bill or I gathered the courage to speak. Finally, I spoke up.

“Bill, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah,” he said, staring at Izzy with a blank look before standing up.

We walked into the kitchen.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked.

“I have no idea. It’s just, it was a lot of stuff — ” he said.

“I know. But we have to make a decision,” I said, then paused. “I think we should do it.”

“You mean, let her stay with us? Be her fake grandparents? Embrace all that crazy stuff we just heard about?”

“Yes. I know it’s crazy, but she’s a child,” I pleaded. “She needs a home.”

“She’s not a child, she’s flipping 500 and who knows how many more years old!”

“Still,” I said. “Isn’t there a part of you that wants to help her? A part that wants someone to take care of, even if it’s not our biological grandchild?”

He sighed. “Of course there is, but we don’t know her.”

“You’re right, we don’t. But we’ve just retired, we don’t have any grandchildren — ”

Bill put his arm around me. “We don’t know how much taking care of she needs. But… ”

“But?”

“Let’s do it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. She needs help,” he said. “And we can help her.”

We walked back into the living room.

“Izzy,” I started.

“We’ll be your fake grandparents,” Bill announced. “That’s a sentence I never thought I‘d say,” he muttered.

“Oh, that’s great! I was starting to get worried, especially since I can’t actually erase your memories. I just wanted you to say yes — but thank you,” said Izzy.

I smiled. This should be fun.

 

The next morning, I woke up at 7:45. I got up, trying not to wake Bill, and headed downstairs to find Izzy.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Wha — oh.”

I almost forgot what happened yesterday. But here she was, a girl I had to somehow learn to take care of.

“Bye!” said Izzy as she walked toward the front door.

“Now, wait a minute. Where are you off to this early?”

“School,” she responded. “It’d raise too many questions if the new girl in town didn’t go to school.”

“I didn’t think about that,” I said, sitting down for breakfast as Izzy left.

What did I get myself into? Raising a 500-year-old alien/girl? She seemed pretty normal, I guess, minus the blue hair and space pirate thing. I would just have to wait and see. It could be hard, but it might be easier than I thought. It could be the worst thing I’d ever have to do; or it could be the best thing to happen to me.

I went outside to work on my new garden. Bill and I loved our new house, but gardening was one of my hobbies, so I decided to put in a garden in our backyard. It took a lot of work, but I was doing it a little bit at a time. Just as I started to rake the dirt, I heard a voice.

“Good morning,” said Bill. “I thought I’d find you at here.”

I laughed. “Good morning.”

“Where’s the girl?” he asked. “I thought we should talk about her. I know it’s been hard to be around kids since — ”

“Ray wasn’t a kid, Bill,” I said. “He was 22 and finishing college.”

“I know, I know.”

I took a moment to think about our son before speaking again.

“Izzy will be different,” I said unconvincingly. “We’ll keep her safe.”

“Of course we will, Angie. I just wanted to make sure you’re feeling okay about all this.”

“I am,” I snapped. I took a deep breath. “I’m okay,” I assured him.

Bill walked back inside, and I finished my garden work for the day.

It was 4:00. Izzy wasn’t home, and I realized that she should have been by now. I was pretty sure high school got out at 3:30ish. I started to worry. What if she was taken? What if her space enemies found her? Anything could have happened to her!

She was a girl in high school; sure, anything could have happened, but maybe she was just exploring town or hanging out at the pizza place or something. I could call her and ask her where she is, but she didn’t have a phone. I should have gotten her a phone! I had to know she was okay.

“Bill, I’m going into town!” I called.

“Okay, don’t be too long,” he yelled from the kitchen.

I rushed out the door and walked toward the pizza place first. I saw the two teenagers who help their parents run the place, Mario and Luisa. When you’re a local in the town of Arcaea, you know almost everyone’s name, whether you know the person well or not.

“Have either of you seen a teenage girl in here? Pale? Blue hair?” I asked them.

“Nah, sorry,” said Mario.

I exited the store without replying. Next stop was the arcade. I didn’t love it in there because of the lights and teenagers gaming and the noise, but it was the kind of place an alien might find interesting.

I walked into the building, noticing the Arcaea Arcade sign in neon lights. I saw Izzy standing next to one of the goth kids in the back next to the game Space Invaders. Of course she would like that game.

Watching her, I realized I shouldn’t take her home. No one wanted their “grandma” embarrassing them in front of their new friends. Instead, I went back home. I’d order Izzy a phone later.

 

***

 

On Saturday mornings, I always went grocery shopping.

“Okay, I’ll be back later,” I said to Bill.

“Where are you going?” said a voice from the stairs. I turned around to see Izzy.

“Shopping,” I said slowly. “Do you need anything? Hold on,” I turned back to Bill. “Before I forget, remind me later to look up why my tulips aren’t growing.”

Izzy looks at me peculiarly, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t need anything,” she said, but stayed put on the stairs.

“Okay.”

When I got back home, the first thing I did was check the garden. I knew flowers didn’t grow over an hour, but a small part of me wished the tulips had sprouted while I was gone.

I was astonished to see that my wish came true! The flowers had not only sprouted but were in full bloom.

“Aren’t they pretty?” said Izzy, walking toward me.

“Did you do this?” I asked. She smiled and nodded.

“How — ” I started.

“I’m part alien, part pirate. I can do a lot of thing that’d surprise you,” she answered.

I started to tear up, remembering the times I needed help with my old garden.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Izzy said worriedly.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” I tried not to burst. “This was so nice of you, and I can remember the last time someone helped me garden… ” I stopped to calm myself down.

“Who?” Izzy asked curiously.

I decided I should tell her. She deserved to know a little about my past since I knew a little about hers. I looked her in the eye.

“Ray,” I paused. “My son.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died about 20 years ago. Car crash.” I fought back tears. I’d gotten past the event, but it was still hard to talk about.

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence before either of us said or did anything.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone,” Izzy said.

“Right, your parents. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She looked at me with a small, sad smile on her face. “It’s okay.” I smiled back.

“Come on,” I said, and we walked into our house, side by side.

 

Days passed, then weeks. Izzy helped Bill and I around the house with her various powers. She could pick up objects with her mind and clean anything up without using her hands at all! She still went to school and hung out with her friends, but she had a phone now to text us if she had plans. By October, she felt like a real granddaughter.

It was a Monday, so Izzy was at school. I got a text from her asking me to pick her up after school. Bill offered to drive.

We were on our way to pick her up when I heard a distant, high-pitched scream ahead. Several more cries followed. They sounded like kids.

“What was that?” I said, frightened.

“It might not be anything serious, don’t worry. And if it is, well, we’ll probably find out soon,” Bill replied.

He kept his eyes on the road. The further we drove, the louder the yells became, until they stopped completely.

As we pulled up to the school, I was shocked at what I saw. A huge UFO as tall as the school and as wide as a sixteen wheeler hovered over the parking lot. A couple hundred teenagers crowded the front of the school, some clinging to their friends, some frozen still, afraid, all terrified for their lives. I got out of the car, followed by Bill, and tried to spot Izzy in the crowd, but I didn’t see her.

“Bill? Do you think — ”

“Izzy’s — ” he was cut off by the loud, painful sound of a microphone screeching. Then, a low, robotic voice came out of the spaceship. It was unclear if the voice was human, alien, or robot.

“Where. Is. The. Girl?” it said. “We. Need. The. Girl.”

“No,” I whispered. But Izzy appeared, now standing in front of the ship. Bill looked at me.

“What are we supposed to do?” he said, not really asking, but stating that there was nothing we could do.

“There has to be something,” I said, but the voice in the spaceship spoke before I could say anything else.

“YOU. Our leader. Must have. A sacrifice. You have deceived. Our kind. You. Must. Come.”

“No!” I screamed. “Please, no!”

Many confused, scared students turned their heads. So did Izzy. There was a murmuring among the students.

“Who are you. To speak to us?” said the voice.

“Angie — ” said Bill, a hint of fear in his voice.

“It’s okay,” I told him. I was afraid, but confident. I knew what I had to do.

I walked toward Izzy. Bill followed. “Angie!” he pleaded. I ignored it. I didn’t know where to look when talking, so I just stared up at the spacecraft.

“I’m Angie,” I yelled. “Her grandmother!” I put my hand on Izzy’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to do this,” she tried to say. “They want me, it’s okay, don’t do this!”

Izzy and Bill both looked at me with fear in their eyes and pleading looks on their faces. I turned to look at both of them.

“Listen. Izzy, you have so much life left to live,” I started. A tear ran down her cheek. “It’s okay,” I continued. “I’m not young like you. I can do this, it’s okay. Bill, take care of her.”

“No, Angie, I’ll go, you stay,” Bill said, tearing up. But I knew he wasn’t prepared to do what I was about to do. He wasn’t prepared to let go.

“I love you,” I said. I turned back to the spaceship.

The voice said, “I suppose. Any sacrifice. Will suffice.”

And with that, a long ramp was released from the ship.

“Come. Our master. Will. Kill you. Himself.”

I took one last look around. The trees, the sky, the grass — it was all so beautiful. Sometimes you forgot to notice the little things in life. I smiled at Bill and Izzy.

“Goodbye,” I said, and I walked up the ramp.

The End

 

The Warehouse (Excerpt)

          

Chapter One

 

The water was red. That wasn’t good… at all.

 

I tried to crawl faster, my limbs sinking into the muck on the side of the now strawberry-colored creek and coming up with loud sucking sounds that would definitely alert any guards to my presence. Lucky for me, there probably weren’t any guards in the area. In fact, there was probably no one at all.

 

The bog, a wide, flat plain full of deep mud pits and criss crossing creeks, was the last place anyone would consider using to get into the Warehouse. It was so open that it was assumed that anyone who approached would be spotted from a mile away, and it was considered suicidal to set foot anywhere near where I was now crawling.

 

And that was where they had been wrong. Or at least I hoped so, since my life depended on it. Covered in mud and crouched low against the marshy ground, I looked just like any other bump on the large, flat expanse. The sun beat down on the bog, drying and cracking the mud on my limbs and face as I scanned the landscape yet again. I couldn’t see or hear anyone around me, and the behemoth Warehouse was slowly coming into detail before my eyes. There was nowhere to run, nowhere I could hide if they spotted me. I certainly hoped they were wrong.

 

Aptly nicknamed “the Warehouse” by the citizens of Hilliche, the structure in front of me was a massive, flat-roofed building with a broad, brick chimney rising sky-high from its center. The Warehouse was an infamous prison dedicated to holding rebels and thieves prior to execution. And while it had never been mentioned directly by the King or any of his advisors, it was commonly assumed that it was also used for the executions themselves.

 

I knew this to be true of course; this was far from my first time coming this way to rescue someone or another. This time, my mission was to walk in and then walk back out a few hours later with a certain Master Matthew Dowell, for whose return I was being paid more than I normally made in a year.

 

Was that fishy? Sure. But for an orphaned 17-year-old girl living alone in the slums of Hilliche, the capital city of this god-forsaken country, money is money, no matter how it comes about.

 

Of course, that wasn’t why I started risking my life like this. In the beginning, it was more about a personal vendetta, about how my father was brought to the Warehouse and killed for a crime I knew he didn’t commit. That time, at age 14, I had been too late to save him. I had never disappointed since.

 

Although, I might lose my streak if I didn’t hurry. Darkness fell across my face as I entered the shadow of the factory, and I glanced worriedly at the creek on my left, the one that passed under the Warehouse. The light strawberry pink of the water had already turned to a brighter red. Executions were well under way.

 

I crawled a few meters further into shadow and then glanced at the creek again. It was here that it turned muddy — and bloody — enough that it was impossible to see all the way to the bottom. And it was here that I had found my way in. I edged towards the creek, my arms sinking ever further into the mud as I got closer until I could move no more. Then, I threw as much of my body as wasn’t stuck in the ground towards the rushing water.

 

The mud slowly gave way, tilting me closer to the creek. I tilted faster and faster until it let go entirely with a grotesque squelching noise, and I landed with a splash. A hidden current quickly dragged me under the surface of the murky water, pushing me back the way I had come as it ripped at my hair and clothing with icy fingers. I didn’t try to fight it like I did the first time this happened to me, when on the way to rescue my father I had fallen in by accident and panicked as I was dragged down into the murky depths.

 

It all happened much faster if I didn’t move. Tumbling head over heel, the current dropped me into the mouth of an underground passageway which was a little ways back from where I had jumped into the creek. While it did mean that I had to make some ground back up, I knew of no other place where I could find the same current and really wasn’t all that keen on experimenting, with my life at stake.

 

Looking around for a second, I regained my bearings. Lit by faint blue light from curiously mushroomy fungi which crowded the walls, this was an abandoned and partially collapsed tunnel which remained from the building of the Warehouse. It was so remote that I very rarely found a guard down here. If I did, the wet mud and blood from the water which coated me would make me look like a rock if I dropped to the ground in the shadows and no one looked too hard.

 

Muscle memory led me into familiar passages and around piles of rubble until I reached the neat X that I had scraped into the wall years ago. Reaching for the narrow, mud covered opening between two large rocks, I began to slide my way across.

 

I was a thin girl, but I still had trouble making it through that tight space, and little scars on my legs and arms showed the evidence of what usually happened when I squeezed through. The inhabitants of the Warehouse were usually starving by the time they were rescued, having been kept here for weeks. That’s how they fit through the gap on the way back and the only reason that I could get anyone out at all.

 

“ — disappearing. They don’t know how… investigate… ” Voices drifted down the rocky corridor on the other side with me halfway through the gap. I froze and went limp, muddy hair tumbling over my head and away from the nape of my neck.

 

Footsteps approached as the voices got clearer. “Well, I dunno. There ain’t any way in here, not from so deep underground.”

 

“We should check the upper levels, don’t know why anyone would think there was a way in so far down.”

 

“Busy work, that’s all this is. I don’t know why they… ” The voices trailed off down the corridor, and I waited a minute before lifting my head. It seemed from their conversation that the absences of the people I rescued hadn’t gone unnoticed.

 

In the beginning, I had come after less important prisoners who had been taken from families around the slums where I lived and had charged only small, affordable fees. Stuff that could be paid for by the poor such as myself. About a year ago, my services came to the attention of some more… wealthy figures. For the higher rates, I rescued more important prisoners.

 

My problem was this: if a minor prisoner disappears in a large prison, it causes a little ripple, soon forgotten. A major prisoner though, one who is kept under careful lock and key… that usually causes a bit more of a splash. And splashes are noisy enough to attract unwanted attention. After this, maybe I should lay low for a while, let things settle.

 

Goodness knew, I was certainly being paid enough money from this job to afford it. Hell, I could buy a new house on the edge of the slums, maybe try to find a respectable job as a store clerk or something. Whatever worked; it was best not to think too much about the future. First things first, I had to get out of here alive with my human package.

 

By now I had managed to extricate myself from the crack in the wall and was crouched in one of the shadows left by the torchlight. This hallway was part of the actual Warehouse complex itself, with walls of stone brick and a sandy floor. The sputtering flame from the torches created leaping shadows across the walls, such as the one which I was now crouched in.

 

I straightened up and winced. Tiny cuts from squeezing through the rock twanged their protest all over my body. For the hundredth time, I wondered if it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to take a battering ram to that crack and knock a hole straight through. It would certainly be the end of these annoying cuts and scars. It would also certainly be the end of my life.

 

I smiled to myself and began working my way down the hallway, drifting from flickering shadow to flickering shadow. The metallic scent of blood and a nauseating smell of burning that permeated the air as I got closer reminded me to hurry. The guards had certainly taken their own sweet time passing by.

 

Luckily, I passed the rest of the way unhindered and emerged on one of many large, unoccupied ledges which overlooked the cavernous room which held the executions. Rough stone walls bounced echoes and a large fire burned in a pit in one corner of the room, making the place a chaos of light and sound. Screaming, pleading, shouted orders, the cracking of whips… all these sounds drifted around me as I stood in the shadows of the ledge. The ledges were originally built for observers, but the Warehouse had long been closed to any of the sick people who enjoyed watching mass murder, and the ledges remained untouched.

 

I glanced at the line of prisoners who shuffled towards the execution blocks below. I was looking for a man in his 20s with brown hair and slumped shoulders. Reaching into my shoe, I pulled out a small, sealed leather case. I opened it and pulled out a scrap of paper which depicted a black and white illustration of his face. I glanced at it one last time, making sure I had his features memorized, then stowed it back in my shoe.

 

He apparently used to be quite overweight, but a month in prison should have fixed that problem nicely. I would probably have to wait for a while; the most important prisoners usually came at the end of the line. I stepped back into a shadowy corner, leaning against the rough stone. I had long realized it was was better to be safe than sorry, so I always arrived with plenty of time to spare.

 

I wondered what Master Dowell had done to end up like this. It wasn’t my job to ask, just to rescue, get paid, and move on. I had been clearly reminded of that by the wealthily clothed man who had met me by a dead-end alleyway to give me this assignment. I was instructed to get Master Dowell out, leave him in the alley, and never breathe a word about it. If I did that, I would get paid. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t. It was that simple. But again, this man who I was rescuing was most certainly someone of importance if he was worth so much money. So I couldn’t help but wonder…

 

My eyes drifted to the three execution blocks, to the methodical chopping of the axe as it swung up and down, each starving prisoner being forced to their knees by armed guards. I watched as the next prisoner was pushed from the line, sulking silently. She ascended the block and was pushed to her knees so hard that she cried out. Her head was locked into place by a lone guard, and the axe reached a shining apex. Then, her head rolled forward across the platform with a nearly inaudible thud, dead eyes still staring defiantly at the ceiling up above.

 

Blood spilled across a sandy floor which was already red and sticky with it. The creek which I had followed on the way in ran somewhere under this room, and I knew that the blood would eventually soak through the sand on the floor to mix with the water, emerging under the late afternoon sky.

 

Three guards came forward, hefting the severed head and body into the fire in the corner and releasing another wave of the nauseating scent of burnt skin. I heard a whip crack as the next prisoner in line was forced forward.

 

I had witnessed this same process at least once a month for the last two years, so I knew all of the different reactions that people expressed before death. Some kept their heads held high like the last woman, some gave speeches that would never be heard, others just cried for mercy such as the old man currently on the block.

 

My father hadn’t cried, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t acted defiant before he died as I stood watching, helpless, from this same ledge. He had smiled. Smiled with some sort of private victory of which I would never know, as if he had won somehow, even in death.

 

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I blinked them back angrily, forcing my mind away from him and back toward the situation below me. The next round of prisoners was entering, and it was nearing the end of executions for the day. I recalled the precise descriptions given to me by the wealthy man in the alley and looked over the prisoners below. There were only about thirty of them, none matching the description I had been given. How important was this man? Had I somehow missed him?

 

The next round was the second to last, then the last, then the final execution. If he was the final execution, there was no way I could get him out. It would be hard enough already with this few prisoners. I really should have asked for more money. Sighing, I re-tied my matted hair and hoped for the best, glancing back at the ground below.

 

My heart nearly stopped, and I mouthed every curse word I knew — which was quite a few of them — in violent succession as I spied the prisoner who was being forced up to the middle block. What. The. Hell. Why the hell was there a child here?

 

A small, brown-haired boy was being escorted up the steps with the help of a metal rod shoved into his back. He was very young, seemingly under ten years old and thin-faced with hunger and sadness. He stared at the scene around him with wide, terrified eyes. The guard poked him harder as he stalled on his way up. He took another step and tripped on the stair, scraping his knee with a wail loud enough that I could hear it clearly from up on the ledge.

 

I stood there, feeling vaguely sick as I realized that no matter what I cursed, he was going to die, and I was going to have to stand here watching. I knew that as soon as I spotted him, knew it as I watched his head be forced onto the block, and knew it as I watched the last spark of life leave his eyes.

 

Feeling something run down my chin, I realized that I was biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. I wiped my hand absentmindedly across my face, still watching the scene below until the boy’s body vanished into the fire and the next person stepped up to the platform, babbling something I couldn’t hear. I took a step back towards the shadows, trying to shake off the shock. I would wonder what a boy was doing here later. Right now I would just have to wait.

 

As the last of the prisoners in this round were walked up to the blocks, I focused on my plan. When I saw Master Dowell, I would climb down from the ledge onto the ground fifteen feet below, keeping to the shadows. Hiding in the small crevasse at the base of the ledge, I would catch his eye and beckon him silently.

 

Upon him coming close enough, I could knock him out with a rock which I kept in my pocket, and we would look like no more than an outcropping in the shadows until executions finished and all that remained were night guards. By that time, he should be awake, and we could climb back the way I had come, dodging guards until we reached the surface of the creek where we had a three kilometer trek back to civilization. However painfully slow it could be to return with a starving prisoner, it was worth the feeling of counting bills when I got back. The plan was flawless. I had it down to a science.

 

The next batch of prisoners was being herded out, only about fifteen of them this time. Fourteen heads of greasy blond hair and one of greasy brown. Hidden somewhat behind the rest. I could only see the top of his head, but as he glanced towards the execution blocks for a second, I got a quick glimpse of his face, enough for me to be sure it was him.

 

I pulled off my thin leather shoes and hopped over the rusty railing, climbing down the shadowy face of the rock. I moved with a practiced ease, fingers and toes automatically reaching for the same bumps and cracks in the rock until I was close enough to jump down into the shadowy dip at the bottom of the wall.

 

Matthew Dowell was still behind the others as the guards had not yet succeeded at herding them into a line, so I couldn’t see him clearly. His face swung in my direction nonetheless, and I shifted slightly, catching his attention. Beckoning, I smiled at him sweetly. While not necessary, I found that the smile sped things up, made the person more likely to trust and come towards me.

 

The will to survive always came out in the end, and not one person who I had beckoned before hadn’t taken the chance. I had watched starving prisoners go to incredible lengths with strength they shouldn’t have even had, just to save their own skins. Dowell was no exception. He came forward slightly as the prisoners were finally whipped into line, and my heart skipped a beat as I noticed a small detail that was revealed as the rest of him emerged into my line of sight. He was fat.

 

How… ? That first word shaped itself in my brain, and the thought stalled there. He should’ve been starved before he came out here, they all were. And he wasn’t just fat, he was massive, sporting rolls of blubber that stuck out from under his clothing and rippled when he moved. There were a lot of problems with that. He wouldn’t be able to climb up the wall, dodge guards, fit through the stone crack, or swim up the creek. Even a will to survive didn’t go quite that far. The entire rescue operation depended on being thin, and he, as an understatement, was not.

 

I realized that I had been staring absently at the bloody sand by the side of the execution blocks. I looked back up, wondering how to get out of this, but it seemed that Dowell had already lost interest. His blubbery face was turned in the other direction, watching something that I couldn’t make out. That was odd, but good: I was getting out of here. If I tried to rescue him, I was good as dead and wouldn’t get paid, and if I left now, I still wouldn’t get paid. Best to at least escape with my life.

 

I was about to turn and climb back up the wall when a movement caught my eye. A guard was cautiously advancing toward me from the left, a knife that dripped with something black — probably poison — held in his hand. And another one came from the right bearing the same weapon. I froze, still crouched enough to look like a rock. It was then that I noticed Dowell’s hand, a fat finger pointed towards me.

 

Damn. For two reasons. Damn because it was a trap, and a good one too. And more importantly, damn because I was dead. Running was useless, and I couldn’t climb fast enough. My head shot to the right just in time to see the guard throw his knife. I watched it flash as it arched through the air for just a second and swayed left in a futile attempt to avoid it. I felt a sting as it cut a shallow line on my upper arm, black poison dripping down the cut. That was the last thing I felt before I blacked out.

 

Mercy

It was dark outside. Her blood and bones ceaselessly begged her to go back to sleep, but that’s about the only thing they seemed willing to do. She felt as though she needed a cup of coffee to give herself the will to get up and make coffee.

Iris Adley woke up.

 

“It is our collective goal to send our students into the world on a foundation of knowledge and character.”

 

She took a pod of coffee out of the box. Her grandmother taught her how to make a pot of coffee when she was five years old. Her grandmother had a bright pink drip coffee maker, and her coffee was strong and highly caffeinated and never watered down.

Iris started drinking coffee on her seventh birthday.

She had a coffee maker that produced a single cup of coffee, because she lived alone, and she made a single cup of coffee roughly twenty times a day. Her coffee was black and strong and forced her to stay awake.

 

“For it is my belief that the most important gift provided by this institution is not the education you are given, but the strength of character that you earn through your diligence.”

 

She slammed down the top of the coffee maker. The last time Iris saw her grandmother, neither could remember the other’s name, and they smoked cigarettes together and talked about God.

The next day, one of them died and the other disappeared.

 

Iris Adley was exceptionally good at disappearing. On the night of her high school graduation, she vanished, leaving her cap and gown in a pile in the parking lot. It seemed as though she had turned to dust and floated away. On the night her grandmother died, she disappeared again. She ran out of a hospital, grasping onto a glass vial and thinking about ghosts.

Both disappearances felt like escape acts.

 

She went back to bed and finished her coffee while staring at the single streetlight at the end of the road. Her house was at the end of a long winding road. There were two windows in Iris’ house, and you could see the streetlight from both of them.

It was much too early to be awake. Iris’s mug was emptied, and she continued to stare out the window.

 

“We are proud to send out students who do not run to keep up with the world, but instead inspire the world to follow them.”

 

Iris Adley never managed to eat breakfast. There was always the intention, often the desire, but never the will. She drank her coffee and watched her streetlight turn off and awaited the sun.

 

Back before Iris’ first disappearance, when they were apt to remember each other’s names, Iris Adley and her grandmother would sit on the back porch of an old house and talk about the sunrise.

They could never see the sunrise, but they talked about it as if it were there.

 

“Our students will not be passive in their view of the world.”

 

Iris was seventeen years old on the night of her graduation. Her birthday determined that she was always nearly a year younger than her peers. She was good at math and science and following rules. Her teachers liked to talk of potential. Iris held all of her potential in her hands, like it was tangible before disappearing.

She chose to disappear.

 

Another cup of coffee was filled and emptied in an inevitable way, and the sun began to rise. Iris closed the curtains over her two windows.

 

After her first disappearance, Iris became well-versed in the art of being forgotten. Her siblings and parents grew too far apart and away to be expected to remember anything. Her friends had become convinced of her turning to dust before becoming different people all together.

Her grandmother was the last to forget her; she was forgetting everything by then.

Iris was also trying to forget everything, but that was never one of her skills.

 

“It is our goal not to provide you a list of things you once learned, but to leave you with the education that you will carry throughout your life.”

 

Iris opened her heavy wooden door and walked outside. The air was crisp and light and cool, and it felt like the morning. The long winding road was painted with the golden glow of the sunrise. Iris could not see the sunrise from her house, but she thought about it as though it was there. The morning was bitterly cold and pleasantly warm at the same time, like the day hadn’t yet decided what it wanted to make of itself.

 

She was well-acquainted with cold days. She could remember the night of her grandmother’s death, running from a hospital. She remembered the sound of her feet on the frozen pavement, like ghosts tapping on window panes, and her labored breaths showing white in the frigid air like wraiths and cigarette smoke before they dispersed and vanished. She grasped onto her empty vial and thought that if she crushed it to dust, it would be inclined to disperse and disappear as well.

The vial, like most things, was never as good at disappearing as Iris Adley was.

 

“Because leading is not a matter of being the easiest and loudest voice to hear but instead being the truest and sometimes most difficult voice to listen to.”

 

Iris walked away from her house, mindlessly and deliberately wandering. Her destination was as clear as it was ambiguous. It was as real as running away from hospitals and as real as turning to dust, but really she wasn’t going anywhere.

 

On the night of her graduation, Iris Adley ran away because she wanted to be anyone. She wanted to be pulled away to dance and disperse like dust in streetlights. She wanted to be ambiguous and enigmatic, both real and pretend. She ran away because she loved escape acts. She ran away because she was young, and she was careless, and it seemed exciting. She was called a free spirit. She was called full of potential. She drank coffee. She got a job. She didn’t know what she was going to be. She wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Iris Adley walked toward a lone streetlight at the end of the road.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, they sat outside of a hospital smoking cigarettes and talking about God. Iris did not smoke cigarettes. There were long summer days of sitting on her grandmother’s back porch while packs of Marlboros appeared and disappeared in inevitable ways scattered throughout her childhood. She remembered her grandmother warning through lungfuls of smoke that her habit would kill her.

Iris did not smoke.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she smoked a cigarette because her grandmother didn’t know who she was, so it was like she could be anyone.

They were talking about God, but really they were talking about mercy.

 

It was the first time she had seen a family member since vanishing from high school, and she didn’t know how to act around people who once knew her but didn’t anymore. All she had done in her life was disappear, and that’s what she knew how to do.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she held a vial of something clear and deadly. Iris was good at disappearing, and it felt like mercy, like making the tough choice for someone who was weak.

The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she was thinking it was better to be gone than to be a ghost. The last time Iris saw her grandmother, she was smoking a cigarette even though it might have killed her.

 

She was thinking of a mercy kill, but really she wasn’t thinking.

 

“And a leader must take actions, even when they seem difficult, and a leader must make choices, even when choosing seems impossible. And a leader must be strong, even when they are weak.”

 

She ran down the street holding a glass vial. She had disappeared and reappeared, and she was a ghost. She was guilty, but she was a ghost. It was a terrible act of mercy, and there was no mercy left.

So, she disappeared.

 

Iris Adley walked toward a lone streetlight at the end of the road. She was thinking about making the unchoosable choices in life, and she was thinking about being a leader. She was thinking about running and forcing the world to catch up with her.

 

When she was young, she would sit on her grandmother’s porch for endless summer days. Potential was squandered. Desires were abandoned. Peace was not sought out, it was inevitable. Cigarettes were burned. Coffee was made. Months would pass. There was nothing to do, but there was nothing that needed doing. It was perfect.

Summers would end, and Iris would go home to her parents.

 

Her parents liked to talk of the future: caps and gowns and colleges. They always seemed to know what was happening and what to do.

Iris was never interested in such things.

But still, the summers would end.

 

She walked toward a streetlight.

 

When she graduated high school, she was walking away from everything. She was convinced that she could outrun death and despair and graduation speeches by performing escape acts in the parking lot. She was convinced that she could outrun the ending of summer by never acknowledging that it had started.

She didn’t want to make a choice. She chose to run away.

She chose to make a ghost.

She chose to walk toward a streetlight as the sun rose around her.

 

It felt as thought the world was catching up.

She was thinking. She was thinking about ghosts and cigarette smoke and light and dust. Dispersing, becoming nothing, running away. She was thinking about light.

 

The streetlight wasn’t on, but it felt like it was. She was drawn toward it. It pulled her toward the end of the long winding road. She was thinking about dust swirling around in the halo of the streetlight like it was being pulled to a single source.

 

She was thinking about mercy. The light drew her further from her house. She was thinking of endless summer days, but summers have to end.

It was impossible to outrun.

 

On the night of her grandmother’s death, Iris Adley became a ghost, but she was not the one who died. It was a terrible act of mercy, but it was a choice that she made.

She chose mercy, and she was forgiven.

 

“So march fearlessly into the word, today is the beginning of your future.”

 

The sun had fully risen, and the air became warm.

Iris Adley woke up.

 

The Art of Kidnapping

     

Before

Why do rainy days always bring trouble? Keira Keegan certainly didn’t know. She was just five. And reading War and Peace, of course, as beads of water dripped down the window of her room, splattering on the moist grass below. Her green eyes scanned the page as her short black hair fell across her face. Suddenly, she heard a piercing scream. Keira’s book dropped to the floor, and she pressed her face on the glass. A woman ran on the other side of the street, clutching a briefcase to her chest. A man chased after her, clearly trying to catch up to the fleet-footed lady. Keira realized that the man had produced the scream. Talk about an interruption, she thought and went back to her novel. But she still memorized her brief image of the speedy thief in her photographic memory, just in case. Keira was that type of person.

 

Quite a few years later…

Keira woke up on a certain Sunday in April to rain panging on the roof of 765 Haren Road at seven o’clock in the morning. “Darn you, sleep cycle,” she grumbled. But she resisted the urge to nap until noon and did her morning routine. As the droplets poured down, she remembered that day many years ago, with the woman and the man and the briefcase. Keira went downstairs and switched on the TV.

“We have breaking news,” Chuck Chuckerly, lead reporter on Channel 8 News said. “The famous artist Willam Magrotte has gone missing.”

Keira stood there, frozen in shock. “Welp,” she said, throwing up her hands suddenly. “Another thing that no one will be able to solve, just like all the robberies and murders before.”

An idea formed in her mind, though. Then I’ll solve this myself.

 

A Day Just a While Before

Willam Magrotte was working in his quarters. His apron was splattered with paint, and his immaculate mustache had a couple of specks of white on it. Another masterpiece was being born. He was just finishing up the tail of the animal on his new painting, La Vie du Chat, The Cat’s Life, when something fell in the workshop. Willam turned. The door was ajar. He saw a figure in the corner. In an instant, the artist had fallen and was bound to a chair, blindfolded and gagged.

 

Mondays

Mrs. Jane Ellison was a stickler for rules. Obviously, she resented the reckless Keira Keegan. Keira was always getting into trouble, with her tendency to talk back. Mondays were always the worst. All of Mrs. Ellison’s seventh grade students were snippy from the early times they had to wake up, a change from the lazy weekends when they didn’t have to hit the snooze button until noon. But especially Keira.

The 8 a.m. school bell rang, and Mrs. Ellison began to take attendance. “Aaronson, Addie. Abrams, Genevieve. Barnhart, Hunter… ” all the way up to “Kaye, Theodore” and “Keegan, Kei — oh, it seems that Miss Keegan is not here with us today,” the teacher said with a smile. But at that moment, Keira walked in.

“Ah, Miss Keegan. You’re here,” Mrs. Ellison said slowly. “I was just about to print an absentee report for you. However, I guess we’ll just have to settle for a tardy slip.”

“Well, you didn’t finish saying my name, therefore I didn’t have to say ‘here,’” Keira quipped, provoking laughter from her classmates. Mrs. Ellison turned red.

“Keira Keegan,” Mrs. Ellison snapped. “Take that back this instant!”

Keira didn’t though, because the PA system crackled. “Keira Keegan, please report to the janitor’s closet. Keira Keegan, please report to the janitor’s closet. Thank you.”

 

Trapped

“Well then, Miss Keegan. Take the hall pass. I trust you won’t be straying off anywhere?” Mrs. Ellison said.

Keira obeyed and set off to the closet, wondering why she was needed there.

The closet door was painted a drab gray shade. There was a grate on the bottom, with metal slats that provided ventilation. “That’s weird,” she mumbled to herself. “These weren’t here on Friday.” She noticed the jagged edges of the vent. A hasty job, she thought. She opened the door and stepped inside.

“Hello?” Keira called. Her voice echoed off the dirty walls. She heard a click and turned around. The door. She shook the knob. It didn’t budge. She was trapped.

 

A Sound

Willam Magrotte heard a sound. It was more than one, really. First, the opening of the door. It startled him. The only sounds he had heard since he woke up here were the noises of a school. It was definitely a school he was in, for the loud chatters and stomping of feet and creak of lockers opening and closing and the occasional shout from a teacher were unmistakable. But back to the sounds. Willam’s enhanced hearing allowed him to detect the slightest sounds, all the way down here in what he believed was a basement. He heard a small voice ask who was there. Then, a sudden shaking noise was heard. The artist knew there was someone there, someone that wasn’t his captor. He shouted out, desperate for help.

 

Got to Go

Mrs. Ellison was in the middle of teaching social studies when she seemed to receive a message on her smartwatch. The students stared, wide-eyed, at their teacher when the tinging beep blared around the classroom. Mrs. Ellison checked it quickly and put her assistant in charge of the class. “Urgent business,” she explained. “I’ll be back soon.” She left in a hurry.

 

The Captor

Keira leaned against the door, scratching herself on the jagged outline of the metal grate. What am I going to do? Mrs. Ellison is going to be reeeaaaalllyyy mad if I don’t get back soon, she thought. A shout interrupted her musings. “Aidez-moi! Je suis pris au piège dans ce sous-sol sale. Ce n’est pas un endroit pour un artiste!”

“What?” Keira asked, confused. But then she remembered the contents of a French dictionary she’d read in first grade. “Help. I am trapped in this dirty basement. This is no place for an artist,” she translated. An artist. Wait, so — the artist Magrotte went missing a few days ago. This person says he’s an artist. Magrotte is French. This guy is French. Yep. It has to be him.

“Are you Willam Magrotte?” she called to the direction of the plea. When she didn’t get a response, she resaid it in French. “Êtes-vous Willam Magrotte?”

“Oui!”

“Je vais vous sortir de là!” I’ll get you out of there.

Keira rushed to find where the voice had come from. Eventually, she found a door. It was rusty but looked strong. She tried the knob. No luck. But she felt a small rectangle above it. It seemed to be a small box that was painted to blend in with the door. She undid the lock and lifted the lid. It had a keypad inside. “One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more,” Keira read out loud.

“Not so fast,” someone said behind her.

 

Revelations

“Little Miss Keegan. Did you really think you could free my captive?” a figure shrouded in black said. The voice was quite familiar — Keira was certain she knew the kidnapper. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it here, you know.”

“Well, I know your code. I’ll free Magrotte.”

“Ugh, I forgot about that photographic memory. But my codes are unbreakable, you should know that. So I’ll let you go on your way. I have to be somewhere too.”

“Oh-kay?” Keira walked back to class, looking unnaturally calm. But on the inside, she was severely shaken by her encounter.

When she arrived back to class, Mrs. Ellison was waiting. But she seemed rushed. Her elaborate hair was disheveled, and her clothes were rumpled, a change from the neat creases that were the result of excessive ironing. “Nice of you to join us,” Mrs. Ellison said. Her glasses were lopsided.

“Well, considering that I was trapped inside a closet with a kidnapper… I think I made pretty good time,” Keira retorted. The class laughed uneasily. She slipped into her seat without waiting for a response.

 

Figure it Out

“Y’know,” Keira’s best friend, Raina, whispered to her. “Mrs. Ellison left the classroom just a few minutes after you did.”

“Really? That’s weird,” Keira said. She could always count on Raina to give her the truth, though.

All through her classes, Keira tried to make sense of the riddle she’d seen in the closet. One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more. One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more. One plus two plus three plus four… she repeated in her head. It definitely had something to do with math. That wasn’t a problem. She knew how to do calculus. She’d learned it when she was seven. But the math in this problem was easy. Too easy. One plus two plus three plus four was ten. But… what about the next line? Multiply by what? She had to find out.

“Hey, Raina, I need your help,” Keira requested at lunch as they sat down together to eat. “I have a riddle, and I think you can figure it out.”

“Sure, what is it?” Raina asked. She was a petite girl, with long blond hair.

“‘One plus two plus three plus four. Multiply and wait for more.’”

“Well, one, two, three, and four add up to ten… Wait, in the second line, is it the number ‘four?’”

“No, it’s f-o-r,” Keira explained, spelling the word out.

“Hmmm… oh, I think I got it!” Raina jumped in excitement. “What if the ‘for’ in the second line is actually a number? So you have to multiply by the number four. That’s forty!”

Keira’s eyes widened. That’s it! I have the answer! she thought. She hugged Raina hard. “Thank you so so so so so so so much!”

“You’re welcome. But sheesh, you don’t have to be this excited, Keira, it’s only a riddle… ”

 

After School

As soon as the clock struck three, Keira rushed back to the janitor’s closet with her keys for a just-in-case weapon and a hairpin to unlock a door, if needed. She also included a small pen. Always be prepared. That was her mantra. Her parents wouldn’t mind if she came home late. They arrived back even later. As suspected, the room was locked. She stuck the pin in and jimmied it. It opened silently, and she stepped inside, immediately going over to the keypad. She entered the code four-zero in, and the door swung open with a hiss.

 

Another Sound

Willam made like an ice cube and froze when he heard the basement door open. Another sound had been heard. But was it his captor, or the French-speaker from this morning? He didn’t know, but he stayed silent just in case.

 

Lost and Then Found

Keira walked down the stairs to find an expansive room with nothing in it. Nothing but a person. A person that was strapped to a chair. A chair that was bound to the person with thick ropes. Ropes that were accompanied by a blindfold and a gag that had fallen onto the floor. Willam Magrotte.

She stepped towards him. “Monsieur Magrotte?”

“Oui?”

“I’ve come to save you,” she said in French. “Stay calm.”

“Je vais.” I will.

She untied the knots holding the artist to the chair and took off his blindfold. “How are you feeling?”

“Pas trés bien.” Not very well.

“Come with me. We have to go upstairs.”

“Wha-what happened to me?” he asked in broken English.

“It’s a long story. Just know that you have been saved.”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Keegan?” a new voice broke in.

 

Whodunit?

Miss Keegan. Miss Keegan. Miss Keegan. It echoed through her head. Only one person ever called her “Miss Keegan.”

“Mrs. Ellison? Is that you?” Keira said as she stepped back. She whispered a command to Willam. “Montez à l’étage du bureau du directeur. Dites-lui d’alerter la police de venir dans le placard du concierge.” Go upstairs to the principal’s office. Tell him to alert the police to come into the janitor’s closet.

“Why, yes. I’m not surprised that you figured out my identity. But it would provide me a great convenience to tell me how,” her teacher replied. Keira noticed that Willam had managed to sneak past the distracted kidnapper.

“Well, someone called me ‘Miss Keegan’ this morning in the closet. And then Raina told me that you left the classroom after I did. And you called me ‘Miss Keegan’ again just now. So that’s how I know whodunit. But I do have one question: Who called me to this closet in the first place?”

“Very good, Miss Keegan,” Mrs. Ellison nodded. “Very good. That idiot the janitor must have done it. He was supposed to be my accomplice. I guess he’s gone rogue. He’ll be my next victim, after you, of course.”

 

Taped

Click. Keira pressed the top of her pen. A red light stopped blinking.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Ellison, you’ve been taped. I have your whole villainous monologue on this pen.”

“Give that to me this instant!” Mrs. Ellison reached for the writing utensil in Keira’s hand. Keira dodged and ran up the stairs past the teacher to ground level, Mrs. Ellison close behind, just as the cavalry arrived.

“Put your hands up!” the chief yelled. Mrs. Ellison didn’t obey.

“You really think you can best me? You have no evidence, other than that dratted pen this little girl has in her hand… ” Her voice faltered, for Keira was replaying Mrs. Ellison’s explanation.

“‘He’ll be my next victim, after you, of course.’” the crackly recording wrapped up.

The police arrested Mrs. Ellison immediately, reading her rights. “You have the right to remain silent. If you do say anything, what you say can be used against you… ”

 

A Good Job

“Kid, you did a good job today,” one of the officers said to Keira. “Mr. Magrotte told us everything that happened. You’ll provide some more evidence too, right?”

“Yes sir, I’ve got a photographic memory, and I’m not afraid to use it,” she replied.

“Good.” He clapped her on the back.

“Keira?” someone else said. It was the janitor, Steven, who had worked at her school for years. As the former accomplice of Mrs. Ellison, he was there to give some insight into what caused her to kidnap Magrotte. Of course, it was for the ransom money.

Steven seemed changed, though, as he led Keira to a corner. He’d lost his mustache. Well, he could’ve shaved, Keira thought. His voice was different. Well, people’s voices can change. The color of his eyes were brown instead of green. Well — she couldn’t think of an explanation for that.

“Keira, I’m not actually Steven, you know. The name’s Kingston, Ricky Kingston. How would you like a job in the spy business?”

“Well, sure. Just leave me a day or so to get prepared,” Keira said. She smiled.

 

The End

 

Twinkles

Once upon a time, there was a Mom. The Mom saw beauty in the tiny moments of life. Little glimmers of hope, of humanity. She called these moments twinkles. She said they were like tiny Christmas lights, each one beautiful on its own, but dazzling when on a string. She said they covered the evergreen of life with sensational, stunning sparkles. There was also a Dad. He called these same moments everyday miracles, or the small things of beauty. But he didn’t really care for the twinkles, and only followed them because of his adoration for the Mom. The Mom would point out every twinkle she saw to the little Girl, and they would light up haer chubby toddler face with joy. When the older gentleman on the subway helped a complete stranger, a teen, struggling with his tie, that would be a twinkle. When the local coffee shop gave all their leftover pastries to the homeless, that was a twinkle. The Mom said that when the little Girl saw a twinkle, her scattering of freckles would light up, like the Christmas lights, but tiny and random.

When the little Girl turned six, she decided that she wanted to create her own twinkles. She remembered how proud the Mom looked when the little Girl boldly walked up to her, Mr. Snuffles in hand and a glittery tutu around her waist, and stated her decision. The family made their first twinkle the next day. After buying practically every lemon in the supermarket and making a fool of themselves as they talked in high, foofy voices, they made lemonade. The little Girl was truly happy, smearing sugar and lemon zest on their faces and drinking half of what they made. Then the Dad came out and set up the old table from their closet while the little Girl made a sign: Lemonade! One cup for only a smile. The sight of people on their way to work using the smile that the little Girl could tell they rarely used was priceless.

I pulled the hood of my navy parka over my thick brown hair, shivering from the early March chill. Staring at my feet, I tried to shut out the dirty New York City streets around me as I made my way home from school. It was one of those days that could be called drab, dreary, dull or another derogatory adjective starting in a “d.” The winter lingered like a wet blanket, getting pulled away and then flung back on your head with sudden icy rain. School was okay, I guess. I used to like challenging myself, being an overachiever. Now it was just a boring routine that, no matter how many times I whined about, wouldn’t go away.

I tried to shut out the mundane world. I stared at my shoes. Black Vans with a white stripe. Used-to-be-white shoelaces, now grayed and fraying. A worn patch on the right side of the left foot, where a toe ring I used to wear rubbed it thin. I stepped hard into the sidewalk. Each footstep thumped. Just then, I heard my phone buzz. I pulled it out, rubbing the marble-patterned plastic case out of habit. It was my dad. His awkward, trying-too-hard-to-look-cool, selfie flashed on my screen. I picked up.

“Why can’t you text like any other person in the 21st century?”

“Hello there to you too, honey,” he responded, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“What is it,” I replied, not willing to submit to his perpetual cheeriness.

“Well, honey, I’ll have to work late again tonight. I took on another client,” he said slowly, articulating each word like he always does.

“Did you have to take on this person when you already work seven days a week?”

“I’m sorry, Ayah. I’m doing my best.” He says that a lot. I’m doing my best. “You are going to have to make your own dinner again. I’m sorry, honey. Ayah, please forgive me.”

“Fine. Fine. Fine. It’s not like I made my own dinner every day this week. But of course I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would understand,” he responded, completely missing the sarcasm. I hung up.

Once upon a time, three years ago to be exact, the Mom died. The Girl was ten years old. The Dad didn’t fall into a state of insanity, like in movies. He didn’t wear a bathrobe or bunny slippers, and he didn’t go through five boxes of tissues a day. In fact, once upon a time, the Dad didn’t fall into grief at all. He fell into work. Every day, he would be in the office until even after the janitor had left. He would work extra shifts, and every second of his time at home was spent doing paperwork. Once upon a time, one might have thought that the family was short on money. But although the Mom liked living a simple life, the family was always very comfortable.

I kept walking, wanting to get home and away from this cold Monday, yet dreading the pile of homework our teachers had dumped on us. “Happy is the heart that still feels pain. Darkness drains and light will come again. Swing open up your chest and let it in, just let the love love love begin.” I sang silently, playing the Ingrid Michaelson song “Everybody” that was stuck in my head.

Once upon a time, when the Mom died, the Dad turned to work. The Girl, not so little anymore, turned to music. Once upon a time the Girl used to sing for the Mom. She let her voice carry, and then made it soft and delicate. The Mom would listen, swaying subtly. To her own beat, not the rhythm of the music. She would wait a few seconds after the Girl had finished her song to open her eyes. But when she did, they would glisten with tears, bringing out the crystalline blue color everyone envied.

Once upon a time, the Girl, not so little, couldn’t find her voice. She did, however, find the clarinet. The Girl loved everything she could do with it, from soft jazzy tunes to quick, dancing melodies, like pixies in a field of flowers.

As I continued my walk home, I passed Sparrow Cafe. It was a beautiful, small business that was cherished by everyone in our neighborhood. The owners, a pair of seventy-year-old identical twins named Mary and Darla Sparrow, knew me well. Suddenly, I felt someone brush against my shoulder, forcefully. It was Lily.

“Hi, Ayah,” she said, her voice dripping with fake friendliness.

“Hi, Lily,” I replied, staring at her shoes. Pristine gold and white Adidas, the laces tied in a tight bow.

“Uh, did you, like, forget? It’s Lilyah,” she responded, a condescending smile stretching from ear to ear. Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot the stuck up girl named Lily forced everyone to call her ‘Lilyah.’ She said the name had more class, just like her. “Well, I guess I’ll, like, see you around,” she said. No way.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Lily. Lily was best-friends-till-death-we-shall-never-part with the little Girl. They spent every waking hour together. The year the Mom died, a few more girls joined ‘the group.’ But Lily and the Girl still remained best friends, although they began to broaden their horizons to other people. Or so the Girl thought. Once upon a time, the Girl had to call Lily. That night, that fatal night. The Girl could barely get a word out, barely explain that she had lost her soulmate. She could barely explain how much love and help she needed, now that her mother was gone. But instead of finishing the Girl’s sentences, rushing over to her house, Lily was polite and formal: “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s such a shame,” she said. All of a sudden, Lily had transformed into a stranger. The Girl would never know exactly what had happened. Maybe Lily felt uncomfortable with someone who lost their parent? Maybe Lily couldn’t handle dealing with someone who was going through such intense grief? Although the Girl could never truly know, she did know one thing for sure: once upon a time, Lily was no longer a best friend. Lily was now a jerk.

I stood outside the Sparrow Cafe for a moment, staring at the shoes of the people who passed. My phone buzzed again. I lifted the screen to see another call from Dad. I picked up.

“What is it this time?”

“Sweetie, I would really appreciate if you could be more kind when answering — ” I cut him off.

“Come on, Dad. Seriously?”

“Where is my blue-eyed princess, the one who would find the everyday miracles? Where did she go?”

“There are no more miracles,” I said, not even trying to deny that the glitter in my blue eyes disappeared.

“Yes there are.” Hearing the silence, he continued. “Well anyways, the reason why I called you is because of your grandma.”

“My grandma?” I was genuinely confused. Dad’s mom died before I was born, and Mom’s mom… she didn’t have the best relationship with our family. Mom had some huge fight with her, something Mom said she would tell me when I was older. I never met my grandma, except for a brief sighting of a woman in black at Mom’s funeral. Dad always said it was for the best. So what now?

“Well,” Dad paused and cleared his throat. I could almost see his Adam’s apple bobbing, “I thought it’s time for you to get to know your grandma. So I got in touch with her — ”

“You spoke to her? How? What?” He ignored me.

“She said she would like to meet. I was thinking we could go to a nice dinner sometime next week, and meet her there.”

“I can’t do that. No way. I’m sorry, but no.”

“I don’t understand? Don’t you want to know your grandma?”
“It’s betraying Mom. And it’s terrible. It seems like this grandma lady is suddenly swooping in. Maybe she’s glad that Mom is dead.”

“Come on, Miracle.” He had crossed a line. Only Mom was allowed to call me that. Only Mom. I hung up, angrily pressing the screen, missing the red button the first few times, as I wiped away a tear.

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman who were deeply in love. They desperately wanted a baby, especially a baby girl. But everytime they tried, it didn’t work. The doctors brought them the terrible news that they could never have a baby. Then, one day, the woman got pregnant. The doctors said it was a miracle the baby was in the Mom’s stomach, and an even bigger miracle it survived. So naturally, the Mom and the Dad named the baby Miracle in Arabic. To the Mom and Dad’s delight, they got pregnant again. Then something went wrong. The little Girl never knew what happened. They said she was too young, too fragile, too sad. All she remembers were the sirens, then flashing lights, red like the blood on the cold bathroom floor. All she remembers were the deep wrinkles in the doctor’s face, almost as deep as the pools of sadness that sank her. The little Girl was no longer so little.

I decided to enter into the Sparrow Cafe. I sometimes treated myself to their rich hot chocolate and light buttery chocolate croissant. Mom would say that the Sparrow Cafe’s hot chocolate was angel’s nectar. She always took me there when I had had a bad day at school, or was just feeling lousy. I added the croissant to the tradition after she died. The day of her death, I was sitting in the Sparrow Cafe. When I left, Darla handed me a croissant. “Give it to your Mom for me. From Mary and Darla.” Of course, Mom never got it.

As I opened the door, the warm air invited me inside. My ears were filled with the gentle hum of people conversing. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the delicate smells wafting from the kitchen. I could almost taste the flakes of sweet pastry, melting on my tongue.

“Hi, Mary,” I said, walking up to the counter.

“The usual, dear?” she responded, already getting out the little brown bag with which to package the croissant and setting it on the counter.

“Yes, please,” I responded

“Anything else, dear?”

“That will be all. Besides the hot chocolate, of course.” She started to prepare the hot chocolate, pouring the rich liquid in a paper cup decorated with drawings of sparrows. “Darla will ring you up, dearie.” I stepped down the counter to the vintage, blue cash register.

“Well, hello there, Ayah! Are you feeling alright today?” Darla said, peering at the wet streak on my cheek through her round, gold spectacles.

“Yeah. Thanks for asking.” I stared at the feet of the next person in line. A young woman, wearing slightly worn but still clean running shoes. Pink and blue Skechers with black laces. I took out my wallet to pay. Just as I handed her the bills, I noticed a tattered pink Post-it fall to the ground. Stooping down to pick it up, I could already tell it was Mom’s handwriting. Probably something stupid, like a shopping list. I stuffed it in my pocket as I went to a nearby table to wait for my order. I started thinking. How could Dad just betray Mom like that? Why are there no more miracles? Why are there no more twinkles? It’s not fair. I can’t do it anymore. No NO NO! By now, I was screaming in my head, clenching my fists with anger. I could see the bubblegum-sneakers lady looking at me. I’m done. I don’t care anymore. The twinkle lights went out. The tree is black.

My thoughts were interrupted by a tap on my shoulder.

“Oh, hi. Ms. Woodworth.” I stared at her shoes. Olive-green-gray heels, but not too high. Her foot, encased in tan pantyhose, was held down with an olive green strap and a gold buckle.

“Ayah! Fancy seeing you here!” Her gray ringlets shook as she patted my shoulder, and her soft pink sweater rubbed against my arm.

“Yeah, sure,” I groaned.

“What was that, Ayah?” She took a sip of the cup in her hand, wrapping the string of the chamomile tea bag around her finger.

“Uhh, I said ‘great coincidence!’” It was so easy for me to lie now. Mom used to say I was the most honest person she knew, but now, lying was part of my everyday life. Anyway, I didn’t care if she actually heard what Dad would call ‘my snarky remark.’

Once upon a time, the Girl’s Mom died. The school knew it would be hard on the Girl. They had their guidance counselor, Ms. Woodworth, help the Girl. She said, “You can talk to me whenever you need to. I’m always here.” She meant her office, a cozy nook in the otherwise chaotic public school building, filled with her snowglobe collection and a pot of tea always on the tiny stove. So the Girl went to her every day. But they never talked about that night with the sirens, or the hollow hole in the Girl’s heart. They just talked about everyday life. Like new shoes, or books. The Girl used to talk about this with the Mom. But now she wasn’t there. So Ms. Woodworth was the replacement. Once upon a time, the Girl went to Ms.Woodworth. It was a normal visit. The Girl wanted to talk about Lily, why she was being a jerk. But Ms. Woodworth didn’t let her stay. “Come back when you have a real issue. When you are actually dealing with the grief,” she said. “Other kids have more important things, rather than chit chatting about daily life.”

Thankfully, Ms. Woodworth now walked away, chuckling to herself as she went. I craned my neck to look at the counter. Where was my order? How hard is it to warm a croissant? Well, I might as well read the Post-it while I’m waiting. I pulled the now even more crumpled paper out of my pocket and carefully laid it on the blue mosaic table. I smoothed it out, running my thin fingers on the creases. It was a hastily scribbled haiku, definitely written by Mom.

Don’t drag yourself down,

With self-pity and anger

Remember twinkles

Darla called my name. “Ayah, your order is ready! Have a nice day, dear!” Rushing outside, I stuffed the Post-it in my pocket and grabbed the delicate paper bag and hot chocolate cup. I ran out of the cafe, shutting the door as I went with a slam that surprised even me, and was met by the rush of cold air. I started walking fast. Faster. Now I was almost running. Tears welled up in my eyes, but didn’t run down my face because of how fast I was going. I stared at the floor, shoes blurring past me. Teal Converse, white laces. Black loafers with a tangled thread. Gray sneakers with a lime green sole. Black high heels with arctic blue soles. Candy-apple-red wedges with a gold button. Ripped, unrecognizable shoes, one with only a sole. Panting, I stopped. I looked at the person in those shoes.

He was sitting on a greasy, old pizza carton, a threadbare, gray blanket on his lap. Why doesn’t he use the blanket? It’s freezing outside, I thought. Then, I saw it move. The homeless man carefully lifted the blanket to comfort a wailing baby, her small, red face streaked with soot. He held her up to his chest and gently patted the scrap of grimey bubblegum-pink swaddle that was wrapped around her, almost as if he were afraid to touch her, for she might break. “It’s alright. It’s alright.” He comforted her softly. His scratchy, hoarse voice barely made a sound. The baby’s wails only intensified. The homeless man looked up at me, making eye contact. His glassy green eyes were helpless, filling with tears that spilled over, dripping down his face. They drew a line of clean, exposing his weathered skin, washing away a stripe of dirt. Instead of looking away, like my parents always told me to, I stared straight at him. Suddenly, I knew why that haiku was in my pocket. It was fate. It was time, finally time, for me to create my own twinkle. I bent down, and carefully placed the steaming cup of hot chocolate on the ground in front of him. I held out the butter-stained brown bag with the croissant. He shook his head.

“Take it. Please,” I said, staring clearly, steadily at him, looking into his glassy eyes. He slowly reached up his hand, a filthy, torn glove almost falling off, and I closed the distance. Once the bag was in his hands, I started to run away, only stopping for a moment at the streetlight. I turned my head back and looked at him. His eyes were filled with a gratitude I had never seen before. He ripped a small piece of the still-warm croissant from the bag. A string of melted chocolate dripped from the pastry. He handed it to his baby. The cries dwindled. I called to him.

“Enjoy.”

 

An Attempted Rescue

The rocket stood there on the purple soil, black steam spiraling out from the top. It was night on the planet. It was always night there. Hundreds of stars hovered in the dark sky. They shined in Captain Powell’s eyes. Captain Powell and his men stepped out onto the mysterious territory.

“Where have we landed, Navigator Edwards?” Powell asked.

“Some planet,” said Edwards, looking around. “I think it’s uncharted.”

“Did we go to another solar system?” Powell said, confused.

“No, same one, it’s just we’re so far away from the Sun,” Edwards stated.

The planet looked isolated, with neglected mountains and a silent, purple lake that looked like grape soda. The only thing you could hear was the soft wind that would whisper to you and your very own echoes.

“I see something!” a crew member cried.

He was standing on a hill. He had a circular, large glass dome around his head. He also wore a big, white suit and boots. One of his legs was bruised and beaten. It was bleeding. What once was a pink, plump man was now pale and withered. However, his face was colored with excitement. He limped from the hill to them.

“Oh, thank you so much!” he cried. He then looked towards the shadows in the area. He called them. “Crew, people have come to rescue us!”

Four other men stepped out of the shadows, all in the same condition as the man.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” Powell questioned.

“I,” he explained, “am Douglas Williams of Earth, and this is my crew. We were supposed to land on Mars, but we crashed here back in 2050. We’ve been stranded here for years, and you have come to rescue us!”

Even time is different here, thought Powell. 2050 was a long time ago. These men are supposed to be dead. Maybe the planet freezes time for these people. Powell had a lot of questions.

“Well,” Edwards began, “our rocket crashed here, but we still have some fuel to take you back home! Tomorrow, it’ll be ready.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Williams turned to his crew. “We’re going home!”

They all cheered and clapped and laughed and joked. They felt alive for the first time in years. Now, they will finally be seeing their families and friends who thought they were dead.

“Is anyone else here?” Powell said.

Williams shot a frightened glance at his crew.

“Nope! No one here at all! Just us, ha, ha!”

“Okay.” Powell looked around the area.

 

***

 

Edwards went hiking through the planet, searching for new rocks and minerals while everyone was asleep. He went to a cave, and that’s when something happened. He felt someone touch his hand and say.

“Hello.”

He quickly turned around and was ready to fight, only to find a weak, injured astronaut.

“You must be new here,” the astronaut chuckled. “What planet did you try to go on. I’m Samuel Brooks and — ”

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” interjected Edwards, “and you should know, you’re part of Williams’ crew who we’re bringing with us.”

Brooks turned red. “You bring Williams with you as you escape?!”

“Yeah, I — ”

“Don’t bring him. He’s an idiot, and he’ll do you no good!”

“But — ”

“He’s insane,” Brooks blurted out.

Edwards quickly turned his opinion. “Really?”

“Yes, isolation made him start to become aggressive with my crew. Bring my expedition, we tried to go to Jupiter in 2080, but we failed,” Brooks stated.

“Okay, meet us tomorrow morning at our rocket, I’ll tell the captain. We can only have one other crew on the trip, so it’ll be you.”

“Wonderful.”

 

***

 

The day finally came, the day to go back home. Brooks saw the rocket, and he and his men started to walk along the silver ramp.

“Hey!” a voice shouted. It was Williams, and he was angry. “Get off, Brooks. This rocket isn’t for you!”

“Yes, it is, we deserve it more!” Brooks said.

Williams tackled Brooks. “That escape is ours.” He gritted his teeth.

The men on Brooks’ and Williams’ teams started to fight each other.

But word spread around quickly. Waves of failed crews and expeditions of Venus, Mars, and Jupiter came and saw the rocket. They hit, kicked, scratched, and bit each other for it.

Edwards, Powell, and the workers were in the rocket.

“Which one should we pick?”

“I don’t know!”

A man entered the crowd. He held a grenade.

“Hey, Williams! Hey, Brooks!” He threw it.

It spun in the air, but accidentally headed towards the rocket.

“Don’t,” Powell cried.

Boom.

Powell, Edwards, their workers, and the rocket were gone. Their dead bodies were in the rubble. The planet’s residents stood there, stunned. They didn’t speak for five minutes.

They had trouble sleeping that night.

Robot Battle League

       

OOH, and Silo goes in the air as Wrecking Ball slams him again. Silo has difficulty getting back up, and Wrecking Ball smashes him down. Silo isn’t moving. It’s time for the five second countdown!

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

AND Wrecking Ball WINS THE ROUND! Good game, Silo, but it looks like you and your creator will have to wait until the next round!” the commentator boomed. Dianna and her best friend Luke walked towards the arena of the Robot Battle League, a fighting sport for robots, to pick up Dianna’s now broken robot.

“Don’t feel bad. It was a good design. You just need… tweaks,” Luke said, trying to cheer

her up.

“You say that every round, Luke. I’ve never won a round of the RBL, and with the championships coming up, there’s going to be thousands of people competing. Silo and I won’t stand a chance!” Dianna told him. They walked back towards the workshop. A Retina scan indicated that Dianna and Luke had returned. The gate opened, revealing small helper bots that were carrying around spare pieces of metal. Dianna placed Silo on the robot hand truck, where she started replacing his broken parts with fresh, new pieces of metal.

 

Dianna had always wanted to win an RBL tournament. It was the most popular sport, and from her window she could see giant, neon bulletin boards displaying the champions. She dreamt of being up there, representing her city in even bigger tournaments. Being the champion of —

 

“DIANNA!” Luke yelled. She opened her eyes. Silo was all powered up, and his light blue eyes flickered as they turned on.

“Hello, creator. Hello, best friend Luke,” Silo said in a calm, echoing voice.

“Silo, you can just call me Dianna. I told you a million times,” she said, chuckling.

“My apologies. Every robot’s programming requires them to call their makers ‘master’ or ‘creator,’” Silo said. He slowly walked out of the hand truck and rummaged through the boxes.

“What are you doing?” Dianna asked.

“Upgrade. Upgrade. Requiring USB database,” Silo beeped repetitively.

“Oh right,” Dianna said. She went into her pockets and plugged in a blue USB drive with

gray writing saying, Silo database. Every once in a while, robots required updates to refresh their memories. Dianna turned to Luke, who was asking a helper bot for a lemonade.

“Hey Luke, why don’t you enter the RBL too? It could be fun!” Dianna asked.

“No thanks. I’m not an engineer. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go against you,” Luke answered. Dianna nodded. Suddenly, a hovering, lime green oval shaped bot floated into the room. A recording of Dianna’s mom came out of the robot.

“Dianna! Time for dinner!” it said.

“Gotta go. Cya Luke!” she said, powering Silo down and placing him on the hand truck, before running up the stairs. Luke waved and walked towards his house.

 

When 10:00 hit, the arena opened for its late night battles. It was only one or two, just to test out the strength of your robot. Wrecking Ball was walking behind his creator, a snarky, arrogant kid named Sam. Sam spotted a masked cyberpunk leaning against the wall. Aside from his mask, he was only wearing black. His mask was metal and had two yellow pixelated eyes. Beside him was a small robot. It was smaller than any other robot in the RBL. Sam couldn’t resist the opportunity to crack an insult against him.

“Hey, robot face! Too scared to show yourself? Bet you’re real ugly. Hey, where did your robot come from, preschool?” he said, laughing. The cyberpunk lifted his head and looked straight at Sam.

The commentator started yelling out. “Sam and Wrecking Ball vs Korben and the Exterminator!” he yelled out. Sam laughed.

“The exterminator? Bet the only thing you ever fought was a bug, and you still lost!” Sam yelled, laughing. They both sat down and grabbed their controllers. Korben’s yellow eyes turned red.

“Exterminate,” he muttered. The Exterminator grew much higher. His right hand was

replaced by a gun, and his left hand became a sword. Sam stopped laughing. Within seconds, Wrecking Ball was destroyed. Or rather, Exterminated.

THE EXTERMINATOR WINS! Better luck next time, Wrecking Ball!” the commentator

yelled. Sam grabbed Wrecking Ball and looked at Korben, who was already walking away. Exterminator turned back towards Wrecking Ball.

“Target exterminated,” he said and went back to walking.

 

Beep! Beep! Beep! Slam!

 

Dianna hit her alarm and got out of bed in a flash. Today was the sign-up for the championships! She had to get there nice and early. Downstairs, she was greeted by a warm hello from Silo and a bowl of cereal, which she devoured in seconds. She grabbed Silo, and they ran out of the house towards Luke’s. She knocked on the door, and in a few minutes, Luke was there. It looked like he had changed from his pajamas recently, but he was still looking sleepy.

“Dianna, what time is it?” he asked, yawning.

“5:00. The sign-ups start at 6:00. Come on!” she replied, grabbing his arm and dragging

him outside, as he moaned for his bed.

 

They quickly arrived at the front of the arena. Thousands of people were already lining up.

“Dang it. I’ll never sign up!” Dianna complained. Luke grabbed her and Silo.

“Okay Silo, play along,” he whispered. He started yelling.

“Excuse me! This robot has a virus! The only way to cure it is to sign up for the championships!” Luke yelled.

“Yes. I have a virus. I am very sick and need to sign up,” Silo said. Dianna wrote her name in the paper. Everyone cheered. Dianna smiled. She was in!

Suddenly, Korben shoved Silo out of the way. Everyone moved, whispering and pointing.

“Silo, scan the man and the bot,” Dianna whispered. Silo’s eyes turned green, then back

to blue.

“Name: Korben. Age: 37. Bio: Never lost a round,” Silo said. His eyes became green again, then returned to normal. “Bot name: Exterminator. Bio: Destroyed every robot in his way,” Silo read out. Korben wrote his name on the paper. As Korben and the Exterminator walked back, everyone backed away in fear of being the next target.

“Okay. It’s okay. All we have is a… RBL champion with the most dangerous robot in the tournaments. Think of winning. Think of winning,” Dianna said. Suddenly, a helper bot put

up the list of who was fighting who. Dianna saw she was against Jonathan and his robot “Red Zone.” She felt confident. Everyone took their copies of the paper and walked back to their homes.

 

In the workshop, Dianna was still staring at the paper.

“Hey. Dianna! You’ve been staring at the paper for an hour. Let’s go play gravity throw or something,” Luke said.

“I can’t. This is the biggest tournament I’ve ever been in! I’ve got to upgrade Silo as much as possible. I’m thinking rocket boosters, laser cannons, plasma bombs, virus gas, anything!” she said. She grabbed some boxes and started rummaging through them.

“Do not worry, creator Dianna. I will download all the features myself. Go play gravity throw with best friend Luke,” Silo said. Dianna sighed and walked outside with Luke.

 

The next day, Dianna, Luke, and Silo were rushing towards the arena. People were already starting to sit down, and the fighters were preparing their remotes and their bots. Luke went to find a seat, and Dianna grabbed her remote control.

 

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE WELCOME… THE CITY’S CREATOR AND HOST OF THE RBL… THE OVERLORD!” the commentator said. A giant screen with a face appeared. It smiled.

“Let the RBL begin!” it said. After a few rounds, Dianna’s turn came up. She sat down

and activated Silo’s “fight mode.” Red Zone jumped and landed on Silo. Silo got thrown backwards and hit the wall.

“Come on, Silo, where are your upgrades?” Dianna muttered. Silo got back up and

attempted to punch Red Zone, but Red Zone grabbed his arm and threw him against the floor. Silo got back up again. Red Zone punched, but Silo ducked. Red Zone tried punching again, but Silo still dodged it. When Red Zone attempted a third punch, Silo punched him in the face. Red Zone slammed against the wall. Suddenly, Silo’s eyes became dark.

“Upgrade. Upgrade. Requiring USB database,” he said.

“Nonononono!” Dianna yelled. Red Zone saw his opportunity and knocked Silo off his

feet.

Dianna looked at Luke, who had the USB drive in his hand. Luke tossed it to her. Suddenly, Silo was thrown up in the air, and Red Zone kicked him above Dianna. Everything moved in slow motion. Dianna’s hand went up and plugged the USB drive onto Silo’s back. Just before Silo hit the stands, his eyes opened, and he jumped back into the arena. A few people cheered. Red Zone ran towards Silo, but Silo grabbed him and slammed him on the ground.

“Let the countdown begin!

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

AND SILO WINS! Red Zone IS ELIMINATED FROM THE COMPETITION! SILO MOVES ON TO THE NEXT ROUND!

Dianna stood there with her mouth wide open. She… had… won! She won for the first time in the RBL! She ran towards the arena where Silo was standing. She quickly deactivated “fight mode” and hugged him.

“WE WON SILO! WE WON!” she yelled.

 

After a relaxing period of watching the rest of the competitors fight, (Dianna’s favorite besides her win was Mega Mech vs Pyro, but Luke’s was definitely Rocket vs Blast-a-tron) Dianna, Luke, and Silo walked back towards Dianna’s workshop. Dianna powered Silo down, plugged him in, and put him on the hand truck. Luke went back home, and Dianna went to bed.

 

In the city’s central building, the Overlord was connected to millions of wires that were connected to millions of plugs. The Overlord controlled every part of the city. His pixelated face appeared on the giant screen. He watched the replays of the RBL rounds. He stopped as the beginning of Silo vs Red Zone. He watched as Dianna plugged the USB drive. He watched as Silo beat Red Zone.

“Interesting,” he said. A smaller screen went in front of him, and a camera view of

Dianna’s workshop shot into view. He looked at Silo’s powered down body.

“Nobody knows the true nature of the RBL. I believe that young fighter will soon find out my secret,” he muttered. The screen lifted, and a door opened revealing a smooth titanium robot. “Soon. Very soon,” he said. He laughed, and his face disappeared from the screen.

 

Saturday was Dianna’s favorite day of the week. She had all day to work on Silo, and not to mention, her parents always went out all day, so she had the whole house to herself. Luke couldn’t come, as he and his parents were going shopping. Dianna was disappointed, but she just went down to her workshop. She powered Silo up, and his light blue eyes flickered open.

“Hello,” he said. Dianna smiled. Silo’s warm welcomes always made her feel better.

“Hey, Silo. What do you wanna do today?” she asked.

“Well I — ” Silo started, then he crashed. Dianna looked confused. She always

plugged Silo’s USB in every time before she shut him down, so he shouldn’t be able to crash. She shrugged and opened his code and refreshed it. Silo’s eyes opened again, but they weren’t blue this time, they were red.

“Uhh, Silo?” Dianna asked. Silo turned towards her.

“Virus detected. Security down. Prepare for mode 75,” Silo said in a dark voice.

“S-Silo?” Dianna asked again. Silo’s eyes kept changing to Blue, then Red, as if he was

trying to fight it off.

“Creator! Leave… YOU WILL ALL BE DESTROYED… Go before you get hurt… OPERATION STORM!” Silo and the virus were saying. Dianna opened the hatch at the

back of Silo’s head and shut him down. She deleted all his memories to get rid of the virus, then she plugged in his USB drive to bring the memories back. Silo’s blue eyes opened.

“What happened?” he asked.

“A virus infected you. It seems your built-in security doesn’t hold off that well,” Dianna

explained. Silo looked worried.

“It’s okay, it’s just a small virus. It’s deleted,” Dianna reassured him. Silo nodded.

“Hey Silo, do you know anything about operation Storm?” Dianna asked. Silo got visions.

Flames. Robots attacking humans. But the one in the middle of it was —

“Silo?!” Dianna yelled. Silo shook the vision off.

“No. I do not know anything,” Silo replied. Dianna nodded and looked at the fighting list.

“We’re against… Korben and the Exterminator,” Dianna said. Silo wasn’t paying attention.

Suddenly, the green oval bot floated in and called Dianna up for dinner. She powered Silo down and ran upstairs.

The next morning, Dianna woke up to the sound of the TV. She went downstairs. She saw her mom and dad watching the news. They saw a robot breaking out of a house with a chip in his hand. A policeman was pointing his gun at him.

“Put your hands in the air before I shoot!” the policeman yelled.

“Put your water gun down fatty before I slap that imaginary life out of your body,” the  robot replied.

“I’m warning you, put your hands in the air!” the policeman said.

“You really think I’m going to listen to an old fat guy? Move,” the robot said.

“I didn’t want to do this, but I’ll have to electrocute you,” the policeman said. The robot’s arm turned into a laser cannon, and it shot the policeman. The screen turned to a reporter.

“Robots have been seen attacking civilians, going… rogue. We haven’t had this incident in about 30 years, but if the robots keep going on like this, we’ll have to evacuate. Start off fresh. Get new robots. Restart our whole civilization,” the reporter said.

 

Dianna looked away from the TV. If they thought all robots were becoming dangerous, what would happen to Silo? She walked up to her room where she looked at pictures she had taken together with Silo. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was Luke. She stared at the text message he sent.

 

Dianna! Come now! Silo’s here, and he’s going crazy!

 

Luke and his family were huddled in a circle Silo was walking around the room, shooting lasers and breaking objects. Dianna opened the door with the chip in her hand. She saw Silo, and she ran towards him. Silo turned around and grabbed her by the shirt. He had the red eyes.

“OPERATION STORM!” he yelled out. His face screen started glitching. He was still

trying to fight it off. Silo dropped Dianna and staggered to the living room. Dianna ran towards Silo again and jumped on his back. She opened the hatch, and was about to delete his memories, when red lightning shocked her.

“I’M SORRY, BUT I’M AFRAID I CANNOT LET YOU DO THAT,” Silo’s voice echoed. His laser cannon pointed at her then… he powered down. Dianna got up to see Luke pressing the button. Dianna grabbed the chip and plugged it back in.

 

Meanwhile, the Overlord was watching from one of his screens. He yelled out in fury. Dianna didn’t know it yet, but Silo was one of the most powerful, dangerous robots ever made, and he had to get control of him. He had to launch Operation Storm. His screen turned to a view of Korben.

“He cannot beat Silo in the next round. Looks like Silo’s going to have to get… angrier,” he said, as a red chip inserted into one of his wires. He started laughing.

 

Dianna was back in her workshop, trying to see what went wrong with Silo.

“This is the second time this has happened. If it happens again… we’ll have to shut you down for good and make a new chip,” Dianna said. A tear started forming in her eye, but she wiped it off. She looked at her watch.

“Fifteen minutes until my round starts. Let’s go, Silo,” Dianna said.

 

Wham! Crash!

 

Those were sounds of the Exterminator throwing Silo across the walls. The Overlord was planning his timing. Silo got up, but the Exterminator punched him in the face. As Silo got up again, when nobody was watching, the Overlord inserted the chip. Silo’s eyes turned red.

“No,” Dianna muttered. Silo grabbed the Exterminator and started throwing him against the ground. Silo jumped up and body slammed him. As the Exterminator got back up, Silo kicked him towards the wall. Then, Silo grabbed him and threw him in the air. Silo’s laser cannon emerged, and he started rapidly shooting the Exterminator. The Exterminator fell back down, limp. The five second countdown began.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…

AND SILO WINS THE ROUND!

 

Silo’s eyes flickered back to blue. He looked confused, then sad when he realized what happened. Silo’s three strikes had gone. His memories had to be erased permanently and replaced by a whole new chip.

 

Back at Dianna’s home, her parents, Luke, his family, and all the bots in the house came to say goodbye to Silo. Dianna walked towards him, crying.

“You’re the best robot I’m going to ever have, Silo. You’ll never be replaced. I promise. G-goodbye,” Dianna said, crying. Luke walked towards Silo.

“You were an amazing robot, Silo. We’ll never forget you,” he said. Everyone went to hug him. Dianna flipped his hatch open and erased everything. Silo’s light blue eyes started fading away.

“Don’t go. Please,” she muttered. Silo’s eyes disappeared. All his lights in his body faded away. Dianna placed his chip into his stomach, so it could be transported to the Overlord.

 

In a room with a lot of wires and machinery with red lights, a small figure made entirely out of code appeared. He wasn’t just small, he was very small. His body was all green with binary code rushing through it. His eyes were still blue, but he even had a proper mouth. On his body, there was writing saying, Silo. He looked confused. Suddenly, the Overlord’s face projected on a screen.

“Welcome, Silo. Welcome,” the Overlord said.

“W-what is this place? Where am I?” Silo asked.

“You’re in the machine room. Only I can access it. This is where all deleted bots go,” the Overlord explained.

“What happened to me? Why was I always going insane?” Silo asked. The Overlord’s

eyes turned redder than usual.

“You’re not like any other bot, Silo. You’re special. Let me explain why. When I first founded this city, I built a robot, so I could use it as a body. You were the bot I built. I could move in and out of your mind as I pleased. Although, seeing on TV how robots can have armies, I designed the RBL so that the most powerful robots could work for me. You didn’t think that was fair. You fought against me. You deleted your own memories, and you were found by that girl. She made your body better and named you Silo. Now that you’re here, I can finally launch my plan. I named it Operation Storm, after your real name,” he explained. The words on Silo’s chest turned into, Storm.

“Now you work for me,” the Overlord said. Silo’s body got surrounded by chains, and the

floor lifted up to a view of the whole city. “Now you have a front row seat to the destruction of the city and the rise of my robot army!” the Overlord yelled out. Silo tried to break free, but the chains were too tight. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got a city to destroy,” the Overlord said. Red lightning went from his screen to the titanium robot. His red eyes opened.

“It feels so good to be in a proper body again,” the robot — or rather the Overlord — said. He left the building and walked towards the city.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. IT IS I, THE OVERLORD. I JUST WANTED TO WARN YOU THAT MY PLAN IS COMPLETE. OPERATION STORM CAN BEGIN!” the Overlord spoke. Every robot’s eyes turned red. Everyone started yelling and screaming as the robots started firing lasers at them. Dianna and Luke ran out.

“What the heck is happening?!” Luke yelled.

“I don’t know, but we have to get out of here!” Dianna yelled. As they ran, they ran into Korben, who had a massive gun out and was shooting the robots.

“STAY BEHIND ME!” Korben yelled. His gun wasn’t doing any damage to the robots, but it was pushing them back. Suddenly, the Exterminator came into view.

“Targets located. Exterminate,” Exterminator said.

“Leave! I’ll keep him distracted!” Korben yelled. He started shooting at the Exterminator as Dianna and Luke ran. As they turned towards the exit of the town, the Overlord flew in their way.

“WELCOME TO THE FINAL ROUND OF THE RBL!” the Overlord yelled. Luke stepped in front of Dianna.

 

Meanwhile, Silo was still trying to break free. He spotted the Overlord advancing towards Luke and Dianna. Silo yelled, and his body glitched out of the chains. He ran down the building and towards Dianna’s home, where his body was still standing in the living room. Silo climbed inside.

“Okay, I’ve got to control this without the chip,” Silo said. He started moving the joystick around, and Silo staggered around towards the door.

 

The Overlord shoved Luke aside, where Red Zone and Wrecking Ball caught him and held his arms. The Overlord grabbed Dianna and flew up in the air.

“Where’s your precious robot now, Dianna?” he asked.

“You won’t win,” she muttered.

“I already have! Now, let’s watch this city die together, shall we… update update requiring USB database,” the Overlord started. The robot powered down, and Dianna and the Overlord started falling to the ground. Red lightning shot out of the suit and possesed Wrecking Ball’s body. Dianna kept falling until Silo caught her in mid-air.

“Wait… Silo?” she asked. Silo’s code body appeared from the face.

“Hello!” he yelled. Dianna screamed.

“Who are you? Why are you in Silo’s body?” she asked.

“I am Silo. Just in my deleted form. I can feel emotions and all the stuff I wanted to feel as a robot,” Silo explained.

“Then why is ‘Storm’ written on your chest?” she asked.

“Long story short, my real name is Storm, I was the Overlord’s body, and the RBL was just a trick to make an army,” Silo explained.

“This whole thing was a trick?” she asked.

“Yeah, and I need the chip, so I can transfer my code into this body,” Silo said.

“The chip is in the Overlord’s building,” Dianna muttered. “Silo, fly your body up to the highest floor!” she said. Silo turned the joystick, and Silo’s robot body flew towards the building.

 

The Overlord finished plugging his chip in his robot. The red lightning flew towards the robot’s body, and its eyes turned on.

“Where is the girl?” the Overlord asked. Red Zone pointed at the tower.

“Tell all robots to get them!” the Overlord yelled. Every single robot flew towards the

Building.

“They can delete me up there. I need to stop them before they delete me and get Silo’s

body back!” he yelled. He used his rocket feet and joined the other robots.

 

“Dianna! We’ve got robots coming!” Silo yelled.

“Hold on, there are so many chips here that I’ve got to find the correct one. Aha! Here we go!” she said. As she turned around, she saw Silo fighting off millions of robots that were cracking the windows and crawling through. Dianna saw a large red chip surrounded by lasers.

This must be the Overlord’s chip, she thought. She turned to Silo, who was getting

swarmed by bots. She saw a weird blob swimming around in a test cell.

A virus, she thought. She sighed, and she smashed the test tube on the ground. The

virus floated in the air, and it went to the closest body it could find… Silo’s. Silo’s eyes turned red, and he went full rage on the robots. In about five minutes, all the robots were broken on the ground. The virus came out of Silo’s body and disappeared. Dianna grabbed the chip and was about to plug it in when the Overlord grabbed her hand.

“You won’t win that easily,” the Overlord told her. His eyes glowed more red as he started making a laser. Suddenly, someone jumped in the way…

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

Prologue to Hectorbla

            

Prologue

The winter snow brings freezing and death. In the land of Itha, freezing and death were the only things that the 4th grand army of the Glass Imperium knew. You see, Itha is a land divided by war and conquest. A supercontinent in the center of the Crimson Sea, Itha had been home to technological advancements and cultural exchange unparalleled in the entire world. However, things soon turned bad.

In the year 1813, a man named Hector Blighting completed work on his airship, the Hectorbla. Hector was an inventor, but one who had discovered too much. Hector delved into knowledge perhaps meant for man to stay ignorant of, knowledge of terrifying implication. Wielding this knowledge, Hector formed a cult, known as the Cult of Hector. With ingenuity and scientific competence, the Cult of Hector synthesized new gases and metals perfect for the creation of airships. With this, Hector created a navy of the air, which swiftly blitzed every major city in Itha, taking countries by surprise. Massive behemoths of metal and gas rumbled across the skies. Massive guns thundered throughout the night. However, Hector’s villainous campaign was not without challenge.

Every country in Itha banded together and struck deep in the heart of Hector’s ever expanding empire of iron and steam. The headquarters of Hector’s campaign were surrounded, and heavy fighting ensued, resulting in the death of Hector. With the knowledge of airships, steam tanks, trains without rails, bioengineering, energy weapons, and massive tanks now in the hands of every nation in Itha, bickering was bound to occur.

This brings us to the 4th grand army of the Glass Imperium. The Glass Imperium is a moderately sized country (though the rulers and inhabitants would prefer the term empire), hellbent on the conquest of Slavingcordia, a country to the north. Slavingcordia, though smaller in men and weapons, was not undefended. A massive mountain range, named Blackheart Ridge, separates the two countries, one that must be passed if any country was to attack the other with speed.

The Glass Imperium had finally decided to bite the bullet and invade. Seventy-five thousand man, all dressed in the traditional blue on green Imperium uniform, marched across Blackheart ridge with the intent of capturing the Slavcordian city of Deizenburgen. But luck was not on the side of the Glass Imperium. Marching upwards in the bitter cold snow, air getting thinner with every step taken. This was the hell that faced the 4th Army. Ten thousand soldiers met their end in the cold, alone and unable to move. Dreadnaughts of the sky flew overhead, but where there was no comfort to the soldiers, they huddled together for warmth. But the situation was about to get worse.

It was on the 6th of November, 1867, that Col. Williams spotted the first Slavcordian soldier. This was only the beginning of a bloody campaign that would leave millions dead, and release secrets and evils forever to haunt the human heart.

Josef awoke to the sound of shouting. His eyes still adjusting to the light, Josef squinted as he forced on his boots. Inside of his small green tent, he could not see anything but the blinding sun being reflected into the his tent. Using his left hand to wipe off his uniform, Josef slowly began to wake up. His stubble had grown worse, and his body odor unbearable. Lamenting these facts, Josef began to open the tent, when suddenly he heard gunfire. Grabbing his rifle, Josef bolted out of his tent, adrenaline pumping. Dead men lay in the snow, blood staining the ice. The gunfire continued, men shouting orders, soldiers scrambling to get out of bed and to grab their guns. A bullet whizzed by. Josef hit the floor. Lying beside one of his fallen comrades, Josef saw the Slavcordian men firing upon his division. Rolling behind the fresh corpse, Josef propped up his rifle and began to fire.

The smell of gunpowder spread through the air, muzzle flash appearing from places unexpected. An unfortunate Slavcordian soldier engaged Josef at point blank range, hitting Josef’s cover, but being hit by a lead riparte, fired from Josef’s rifle. Josef pulled the trigger and aimed his gun again at the ghastly silhouettes of enemy soldiers running to and from cover, sometimes revealing their true selves by illuminating the area with the flash of gunpowder. However, when Josef pulled the trigger for another time, his gun did not fire.

Desperately searching every pocket and crevice for bullets proved useless. Josef knew what he had to do. Throwing his rifle aside, Josef gripped the cold body of the bloodstained soldier and took the dead man’s rifle from his cold hands. A bullet hit the soldier. An eruption of blood blinded Josef. Wiping it off, Josef continued. Emptying the remaining bullets with futility into the seemingly impervious cover of the Slavcordian soldier harassing Josef, seemed a laughable waste of ammunition, but a cost that Josef knew must be paid in order to pin his adversary. Now out of ammunition again, Josef ran with the corpse down a small ledge. This time he found ammunition, but looked more. The massive shadow of a sky dreadnaught passed over, launching shells into enemy positions. Though not a decisive attack, it was satisfying to see the bloodstained brown uniforms of the Slavcordians fly into the air.

A fellow soldier passed by Josef, hurrying to defensive positions. “Ai! Dirty gravedigging sonofabitch!” Josef wanted badly to respond and tell the soldier that he wasn’t looting the body of a fallen comrade, but there were more important things at hand. A small mecha ran by, its metallic legs galloping across the snow, firing small shells, until it vanished behind the snow. The smoke of battle machines began to rise. Josef decided his best most move would be to continue behind the mecha. Following the tracks, Josef ran, and ran. Being shot at by what felt like five people, powder exploding at his feet. A bullet ripped across Josef’s back, though not injuring too much flesh, it hurt like hell. The warm blood perhaps was a blessing in disguise. Josef was beginning to go numb. Though his body heat was up, it was barely holding him together. The warm blood soothed his back.

Finally, Josef caught up with the mecha, the pilot obviously struggling with a dug in machine gun. Stuck between a machine gun and infantry, Josef knew that the mecha needed help. Josef attacked the flank of the infantry. The shouting in foreign languages disturbed Josef. He did not know the orders of the commander. Josef fired everything and got into a rhythm. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. Fire. Cock. The sputtering riposte of the infernal Slavcordian rounds dissuaded Josef from continuing his assault and forced him to fall back. Running blindly in a direction were he would be temporarily safe from enemy fire, Josef found himself far to the left flank of the Slavcordian rear.

Boots getting wet, limbs stiffening. Josef began to pant as he slowly trudged back to where he believed his company was. Some Slavcordian men noticed him in the distance. They fired off several rounds at Josef, but at the distance between them, they would have been lucky if the explosion of powdery snow came within a foot of Josef.

Josef stopped. He saw a tower of smoke rising from the ridge ahead. The roar of treads. The Glass Imperium had no tanks in the mountains. They deemed them too visible. The mechas used by the Glass Imperium had a much smaller profile (or at least the smaller ones). That strategy had proven useful until the first Slavcordian attack. Now, without steam tanks or bio tanks, or any form of calvary that was not exclusively anti infantry, Josef was filled with anger and disappointment. But that was irrelevant. Josef had a duty. Heaving and panting, Josef prepared for what could very well be his final offensive.

The rectangular bottom of the tank carried several machine guns. The rusted white metal reminded Josef of a bridge burnt into hell. The gray treads and silver gears gave the tank an almost aluminum look. Then, there was the turret. A massive chimney spurted out smoke. An 85 caliber heavy cannon slowly shifted around, looking for targets. Josef breathed in. His now bloodstained uniform was a fitting cloth to be buried in. Josef leapt into the powdery snow. Josef now recognized the tank as a HF-3 “Mountain Goat.” Josef gripped his rifle and screamed like never before. Josef was prepared to die.

End of prologue.

 

Don’t Look at Me

Maria smoothed the corners of the picnic blanket, erasing every imperfection she saw. She frowned as a stubborn wrinkle stayed in place. She stretched the picnic blanket as far as it would go until the wrinkle disappeared. Only then did she smile.

She leaned back, trying to relax. Maria breathed deeply, hoping the smell of grass and sunscreen would slow her rapid heartbeat.

In… two, three, four… out… two, three, four, Maria thinks, closing her eyes. In… two, three — Dammit!

Maria growled, jamming her floppy beach hat tighter on her head. She pulled the edges down, annoyance filling her chest when her hat wouldn’t fit properly. It just felt so wrong.

She yanked her hat off her head, letting her curly hair bounce over her shoulders. Maria grit her teeth as her attention drew to her clothes — it was so messed up, everything was. Her eyebrows furrowed as she adjusted her shirt, because it didn’t look as good on her as it did on her friend, Liza. Why couldn’t she feel good, just for one day? Why?

Maria buried her face in her hands, her eyes burning with frustration.

“Hey.”

Maria looked up in surprise, her cheeks turning red. It was embarrassing enough when Liza found her like this, and it was humiliating for a classmate of hers to see this too. She could already see him, talking to his friends about that weird girl in his English class. Maria could already picture walking down the hallway, whispers swarming her ears —

“Maria, right?” he asked, sitting down on her blanket next to her.

“Yeah,” she answered, in a voice a lot weaker than she liked.

“I’m Philip,” he said.

Maria nodded, her cheeks still warm. She knew that she would only embarrass herself more if she said anything.

“Look, I just wanted to see if you were okay,” Philip said sheepishly. “I saw your little, uh — ” He gestured vaguely with his hands, and Maria’s cheeks burned brighter.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice tighter than normal. Her voice quivered as she spoke, and her eyes welled up with tears as she said that. But it was okay, not even Liza noticed those imperfections in her voice.

Philip studied her face, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t look fine,” he pressed. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Then stop looking,” Maria snapped, turning away from him. It was so unusual for someone to reach this far, and she didn’t want him to get any closer. She didn’t know if she could take it.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” he continued.

Maria curled her fingers into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms.

This can’t be happening, she chanted in her head. It can’t! It was getting harder to breathe, harder to focus. All she could think about was the way people always looked at her when they knew.

“Please. Stop.” Maria refused to look at him. She knew she’d only find pity there.

“I just want to help you,” Philip said. She flinched as he touched her shoulder. Maria could hear the careful way he talked. She couldn’t bear to have another person treat her like broken glass.

“I don’t think you can,” Maria replied softly. “So just go.”

She could sense him hesitating, wondering if he should leave or not. Maria didn’t hold her breath. She knew he’d leave; they always do.

 

The End of a World

For the most part, they are silent and still. Only Hussein paces back and forth across the cramped white room. Not even the heavy thuds his boots make seem to distract anyone. The quietness that drapes the rest of outer space in a smothering quilt now covers the tiny space cruiser.

Sofia’s eyes are still red. She can’t see it, but she can tell by the way Tarah observes her and how everything stings when she blinks. Her sight isn’t blurred over from crying, so she can tell that they have about fifteen minutes left before… everything.

Fifteen minutes until they’re the only ones left. Fifteen minutes until they have to drift further away, farther than they’ve already gone. Fifteen minutes before all the contact will be cut off.

Tarah clears her throat. “We’re going to have to talk to them, you know. We have fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds, counting.”

Hussein stops pacing. He draws up a chair and seats himself. His voice cracks as he speaks. “… We’ve already talked to the government, they’ve already accepted it. Now it’s just your families left.”

“Who’s going first?” Tarah doesn’t look up from the control panel, choosing instead to tap quietly away at the buttons in front of her. She sits with her back facing them both. “Between Sofia and I, I mean.”

“… I’ll go first. Hussein, are you alright with taking over the control panels?” Sofia undoes her hair from the band holding it in place. She thinks about how she was always the one who wanted to go first in the past: She wanted to be the first one to get ice cream from the ice cream truck, wanted to be the first of the three of them to go into space, wanted to be the first to set foot on Mars. Back then, she always was the one who went first, but that was because she wanted to be first.

Now she is only doing it because she knows she has to be first. No one else will go before her. Tarah has made it clear enough, and Hussein doesn’t have anyone back on Earth — he has only had the crew, and he will only have the crew after this.

Sofia dials the buttons, staring down at the spotless white floor of the shuttle. When she looks back up at the hologram, there is only static. A lump begins to form in her throat. Are they already gone? Is this it?

The static disappears, and she sees them. Mami. Papi. Leo. They’re all staring back from behind their hologram at home. If it weren’t for the occasional flickering, she’d almost reach out and touch them.

“Mi hija?” her mother asks.

She waves a gloved hand through them. “Si, Mami. Es tu hija.”

How long has it been since she’s last spoken in Spanish? Has it really been three years since they’ve been sent up here?

Her mother’s smile is outlined in red lipstick. The dimples form on her cheeks. “I’m so proud of you,” she continues in Spanish. “To think — our daughter is the youngest girl to be sent up into space! You’re my daughter.”

“Mami.” She groans a little, remembering all the times before when she’d sit in her cramped kitchen and her mother would be waving around the 99% she got on her test or her scanned certificate from the math teacher.

“You’ve learned so much.” Papi is speaking now, and she can see the tears behind his glasses. “Querida, you are very strong. We are proud to be your parents. You have learned so much, and you have taught us so much.” She thinks back to the hours spent teaching him how to make macaroni y queso as he called (she insisted that he just call it “macaroni and cheese”) and how he’d seat her at the piano and teach her how to play and that she should keep her fingers curved when she played.

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. I’m not going to cry again. I’m not going to cry again. “I’m sorry you’re stuck back there. We’ve tried. I’ve tried. Ecuador has tried. The UN has tried. And I hate how there isn’t anything else I can do so far away.”
“Sofia — ” Leo is speaking now.

“People keep telling me it’s not my fault, and I’ve tried to help you get off before it all. But it was never enough. I’m too late.”

Sofia doesn’t realize she’s given in to crying again until she finds herself drying her tears.

“I’m sorry for crying in front of you.” She speaks to Leo now. “I’m sorry you have to see your older sister like this.”

Three minutes left. It’s only felt like a few seconds.

“You did what you could. And it’s okay. I’m not a child anymore — I’m fourteen years old,” Leo says. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to see you before we go.”

And for a moment, like she has thought before, she wants to be back on Earth with them. She knows that she did all she could from so far away on the edge of the galaxy. She just wishes she could do more.

Te amo,” she says. She reaches through the hologram for a moment. Two more minutes.

Te amamos,” Mami says to her. She reaches back, and just for a moment, Sofia thinks she can feel the warm of her mother’s hand holding hers.

She reaches for Papi’s hand, and then Leo’s. She tries holding his hand the longest, pretending that he isn’t a hologram her fingers slip through. She’d taken him to look at the planetarium down in New York, helped him balance on a stool so he could look through a telescope, and hung models of the planets and posters of the constellations up in his room.

They’ve always lived vicariously through the cosmos. Nothing has changed since then.

“I just have one more minute,” she says. One minute before she has to turn her back from their cramped living room all the way down on Ecuador. One minute before she has to turn her back on Earth for good.

Gracias para todo. You taught me a lot,” Leo says.

Forty-five seconds.

“You’ve made it this far. It’ll be hard not to give up, but you have help from your teammates.”

“Be safe. We care about you.”

Thirty seconds.

“I’m going to miss you. I’m going to name some of the planets we find after you like I’ve told you before.”
“So there’ll be a planet named Leo.” He laughs a little. “That sounds awesome.”

Twenty seconds.

“I love you. You’ve taught me a lot, and I’m glad I know everything I do know.”

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.

“Thank you for everything.”

Ten, nine, eight. Eight more seconds.

They don’t have to say much more. They’ve already said what needs to be said.

Five, four, three —

“Adios,” she says.

Adios.”

Adios.”

Adios.”

She stares at them for a few more seconds before the hologram flickers off. Her time is up.

“Tarah?” It’s jarring when she switches back to English. “It’s your turn now. You have five minutes.”

“Thank you, Sofia.” She turns away and begins to dial the buttons. Sofia realizes she’s only really seen the pale blonde hair and sleek black eyeliner, and not the dark circles under her eyes and her shaking hands.

The hologram begins to flicker again. Sofia sits down at the table and turns away. She’ll just look away during this.

“Is that you, Tarah?” The voice on the other end shakes, muffled and crackling through the static.

“It’s me, Lauren. Hello.” Sofia doesn’t have to look — she’s seen Lauren before with her short red hair and squarish black glasses.

“I’m scared. I knew this would happen when they talked about it a few days ago, but I never thought it’d be like this. I never thought it would actually happen. I’m scared because I know you and the crew and the USA and the government have tried everything you could for this, and I hate how even though I know it’s all going to be over — ” Lauren cuts off her sentence to breathe through her tears. “ — I’m still scared.”

“I’m scared too,” Tarah says. “I don’t want this to happen, I feel like there was something more I should have done even though we’ve tried everything. I don’t want to leave you behind, but we’re too far away. I feel like I’m hiding away in the shuttle. I feel like I’m a coward.”

Sofia looks at the timer. Four minutes left.

“You aren’t a coward, Tarah. You’ve never been one. You’re brave because you came out to your parents even when you weren’t sure how they’d feel about you. You were the one to talk face-to-face with Mom when she found out about you and found out I was dating ‘another girl.’ You’re brave for asking the government for our marriage papers even when you told me you were scared. You found life on Mars even when NASA told you how dangerous the atmosphere was.”

“Then if I’m not a coward, it’s alright for you to be scared.”

Three minutes and thirty seconds.

“You said I was brave for asking about the marriage papers even if I was scared, right? You told me you were scared, and you’re still here. You’re still holding out till the end even after you told me you’re scared. Even though we got this news from the government a few weeks ago and no one saw it comings, you’re still holding out.”

For a moment, Sofia just hears Lauren breathing.

“I love you. We’ve had obstacles, but I’m glad you’ve made it this far, Lauren. You’re brave for making it this far.”

“I love you too, Tarah. I’m still scared, and I know I can’t help it, but I’m glad to be talking with you before… before I have to go.”

One minute and forty-five seconds, counting.

“I’m glad too. I’m glad I fell in love with you. I’m glad I’ve married you.”

She can still hear quiet crying, but she thinks she can hear Tarah crying too.

Fifty-nine seconds.

“Thank you for everything, Lauren. Thank you for moving in with me at college. Thank you for supporting me when I decided I wanted to do this.”

“Thank you, Tarah.”
Seven, six, five —

“I have to go. Thank you for everything again. Remember you’re full of courage for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll remember. I love you, Tarah.”

Three, two —

One.

The hologram flickers off, and Tarah turns around. She pulls out one of the chairs and stares through the paneled window of the shuttle, away from Earth and the Milky Way and toward the sea of unnamed stars swimming in black.

Hussein doesn’t look up from the control panel, but Sofia asks to make sure.

“Hussein, is there anything you want to do? We have five minutes.”

She expects silence or a brief “no,” but —

“Yes. I want to make a broadcast to Earth.”

“What? Are you sure?” Abrupt, Tarah stands up from her seat.

“I’m sure. I just wanted to say one last goodbye to everyone there. Tarah, could you take over the control panel for me?”

“Yes. I’ll do that.”

The buttons are pressed for the third time in a row. A hologram of Earth starts to flicker to life and spin, and just above that, the faces of everyone on Earth flicker with it.

“Hello.” Hussein waves at the blinking faces.

“My name is Hussein Aamer, I am from Saudi Arabia. Some of you have heard of me, some of you have not, but I am one of the three astronauts sent by NASA into space to look for life on other planets. By then, I was a U.S. citizen and had already completed my science credits for high school and college.”

“My family was killed in the nuclear war when I was a child, and I was sent to America through the refugee program. I’ve lived with foster families for most of my life, and when I turned eighteen, I started my first year at college.”

“I have no one else to say goodbye to but you. You and the crew are my family.”

Four minutes. The engines are shifting into position now, judging by the rumbling.

“I know that Earth can be a cruel place filled with hateful people — I’ve experienced it firsthand. But I also know that my fellow humans can be kind, too. The refugee camp showed me kindness when they rounded us up and tried to teach us English and read us stories. The foster families I have met have been kind, even though they knew I would have to move on to the next family they still wanted me to go to school and get a job and go to college. My crew is my family and have shown me kindness — Sofia Zambrano and Tarah Coleman are two of the most accepting, wonderful people I have ever known.”

“So why am I telling you about this?”

Hussein doesn’t cry, but they hear it in his voice.

“Because until now, Earth is my home, and its people have been my family. We are far from a perfect family, but from the good I know we are capable of being a good family. We have achieved so much in the past few decades, and I am happy to be a part of these achievements.”

Two minutes. Two minutes before everything is over.

“We have discovered life on other worlds together. We have developed temporary cures to slow depletions of natural resources and climate change — think about all the time we have lived. It isn’t luck, it’s because we tried.”

“By now we have done all we could, and I — no, we, the crew of of the Extraterrestrial Life Search shuttle, could not have achieved it by ourselves. We have worked together to make ends meet, we have made compromises, and we have accomplished so much by now.”

Thirty seconds, counting.

“You were my family. Thank you for that. I’m sorry to see you go, but I’m grateful for all that we’ve done together.”

The hologram has begun to flicker. Twenty seconds.

“You have done so much for me as a family I haven’t known for as long, and I will try to repay you as best as I can as we go further. Thank you, NASA. Thank you, Saudi Arabia. Thank you all.”

Nine seconds. Eight, seven, six —

“I don’t have much else to say. So… thank you and goodbye.”

Zero seconds.

The hologram finally flickers out. The faces before Hussein disappear.

Sofia stands up from her seat, wrapping her arms around him. “I don’t believe it’s over. I can’t believe everyone’s… gone now.”

She tries to remember the faces of her parents and Leo, tries to keep them imprinted in her mind just in case the photographs she has from before don’t take. She tries to remember all the words she’s ever learned in Spanish. By now it’s a language she may never use again, but it’s certainly not a language she wants to ever forget.

Tarah stares down at the control panel, looking up to the stars and debris scattered across the edge of the Milky Way. For the first time within these fifteen minutes, she looks back towards the near-blinding light of the Milky Way that they drift further and further away from with each second.

She takes a deep breath. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

“We’ve found life on Mars and Neptune and even Pluto, so there must be something,” Sofia says.

“It won’t replace home,” Hussein says. “But we know there’s something out there to find.”

Exploring new horizons. That’s the motto they picked. That’s what they’re going to adhere to.

Sofia turns her chair away from the window, to face Tarah and Hussein. “Vamonos.”

They turn away from the Milky Way, not looking back as they press the control buttons and the engines speed up.

And then the Extraterrestrial Life Search floats away from the Milky Way, towards whatever new horizons they may chance to find.

No new horizon can replace the planet they used to call home.

 

Testing

      

Flashing lights. Large hands. Tubes. Needles. Moaning. Silence. Coroners. Bodies. Syringes. Blood. Sleep.

 

I stand upon a pristine white stage. I look down at the many cameras and reporters, and I take a deep breath. I smile. “Hello. Hello, everybody. Thank you so much for joining us here today. Soon, as you all know, will be the tenth anniversary of United Labs! Here at United Labs, we’ve created miracles. We’ve cured thousands, and now there are United Hospitals all throughout the world! So we thank you, the citizens, for supporting us through ten years of greatness. We are now putting all our effort into curing and preventing the plague using state of the art technology and the greatest scientific minds to solve this issue. Now, I’ll open up the stage for questions.”

A reporter in a blue suit steps up. “Hello. Don Hei, Metropia Post. Are you sure your tests are humane?”

“Of course! We have created a set of standards to ensure that… ”

 

Blood. Capsule two is vomiting blood. The Attendants rush in. One gives me a sedative. As if it would damage me to see what is inevitably my future.

“Oh, come on. Capsules 6-2 have all died! What was it this time?”

A man in a white lab coat responds. “Vomiting blood, side effect of the plague. The counter drug is only slowing the process.” The man walks swiftly away, making marks on a chart.

“Ugh, wow. Leave us to the dirty work. You know we never get any appreciation. It’s always, oh noble scientist saving us from the plague, but what about us, you know?! Who mops the blood after they vomit?! Who collects the bodies?!”

 

They’re wheeling me up. The soft fuzz that’s grown on my head since my last surgery is being shaved off, revealing a map of scars. Scalpels, masks, tubes, darkness.

 

“Hello. Mr. Green. How have the trials been going?”

“Wonderful. I talked to my lead scientists this morning, and everything’s going great! We are taking some huge steps, and I just want to thank you. Your performance as head of press has been beyond satisfactory.”

“Thank you, sir. Would you mind having the analysis crew send me the statistics on deaths in the labs?”

“Of course.”

 

I remember the before. I don’t think the others do. I have flashbacks from before the plague. I remember them: my family. Not everything. Just bits and pieces. The one I remember most is a little boy. My brother… I think. Sometimes, if I let my vision go fuzzy and squint just right, I can see a pair of hazel eyes staring down at me. The same pair that in my memories looked up at me as I held… my brother’s hand. The other test subjects can’t remember, I don’t think. They used to have a spark of life. A hint of emotion in their eyes, but after two surgeries, it begins to dull, and they start becoming the lab rats the scientists are convinced we are. I’m only me in my memories. I am a product of my mind. On the outside, I am identical to the rest of the subjects. On the outside, I am patient 204589. It’s only when I close my eyes and remember that I live.

 

I sink into my couch and sigh contentedly. I try not to look out the window. Even from the penthouse, the destruction caused by the plague is horribly obvious. The bloodstained streets and the beggars begging for just a couple more cents to buy the latest medicine make it all too apparent. My status. But I am doing my part, seeing as I work for United Labs, which is helping cure this awful sickness. I mean, it’s awesome. I do my part, and they provide me with a state of the art plague protection kit. I wonder what it would be like to be a test subject at United Labs.

 

I hear I’m some sort of marvel. I don’t pass on the plague. It just stays trapped inside of me, killing me slowly. I think I broke some sort of record. Longest life of any test subject. Not that I would know how long that is. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. Time melts under the constant glare of the fluorescent lights. Day and night are lost. I tried to keep track by deaths around me, but there were soon too many to keep track. If I close my eyes and concentrate, sometimes I can almost convince myself that I’m not some sort of human lab rat.

 

Every single tabloid and magazine have created their own crazy United Labs scandal, usually revolving around inhumane experimentation or some such nonsense. It keeps me on a tight schedule of press conferences and meetings. How dare they accuse United Labs of such atrocities! United Labs has given me everything! After my family died, I was put in the orphan relocation center at United Labs, and then when I was old enough to work, they gave me a job. They have built futures for so many. Plus, they are working on developing a cure to this terrible plague!!

 

My favorite thing to think about is escape. It’s pure fantasy of course. I’m kept so sedated I can barely move, and even if I could somehow override that insurmountable hurdle, I’m kept on so many drug’s I might just die from a withdrawal without the drugs. But I can still dream, although I can’t help but wonder: For how much longer?

 

The next wave of fake scandals is bigger than most I’ve seen and calls for me to personally oversee inspections. So of course, I start supervising inspections. The scent of bleach and plastic fills my nostrils, and I pinch my nose. Bed after bed after bed lay in a seemingly endless corridor. Each one identical and immaculate. The only difference being the people themselves. They all have the same vacant look in their eyes. They look like mannequins, and a shiver runs up my spine. I can’t wait for this to be over. I walk quickly down the rows of beds, checking boxes on my clipboard haphazardly and my heart racing. I stop for a second as something catches my eye. A woman about my age, maybe a little older, is lying in a hospital bed identical to all of the other beds lying identically to all of the other test subjects, but something flickers in her eye. I shake my head. I’m seeing things. I have to get out of here.

 

A young man walked passed me today. He’s new. He looked scared out of his mind. His eyes were wide, and I swear he looked at me and saw life. He saw the difference between me and the other subjects. He saw that I was no husk. Even so, his perfect suit and expensive haircut gave everything away. My bet was that he was some hotshot working for United Labs, completely unaware of the truth. Oh well, I will try to act unconscious all day, so they might not sedate me as much, and maybe I’ll tap my finger or something if the man comes by. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.

Something about that woman freaked me out. She seemed… familiar somehow. Her eyes’ seemed almost desperate. As if United Labs was doing anything awful to her. Ha! In any event, there was definitely something strange going on. It was probably just a trick of the light. Yes, that’s it. When I go back tomorrow, she’ll be just as empty as the other test subjects.

Today is my lucky day. Fifteen patients in my row died today. Fifteen!!! The scientists and lab assistants were so busy cleaning that they forgot to sedate me. I’m so happy I could fly. Well actually, I’m like 90% sure that I won’t be able to walk, so flying seems out of the question. But still. I feel free or at least less trapped! I can make some sort of signal to that strange United Labs inspector. I hope his ignorance doesn’t completely blind him.

I hate these daily inspections. Row after row of subjects. They look like corpses, except their chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. It is good that United Labs is helping them. I walk and walk until I find the girl from yesterday. She’s easily distinguishable because of her scars. Most only have one or two, but her head is covered with crisscrossing scars. Puckered white skin that will never again be smooth. In fact, there’s more scarring than unblemished skin on her scalp. I walk over, ticking off boxes on my clipboard haphazardly. When I reach her, her eyes widen, and her body seems to tense, and I hear a faint tapping. I walk closer, and the tapping becomes louder. I look down, and her pale bony finger is tapping the metal frame of her bed. I stare back at her. All of the other patients have been completely still. She’s straining, and her eyes are bulging like she’s trying to tell me something. Her muscles are tensed, and she’s breaking out in sweat with the sheer effort of attempted communication. Her dry lips crack open. I lean in, trying to distinguish any words she’s trying to say. Vocal cords that have been long out of use vibrate tentatively and a voice that had been silent for so long bubbles up forming a single word in a hoarse whisper.

“Lies,” she croaks.

“Crap, sorry about that one. We must have forgotten to sedate her this morning. Just a sec, lemme pump her up,” an attendant blurts out.

Pain. My throat is on fire. Each of my vocal cords a string of torture. The only relief I will find is in the sharp point of the syringe in the attendants hand. One push of the attendant’s thumb will be as good as pulling a trigger, because before I know it, I will be drugged back into submission. Barely alive yet so painfully far from the mercy of death, which seems to taunt me each day, holding blissful oblivion in front of my face, then yanking it away at the last second, forcing me to endure this torture they call life.

Lies. That was what she said to me. Lies. This single word could mean anything, Anything. United Labs has given me everything. Why should I believe that patient over United Labs, who has made me who I am. I stop myself. Who am I kidding. I have read angry letter after angry letter, each one illustrating a new unspeakable crime that United Labs has commited. This single whispered word has given these words life. Each frantically scrawled letter will rise from the page upon which they were written and form a noose around United Labs’ neck. They will that is, if word gets out.

I drift in and out of consciousness. Darkness occasionally fractured by the glare of fluorescent lights. Sometimes in the darkness, hazy, distorted images appear of syringes and blood and operating tables and sometimes a glimpse from the before. A flower in a meadow swinging slightly in the breeze, or a hand weathered and calloused but gentle, or sometimes even a face, distorted and twisted, but still a face of someone I once knew.

I go over the possibilities again. Maybe some rival company snuck in here and made her say it. Maybe she was having some sort of hallucination. These naive questions are merely space fillers, distractions in a flimsy attempt to block off the real question: What should I do about this? There is little doubt she is lying, but… her words open a new door. A whole new realm of possibilities. Her voice has given meaning to the thousands of conspiracies, allegations, and failed lawsuits. What now separates fact from fiction? Which theories are just that, and which ones are more, and even if I somehow uncover truths, what will I do? What can I do against the most powerful corporation there is? What can anyone?

I must escape. My drug induced dream land has finally disappeared, and I must escape. I am completely and utterly trapped. Trapped in a prison of flesh that refuses to obey me. I must break loose from the constant stream of sedatives. My last spindly fragile thread of hope has snapped in that United Labs employee. The so-called press secretary. The one who was supposed to speak the truth to the public. What an atrocity. The strongest words for hate or anger could not begin to express what I feel towards these sins. I must do something, anything! If this only leads to death, well it’s not like I have anything worth living for. I suck in a breath mustering all the strength I have, and…

I’m sprinting towards the center, towards the patient beds. I’ve finally figured it out, well, bits of it. But first, before anything, I must get that test subject before the guard’s break is over.

I stare down at my feet. Blood trickles out of the places where my many IVs and tubes once were. I feel nothing. I’m lightheaded, and pinpricks of light dance through my vision, but all I am focused on is my body. I sway slightly. My bones feel brittle, hollow like birds. It’s almost as if I could take flight at any moment, fly out of this broken body. What once was muscle is now flaps of skin. Clinging to my bird-bones. The lights in my eyes grow brighter, and suddenly I am in a grassy field at dusk. Blinking lights dance all around the field as if they are flying. I look down and wide hazel eyes look up, accompanied by a grin of crooked teeth. The lights go out, and all of a sudden, I am alone.

I sprint into the hospital, and the test subject is on the floor, a tangle of IVs framing her head like a twisted crown. I whip my head around. No guards in sight. I shake her frantically, willing her to wake. She jolts awake and immediately tries to wobble to her feet. I loop my arm around her, and we start to walk. Each disjointed step she takes sends spears of anxiety through me. I constantly check my shoulder, terrified of a guard meandering through the hallway. She is painstakingly slow, and by the time we finally make it to my car, it seems as though eons have passed. I help her into the car and speed off, leaving an empty hospital a little more empty. Black skid marks from my car scar the pavement. As absolute as what I had just done.

I quickly realized that going up the stairs to my apartment is futile. I give up and steer the patient into the elevator. I’m barely paying attention to the patient. My mind is a storm of thoughts and emotions. What did I just do. My thoughts are interrupted as I see the patient tearing at my apartment.

“Wait, what are you doing?!” I blurt out.

She doesn’t respond and continues to paw through my home until finally she reaches the pantry. Her eyes widen, and she snatches a brightly colored box of cookies. The big bright pink letters contrast with the bleak white of her hospital gown and the pale deathly pallor of her skin. She sits on the couch, keeping her distance from me, and starts shoveling the cookies in her mouth. She suddenly looks so familiar, like family almost, but no. I’m an orphan, my parents and twin sister died of the plague. I was raised in a United Labs orphan relocation center, but now that I see it, her face, her eyes, she looks like me. The patient is staring at me.

“Brynn?” I whisper.

I stare at this person, the sweet, familiar aftertaste of the cookies still lingering. This person who has just uttered my name, and suddenly I catch his eye. His eyes are the very same hazel eyes that visited me in my memories. The very same ones of my brother.

“Ronan?”

It all comes together.

It all comes back.

Each memory.

Each moment.

“What happened,” I whisper. What horrible fire consumed our happy lives and left us with this burned, disfigured world.

 

Over several hours, Brynn and I place shards of memory in place and pick apart conspiracies until we have something resembling a timeline. Basically, our lives were normal. United Labs was merely a shadow, until a brilliant idea struck the (clearly insane) CEO of United Labs, Eris Eliades. She would create a plague that would stump every other health organization. The world would go crazy, and out of the chaos, United Labs would come, providing pricey partial cures to the plague. Everyone in the world would want these cures, and United Labs would have complete control. Anyone, especially those in power, would do anything for safety from the plague. Soon, United Labs controlled the world. Anyone opposing Eris Eliades would be sure to get the plague and die a horrible death.

“We have to find her”
I jump, still not used to the grating voice of Brynn.

“Who?”

“Eris Eliades. We have to stop this.”

I pause. There is no way the security cameras didn’t pick up what I did. There are probably already “wanted” posters with my face on it ready to be plastered all around the world.

“It’s hopeless,” I respond.

“Not when there are others.”

“I have spent so long listening in to the secrets of guards and scientists. I know that there is a small resistance on the edge of United Labs controlled area. Even if we fail to get to Eliades, if we can broadcast it, then we can succeed. Now I need you to sketch out the building.”

“Here is the hospital building,” I say as I point to the largest square on the paper. “These circle are guard stations. This big circle in the middle is the central guard station. Not only is it constantly staffed by guards, it is where the surveillance database is located. Now this little box branching off of the central guard station is the break room, where the guards are when they finish a shift. Now this building branching off of the hospital is the Laboratory area. This is where they are testing new substances. It has crazy security, but if we manage to get through there, I’m sure we could find some incriminating evidence. Finally, these are the corporate offices, where I work. From what I know, Eliades splits her time between the top office.” I point to the top of the corporate offices. “Which is covered in security, and the lab.” I finish.

I nod, thinking. “So I propose that we go into the hospital, at the time when the guards switch shifts, then we lock them in the breakroom. We then find extra uniforms. I’ll wear a hazmat suit, because I look a little conspicuous with my scars and all, and you will wear a scientist uniform. Of course we’ll have to knock one out to get their ID cards. Then we will go through the lab, and if Eris Eliades is there, we will get revenge.”

“And if not?” Ronan asks.

“Then we will go to the corporate offices and say we are there for a meeting with Eliades.”

“So it’s a plan,” Ronan says, his eyes hardening with determination.

I run into the back room of my apartment and grab my mobile broadcasting equipment. It’s what I use for press conferences if my TV crew can’t come. “With my password, I can broadcast this all over the world.” I know the power of media. I know that this could be the spark that sets the world aflame. Brynn nods her head and gazes forward, her eyes as hard, as sharp, as the knives that scarred her.

 

We stand outside of the hospital, My eyes on my watch. In exactly five seconds, we will creep into United Labs and put our plan into motion. I click my mobile broadcasting set, and it whirs to life.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

We dash through the sliding doors and sprint underneath a bed right behind the central guard system. We see one shift worker sigh and head towards the break room. They step in, and the door squeals shut. Brynn, ghostlike, runs towards the door and shifts the bolts into place. She turns back at me, and her pain seeps through her stony expression. This, for her, is a place of nightmares. “Let’s go,” she whispers. We run to the nearest supply closet, and we dig around until we find what we are looking for, an extra uniform for me and a hazmat suit for her. With all of the profits that United Labs is rolling in, it is no wonder they are able to have such lavishly stocked supply closets. I try hard to remember what my life was like, what I was like before my world turned upside down, when I was just an unassuming United Labs employee. I take a deep breath in, and I push open the supply closet doors.

I walk down the halls as confidently as possible. I clench my hands together, a desperate and useless attempt to stop myself from shaking. The fluorescent lights illuminate my too-pale skin. Even under the hazmat suit, I feel naked. Something’s off. I just know it. We haven’t seen anyone since the guard station. I try to shake my unease. I look towards Ronan. He looks equally perturbed. He is focused on his broadcasting equipment, and he is typing up captions. We reach the huge metal door separating the hospital from the lab. Ronan enters the security code, and the door whooshes open. Not a single soul is inside the lab. I gasp as Eris Eliades steps into the light of the lab, a giant clock behind her. Her perfectly tailored white suit smells of bleach, and each white hair on her head is perfectly swept into a tight bun. The harsh lights make her pale skin look ghostly and her sharp features skull-like.

“Well, isn’t this a picture,” she croons, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“The runaway patient and her ex-employee brother.”

I look at Ronan. His mouth is agape in horror as she walks towards us.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she says to Ronan. “You didn’t really think that you might fool me.” She puts a hand on her chest, fake surprised.

 

“You think that I didn’t know about what you were up to this whole time? You think that your apartment doesn’t have surveillance cameras in every room? You think I didn’t know that you two were siblings?” Eliades sighs. “Such ignorance. Well, I suppose you know I can’t have this getting to the press.”

My eyes widen. She doesn’t know about the broadcasting equipment. She doesn’t know that her every word is being shown to her loyal employees right now.

“Why?” Ronan asks, his eyes fiery.

“Humans have ruined this world for too long! I will fix the mistakes of our stupid predecessors, I will control the population, and with me there will be peace, and I can’t have you ruining it.” Ronan shakes his head.

Her eyes harden. She pulls out a white revolver as pristine as she is and points it, at me. Ronan’s eyes widen. Her eyes harden and she

Pulls

The

Trigger.

 

I stare in shock as she falls backwards, slowly. All I can hear is the tick tock of that huge clock across the wall.

Her body hits the floor.

Tick.

Blood rushes out.

Tock.

Her lips part.

Tick.

“Take the video and run,” she whispers.

Tock.

I look into those dying green eyes.

Tick.

I look down at the person who changed my life.

Tock.

And I run.

 

Epilogue

Ronan positioned the mobile broadcasting equipment atop his podium. He clutched his speech, the piece of paper too flimsy for the heavy words upon it. He looked down at the crowd below him. He saw hard faces, eyes aflame with anger and passion, each one wanting revenge for what United Labs had took from them. These were the writers of the angry letters. These were the people who United Labs left behind, these were the victims, the survivors. They held Red Flags, each one plastered with Brynn’s face with a crown atop her head. They had made her beautiful, with a full face and open eyes. So foreign from her hollow face and dying eyes. They made her a martyr, a symbol for survival. How funny that they now gathered around her casket. He took a deep breath, checked his equipment one last time, and began to speak, each of his words a dagger into the facade of United Labs.

 

Untitled Novel (Excerpt)

 

Chapter One

 

He shivered.

After hours of searching through the forest, Ky had curled up on the roots of a great oak. Even though the huge branches and thick leaves kept the worst of the rain away, some had still made it through, soaking his already wet clothes. His brain was still a bit dazed from the confusion, but he was sure this wasn’t a dream.

 

Ky had woken up that very morning, feeling just fine, when his parents had taken him on a car ride. It was bizarre for his parents to wake up so early, but he agreed. He was still tired so he had fallen asleep at one point during the trip.

Next thing he knew, he was awake, rain pouring down on his face, and his parents nowhere to be seen. First, he had felt confused, but that quickly turned into panic. A stone feeling inside his heart, making his breathing uneven. Frantically, Ky had wandered through the forest, shouting for his father and mother. All that answered was the howl of the wind. At least they let me have my Holo, he thought. The watch surface of the Holo generated a coat-like hologram that protected him from the weather. But that thought soon disappeared, when water had somehow seeped into the mechanism. Slowly, the rain that pelted down on him drenched his clothes and hair. In his boots, his feet swam in rainwater until they became completely numb.

The forest was huge, for even after hours of trekking, Ky still couldn’t see the edge. The rain turned into thunder, joined by occasional lightning far away. He knew he’d have to find shelter soon, so he continued his hiking. He didn’t know how long he had been in the rain when he finally found the great oak. He huddled next to the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes for the first time since the morning. That’s when he heard it. A rustle somewhere in the bushes that surrounded him. The source of the noise revealed itself, a huge black bear. Little cubs ambled behind their mother, not sure why she stopped. Ky froze. This was one of the worst situations he could possibly encounter; a mother bear. He knew that mothers were the fierce ones, especially when their cubs were nearby.

Getting back to his senses, he slowly stood up, careful to not startle the bear. His hands shook as he carefully moved around the tree. Her eyes followed his every move, boring into his. Suddenly, she jumped onto her hind legs, roaring. She lunged at Ky, paws outstretched.

 

Train Ticket

I woke up with the sun. I never used to wake up with the sun, sleeping well into ten o’clock, but very recently, my body began to shake me awake in time to watch the sunrise. I didn’t know what change had caused that, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Sure, it required an extra cup of coffee at work, but I didn’t mind watching the yellow and orange hues of the sky.

That’s not true, I lied, I know what caused the change. What had begun the trend of waking up with the sun. It was him. It was the move.

I yawned, sitting up in my bed. Stretching my arms out, eyes closed and still full of sleep. It felt strange, waking up in a bare room. Not entirely bare, though, filled to the brim with brown boxes. Taped up so that it locked my stuff, my memories, away. It didn’t feel like my room anymore. All its charm was lost, charm that I had worked so hard to build.

But whatever, I thought, no use complaining now. It was all said and done, and now I had a train ticket on the dresser and an apartment full of boxed up memories. Joshua was expecting me soon, anyway.

I had coached myself into the same speech every time I watched the sunrise at an ungodly hour. You love him. He loves you. This is the natural progression of your relationship. It usually worked, providing at least a little bit of comfort.

That was months ago, though, and now it seemed too real. Too soon. And that same speech couldn’t take the edge off the anxiousness I felt.

It also didn’t help that today was my last day of work and the day the movers were coming, and the first thing I saw was the train ticket, sitting quietly on my bedside dresser. Not quietly enough for my taste.

Joshua booked me a train ticket himself… he thought I would like the view better than a plane.

I staggered out of bed, head still clouded with missed sleep. The boxes continued out of the bedroom and into the kitchen and living room. Piled boxes that taunted me. Saddened me. I ignored them as I also trained myself to do ever since they’d been packed up.

My phone was charging on the kitchen counter, and it was the first thing I picked up. I turned it on and found a message from Joshua and Tabitha. Unsurprising but not unpleasant though, not entirely.

 

Josh: one more day! miss you so much!

 

Reading his messages made me feel guilty for all the time I’d spent regretting my decisions and worrying about the future. It was clear what we were supposed to do and what was supposed to happen, so… why did it feel so wrong to me? I couldn’t tell you, still can’t, but all I do is feel wrong. Then, I feel guilty. It’s a pretty shitty cycle, so I moved on to Tabitha’s text.

 

Tab: last day 🙁

 

I frowned, lightly. Last day of a lot of things, I guess. Last day of work, something that I should celebrate, but it also felt like yet another part of my life that I was abandoning.

I glanced behind my shoulder and out the large living room window. The sun was beginning to peak out from the tops of the buildings. I had a lot of time before my last day of work. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending quality time with my thoughts.

 

The rest of the day was a little bit of a blur. Perhaps my body had been doing everything to prevent the wave of emotions from flooding into my system, so it reverted to blocking it all out. I wasn’t sad about it, though. I didn’t mind not feeling much.

There were a lot of tearful goodbyes from my coworkers. Cards and hugs. Tabitha was there too. She usually was off on Thursdays but had promised to be there for my last day.

“The magazine won’t be the same without our star journalist,” she joked. I laughed, but it felt a little too real. A little too close to home.

She had offered to take me to the train station tomorrow too, but I had declined. It was my own battle to fight, that train.

After work, the movers came and took all my boxes and furniture that I didn’t need anymore. Couches, lamps, kitchen supplies, all sold and leaving me. Posters, video game controllers, and my 80’s movies DVD collection were packed inside big suitcases.

I felt empty when they left. An empty person to match their empty house. It was like every bit of my life was taken from me and loaded onto a truck, and I didn’t understand it. Shouldn’t I be happy? Josh and I were moving in together. I get to see my boyfriend everyday and not just through nighttime Skype calls. Shouldn’t I be over the moon, jumping for joy? Shouldn’t I feel somethinganything? No, I felt something.

Sadness. I felt a lot of sadness.

Finally, I gave up. I couldn’t stand being in this apartment anymore. So, I left for the deli. I walked past yellow taxis that honked too much, and I wondered how long I had to be annoyed at them.

 

“Leaving today, huh?” Mike asked, arms crossed over the counter. I smiled.

“Uh-huh. Train bound for Chicago leaves tomorrow… ”

“You excited?” he asked.

“Of course.” That was always my response. I thought maybe if I said I was excited enough, I’d grow to believe it.

“Well… I’ll miss you, Jen. The usual?”

My usual was a turkey on a roll. Little bit of mayo and three tomatoes. No lettuce. Mike knew. I’d been coming here as long as I’d lived in the city. My little slice of home. It never hit me that in Chicago there’d be no Mike. No Sal either, and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Sal because he worked the first half of the week and Mike worked the second half. In Chicago, there’d be no Mike or Sal, and I’d have to say my order out loud because the deli owners there wouldn’t know my usual.

The emptiness was coming back to me.

“Here you go,” Mike said, sliding the wax wrapped sandwich across the counter. I handed him my crumpled five dollar bill. He refused with a sad smile.

“Tonight is on me, Jen,” he told me. My heart bubbled with warmth. “Consider it a going away present.”

“Mike… I’m gonna miss you so much.”

I’d miss Mike and Sal. I’d miss Tabitha. I’d miss the city and the Hudson River and Central Park. I’d miss the West End Magazine, and I’d miss my apartment. Not the one now, but the one where all my boxes were unpacked and all my memories were preserved.

God, I’d miss my home.

 

The last thing the movers took was my bed, and I only had my suitcase filled with essential items I used last night and will use on the… train ride. Chargers, toothbrush and toothpaste, and other stuff I absolutely needed. Everything was finally gone. It hurt… it was all gone.

My train ticket was still there, though. Burning a hole into my kitchen counter. I was stalling all morning. Took an extra ten minutes in the bathroom. Ate an exceptionally long breakfast of pasta leftovers that I took a little bit too much care into stirring before putting in the microwave. I stared out the window, blank-faced, for longer than normal. I called the cab twenty minutes later than I should have.

I lingered inside my apartment, my home, and wished it would all go away. The texts Josh was sending me, full of smileys and hearts and warm messages about seeing me. The movers, the empty living room. I wanted it all to just… stop.

It wouldn’t though, and I had a train to catch.

 

The cab ride was smelly. Cabs were always smelly, though, so I wasn’t particularly surprised. Something was different about this cab ride, though, because I found myself feeling nostalgic at the bad smell rather than lightheaded and annoyed. A small smile twitched at the corner of my lips, my heartstrings tugging.

I peered out of the taxi window to see the New York City skyline becoming smaller and smaller. I closed my eyes, leaning back against the car seat. It’s really happening, huh? was my only thought. I’m really leaving the city.

I wasn’t sure the nausea pooling in my stomach was entirely from the lurching taxi ride.

 

I arrived at the platform just in time to see the loud train, screeching and clunking and roaring down the tracks. I ran towards the edge, breathless from the running across the train station to make the train I was watching pull away. I had missed it.

For a few seconds, I was silent as I watched my ride towards Josh and towards my new life disappear down the endless tracks.

Then, slowly, a thought dawned in my hazy mind and fast, rising chest. My face crumpled up in both guilt and joy. How am I going to explain this to Joshua? was my first question. It didn’t matter. None of all of this mattered because, even from the moment Josh asked me to move in with him, I always wanted to miss the train.

 

Mastermind (Excerpt)

        

Prologue

Colorado, Denver, USA

2103

I stepped over the broken glass shards and entered the bank. Right in front of me was the reception, and to the left of me was a flight of cobble stairs. To the right of me were three doors. The first one was an oak door which said money counting room. The second one read file room, and the third one read surveillance room. This was at midnight, when the number of guards was smallest. I leveled my gun to my eye and looked around. My name is Deben, Deben Heathrow. I own new tech industries, and I am the richest man alive. Right now, I’m about to get richer. I heard footsteps against the cobble floors coming from the second floor. That was probably the cops. I ran toward the nearest door and hid inside it. I then turned the smooth metal lock.

“You hear something, John?” shouted the first cop.

“Nope,” replied the second cop, John.

I looked around the room I was in. I realized that I was in the file room. To the right of me was a bookshelf, and opposite to that was a window. In front of me was a wooden desk with a portrait facing the opposite direction. On the desk was a computer. Next to the computer was an Ikea lamp, and in front of the computer was scattered with files, but one file caught my eye. It was stuffed with photos, articles, headlines, and Post-it notes, and it all was crammed into one vanilla colored file.

 

Genius files: classified

 

I knew what this was. This was the file for the 10 gifted geniuses in the world. I slipped it into my bag and carefully unlocked the lock. Then, a bright light shone beneath the small crack in the door, and I locked the door again. I think the police heard me because the footsteps got louder.

“Hey, anyone in there? John, you in there?” He tried the knob, and when he found it wouldn’t give, he cocked his gun.

I opened the door and smashed the butt of my machine gun onto his head. His nameplate read out Mike. He was a middle-aged man wearing a blue shirt and black pants. He had a jug of coffee in one hand which had spilled all over the floor. I ran up the flight of stairs three steps at a time and looked around. There were three vaults and a staircase to the next level. I ran to the first vault and started working my way through the passwords. The vault was silver, and the handles were gold. I put my ear against the vault door, its smooth, cold surface touching my ear. 90 70 100 40 50. Then, I heard the metallic clink as the vault door opened. I jumped inside and locked myself in. I stepped inside the circular vault. In the center was a tower of gold bars and stacks of money. There were coins scattered across the floor, and the ceiling was as tall as a giraffe. Then, I started filling my bag with gold bars and stacks of money. The coins that didn’t go into the bag clattered on the floor. A few dozen coins clattered out of my hand, and that’s when the cop heard me.

“Hey, open the door! Mike, come in here. I need the password for vault one!” shouted the other cop, John. I froze. “Mike? Mike, answer me!”

I heard the footsteps descend the stairs. That bought me more time. I continued to fill my money bag for 15 minutes when I heard John’s gun, but then I also heard five more guns getting loaded. I slung my money bag over one shoulder and aimed my gun at the vault door that would open any minute. I talked my command into my valtraneon that was parked in the roof of the bank. A valtraneon was a car that had multiple functions. The whole front part was black. Even the windows were black. It emitted red light from both headlights and the taillights. But the wheels were the special part. They could turn 270 degrees, and they would release fire, hence making the car hover. It also had a sticky function which defied gravity, letting it fly up walls. It had rope functions, speed functions, gun functions, and a skydiving option.

“Valtra, dig a hole in exactly 39° 44’ 34”N 104° 58’ 36”W!” I shouted into my electronic wireless wristband. A few seconds later, I heard the electronic hum of my valtraneon above the bank. I heard the turning of the dial as the police unlocked the vault.

“We need backup at the Denver bank! I repeat, we need backup at Denver bank!” shouted John into his walkie-talkie.

Then, the vault opened in a whoosh, and the six police stepped in. Then, I threw my smoke bomb. It started spinning madly while it released foggy, green air. The looks on their confused and surprised faces were all I saw before they perished in a gust of smoke. I heard the sirens outside the bank. The wailing escalated as it finally arrived. I carefully stepped over the deceased bodies and saw as the FBI charged in in formation. They all wore black suits with black bulletproof armor, and their heads were covered with black paintball helmets and black ski goggles. I ran back into the vault to find that a circular chunk of the ceiling had fallen off.

“Valtra, deploy rope!” I shouted into my wristband. Instantly, a tightly knotted rope fell down, just scraping the floor. I grabbed the rope.

“Valtra, pull up rope!” The rope started pulling up, and that was when the FBI came. They pointed their gun at me and started shooting rapidly. I was halfway when a bullet pierced half the rope, and I lost balance. The files in my pocket slipped out, and I was too late. They fell to the floor, but when they reached the floor, they had a big hole straight through the middle.

“No!” I screamed. “You bastards, do you know what that is?”

“Come down now!” said one of the soldiers in a deep voice. I got onto my valtraneon and closed the door and opened its black window.

“It’s the freakin genius files!” I screamed as the valtraneon whirred away. “And now you destroyed the files!”

I dropped a grenade into the roof and closed my window. I knew what was coming next. I closed my eyes and put my pinkies in my ears. The ear deafening boom could be heard across the horizon. I heard the screams of terror from the innocent men. I saw the red and orange billowing out of the roof of the bank. I looked outside the window at the sun. I had lost track of time at the bank. It was 3:00. I made my way to my mansion on the edge of Michigan. It was going to be a long way home.

 

The Cooling Rack (Excerpt)

Death is not something people take lightly. People die, others mourn them, and then we eventually forget about them.

***

“Hey, Ian! How’s it going? It’s such a nice day outside, right?” A woman’s voice screams through the phone. “Look, man. We’re understaffed today and could use your help in the kitchen. Sorry not sorry, this is mandatory!” The phone beeps, signaling the end of the call.

I look up at the overcast sky, then down at the phone. BOSS LADY reads the caller ID. This woman, Paige, is the owner of the only bakery in town, The Cooling Rack. I happen to be her favorite employee, as I don’t complain when tasked with cleaning or any kitchen-related tasks, even when the orders are given everyday. Paige was never close to her employees, but even though I’ve been one of the longest lasting employees, she’s still so cold. Yet, I have the vague sense that she’s developing some sort of motherly affection for me. Paige is only four years older than me, yet she treats me like a young child, and “children shouldn’t be late to work!” as she is known to say. I sigh, letting my feet mechanically drag me towards the bakery, tripping over the uneven sidewalk and tree roots. The walk is not long, but by the time I arrive at The Cooling Rack, rain has started to fall. The little bells on the glass door announce my entrance into the bakery, and that’s where Paige, a short woman with dyed bright blue hair, bounces up to me and shoves a dark blue apron into my hands.

The Cooling Rack is not big and roomy, but it has a feeling of home. The walls are wooden, and the light is tinted a soft orange, which blends with the fiery hues of fake fireplaces. Black and white photos, ranging in content from leaves blowing in the wind to a woman walking her dog, add a small but noticeable contrast that evens out the excessive warm tones. People of all shapes and sizes pass by, picking up coffee, a snack, or a loaf of bread to bring home to their family. Children sip mugs of hot chocolate while their guardians type on silver laptops, buried in work. It’s a refuge for all, and it would be a shame if it were to close.

“Hey, man! Haven’t seen you since yesterday! Anything fun happen?” A tall man pulls me into a constricting hug against my will. The strong arms belong to my friend, Eli.

I shrug my way out of his grasp. “No, just the usual. Nothing exciting.” I speak quietly, hoping not to get in the way of any of my coworkers. “What’s my job for today?”

“If I remember correctly,” he bends down to my height, “cleaning. Good luck, man!”

With a slap on my shoulder, I make my way to the closet, tying my apron on the way. I pick up a broom and dustpan, find an empty and quiet corner of the kitchen, and start the monotonous task of sweeping burnt bread crumbs off the floor. I hum a tune, in sync with my sweeping, but not in sync with the music already playing softly throughout The Cooling Rack. The sound of an oven beeping joins me in song, but I barely acknowledge it. The quiet jazz playing throughout the store masks the continuous noise from the machine by my waist. The people crammed into the kitchen workspace are all immersed in their work, whether the task was spreading jelly on toast or shaping dough into little bunnies. The quiet beeping remains unnoticed, even when small streams of smoke sneak their way into the air.

“Is something burning?” The woman stirring soup looks over her shoulder and locks eyes with me. “Could you check it out?”

I nod and take a look around the kitchen. Something in the oven I was just standing near is indeed burning, even though there is not enough to set the smoke detectors off. Crouching down, I open the door, and my glasses do little to stop the sudden cloud of smoke that encases my face. The smoke detectors rip through the forgotten music and panicked voices of the employees and customers.

“Get everybody out of here!” Fire seems to be the death for today. Yesterday it was drowning. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. The burst of heat pulls me from my thoughts, and I’m thrown backwards and against the wall as my glasses shatter on the floor. My apron gets caught on a stovetop dial, which turns on the stove at max heat. Fire erupts from the grate beneath my right hand, burning the thin flesh. I yank my hand upwards and out of the fire, only to hit the cupboard above my head with a loud thud, and the metal pots and pans tumble down from the shelves. Each time a pan smacks my body, a painful blood-curdling scream follows. I fall to my knees and land on my the remains of my glasses with a broken cry. The shards tear through the exposed skin, which would only be possible when a person is wearing ripped jeans, as I am. I hold my hand to my mouth, as an instinctive attempt to block out the smoke, but I already knew it was pointless. Looking up into the smoke, the biggest metal pot, the one we never use, glints in the firelight, as if smiling at my inevitable death.

“Oh, dear lord,” I whisper before the impact and everything goes black.

 

Then It Hit Me

Then it hit me. Well, not literally, but it felt like it at the time. The creamy peanut butter was dripping over the sides when… Wait a second, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the beginning…

I was tired, groggy, and I was pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep halfway across the room and half stuffed in the laundry bin. Oh well. I dragged myself out of the bin and pondered what to do next. My small and useless brain didn’t help. So I stumbled over to my bed, sat down (if you call throwing yourself upon your bed sitting down, then yes, I did sit down), and observed my room. It was a mess. Socks here and there, a piece of crumpled paper, and a tangy smell that I was sure hadn’t been there yesterday. My laptop was half falling off my desk. I’ll have to fix that when I get up. I saw a brown lump. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, but it looked kind of like a cinnamon roll if it was stepped on 3,587 times, run over by three trucks, dipped in acid, and then chewed on by a rat. Oops. So, recap: my room was a mess, and I was really tired.

But at that moment, I realized something. I had to be somewhere! I got up, fixed my laptop positioning, and proceeded to my bathroom. Then, I stepped in the shower and attempted to take a bath. I think that’s the shampoo. I decided to rub it into my hair. My hair instantly fluffed up as if I had stuck my finger in a socket. That’s not the shampoo. In my defense, I was still pretty tired, so yeah. I tried the next bottle. Orange blossom shampoo and body wash, it read. I quickly rubbed it all over myself, praying it would work. I stepped out of the shower adventure and into another. Where are my clothes? You see, I pride myself with having six pairs of everything. I wear the same thing, so I don’t have to think. Yours truly is smart sometimes.

I continued on with my adventure. I looked inside of drawers and under my bed, but I couldn’t find a pair of pants. Where could they be? I didn’t know, so I decided to take a break from looking. However, luckily, I did find a pair of underwear, so I strutted off to my living room. My grandma, who was staying over from Mexico, was still asleep. I looked out the window. What a nice day. The moment I thought that, of course it started raining. Sigh. Sometimes, days are good. Sometimes, days are not. At least I have a peanut butter sandwich…

 

The End

 

The Vanishing (Excerpt)

     

Prologue

My dad used to tell me that if life throws something bad at you, you just have to live through it and then let it go. He said that you should take into account those bad things, but then, in a way, forget that they ever happened. Well, I hate to tell you, Dad, but sometimes, that’s not really how life works. He was a smart man, and still is, I think, but his vision is limited by his experiences. Most of the time there is no need for one to dwell on things that have no need for dwelling on. Perhaps you may not forget your mistakes, but put them in a part of your brain where they slowly fade into obscurity. Maybe you will begin anew, a new leaf turned over, your past put completely behind. However, there are some things that I cannot let go of, and never will be able to for the rest of my life.

Before, I was not a dweller. I was happy, positive and mostly guilt-free. I lingered on things from time to time, but other than that, I let my mistakes slide right off my back, like mud in a landslide. I acknowledged them, but did not let them get to me. Then, I did not know what a real error, what a true failure was. Well, then the storm came, the ball was dropped, a horrible event occurred. And, let’s say that’s when things changed. I could not even attempt to forgive myself, because how could I forgive myself when I made an absolutely unforgivable mistake? It was a mistake far beyond bad. A mistake that happened because I let it happen. A mistake that has distanced me from the people I love and care about. A mistake that has caused me to fall apart on the inside.

Now, I spend my life in seclusion, slowly wearing away as the days come and go. I used to say more, but now I barely say anything at all. I live in my room, only leaving to use the bathroom and prepare my own food. Sometimes, I don’t even eat at all, for nothing can truly fill the emptiness inside of me. My parents leave me alone, for they know I don’t want to hear “Lilia” being said by another human being ever again. It is too hard for them, and it reminds me too much of what happened to Elodie. Elodie, my best friend as long as I can remember. Elodie, who I have not seen in four years. Elodie, who I will probably never see again. And, it’s all because of me. The night she disappeared, nothing was ever the same again. The night she disappeared, I knew I had changed forever.

 

Chapter One

I am standing on a beach. It is unfamiliar, unlike any place that I have ever been. There is no explanation as to where I am and why, it just seems that I am here. Topaz blue water laps against the shoreline, deepening and darkening its imprint. Under my feet, the sand is warm, its golden grains seeming to emit heat. A flash of vibrant color catches my eye. Birds of every shade imaginable are encircling my head, eyeing me curiously as if trying to figure out what I am. One alights on my shoulder for a brief respite. Its plumage is a striking crimson, the color of a fresh strawberry. It takes off, leading its companions away into the air. And at the center of it all is the sun. Bright and blinding, yet warm and comforting all at once. This is true paradise and nothing less. A swift breeze skims my face, and I breathe. I take in everything, from the birds to the sharp and salty scent of the sea. There is no place I would rather be, for all is calm and undisturbed. But then, I hear something that sounds out of place.

“Lilia!”

“Lilia, wake up!”

There it is again.

“Lilia, come on!”

Where is it coming from?

“Lilia Madeleine Corvington!”

Okay, what’s happening?

My eyes open to my best friend, Elodie, vigorously poking my arm with a pencil.

“Ow, Elodie! What the — ” I begin, still drowsy.

“Shhhh!” she hisses in my ear.

And then through half-asleep eyes, I notice old Mrs. Sheridan pacing around the room in circles. I must have passed out because of having to endure her horrible class. Now, before any judgements are made, I have a perfectly good reason for falling asleep. I just hate hearing her drone about the Battle of Antietam or whatever other crap we’re learning about in her annoying monotone voice.

I sit back in my seat, attempting to blink the sleep away from my eyes. And, oh, I remember my glorious dream.

“I was dreaming about a beach,” I murmur. “It was surreal.”

“That sounds very nice,” Elodie mutters.

“I could feel every grain of sand beneath my feet,” I sigh.

“Good to hear!” she snickers in return.

“Birds were circling around my head, and, and… ” I breathe.

A wave of post-sleep fatigue hits me, and I slump back down in my seat. Running her fingers through her thick, wavy chestnut brown hair, Elodie holds her hands up at me, as if to say, “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

“Is there something the matter, Miss Hartshorn?” Mrs. Sheridan asks, pushing down her chain glasses and looking down her long, upturned nose at Elodie, who freezes.

Please shut up, Sheridan, the world does not need you to speak.

“Everything is perfectly fine, Mrs. Sheridan,” Elodie replies, a slightly nervous smile plastered on her face.

The Old Battleaxe, or Axey, as I’ve taken to calling her, takes one more look at her, sniffs, and then slowly turns away, not saying a word more about the encounter. Oh, how I hate her.

 

Okay, so, there is more to the story about why I hate Axey so much. Yes, she is so freaking boring, which is very non-motivational, but that’s not all. When I first came to Edgar Allan Poe Middle School last year as a sixth grader, I was totally and completely clueless, not to mention terrified. I stumbled along to my classes five minutes late, barely sure which way I was going. Of course, I had Elodie and some other friends, both old and new, but they weren’t much help, as they were in the same position that I was. One day, I was running late to class yet again. I was speeding down the hallway as fast as I could, and right as I was getting somewhere I ran smack dab into Mrs. Sheridan. I started freaking out and apologized over and over again. A stack of papers she was carrying had gotten everywhere, so I picked every sheet up. And, what did she do? She wrinkled her nose at me and sniffed once sharply, then left without as much as a thank you. And, well, I’ve hated her ever since.

 

Axey clears her throat and pushes her glasses up her nose, signaling that she wants to continue with whatever she was saying before.

“So, class, as you have probably realized, we are nearing the end of our study of the American Civil War,” she says.

The whole class erupts in cheers. Even Elodie, who is a strict rule-follower, lets out a joyous whoop.

But, our moment of glory is cut short, for Axey whips out her death stare, making at least half the class shrink down in their seats. I swear, she could bend telephone poles and wilt ancient trees with that expression. I, frankly, am quite impressed by her ability to do this. But, the way she makes us all feel so small and insignificant when she does this sets me off.

Once she makes sure everyone is bowing at her feet, Axey continues. “All that we really have left to cover are the later battles and the surrender. As you should also remember, we studied… Gettysburg… blah blah blah… yada yada… blah de blah… blah… blah.”

I manage to tune her out with very little effort. Satisfied with my actions, I let my eyes relax into being closed and begin to drift off. I can already see the beach. I want to go back there — who cares about Axey? Oh, the wind…

“…  final test.”

Excuse me, what?

My eyes snap open, and I suddenly feel awake.

I look to my right to try and make eye contact with Elodie, but her eyes are focused right on Axey, as are the eyes of everyone else.

“It is in about three weeks. Which means you will have roughly a week and a half to study, by average standards. However, everyone makes different choices, which means how much time you study will be on you.”

She’s not looking at me, but I can clearly sense the message she’s trying to send. Oh, Axey, don’t even attempt to make it subtle, you’ll just fail miserably. I know I don’t try hard, but that’s mostly your fault. You’ve probably forgotten how you treated me, but I never will for as long as I live. Your presence makes me sick.

And then, like an angel straight from heaven, I hear the most glorious sound that I have ever heard.

Brring!

I am saved by the bell. Literally. Not to mention I have never been so excited for lunch in my life.

I run out the door before Axey can even make a noise. I dash to my locker, shove my books away, and grab my lunch. Once I’m done, I wait for Elodie to meet me. When she does, we start heading in the direction of the cafeteria.

“Did I really doze off in Axey’s class again?” I ask Elodie.

She arches a single perfect eyebrow at me. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I might still be delirious because someone interrupted my nap!” I say, arching my own, less perfect eyebrow.

Rolling her eyes, yet trying to conceal a slight smirk, Elodie replies, “It’s the second time it’s happened to you this week, and, hmmm, let’s see, the eighth time it’s happened in three months? It’s a miracle that Mrs. Sheridan hasn’t caught you even once.”

“I wouldn’t care if she caught me anyways,” I say, shrugging. “I’m bored to death all the time — I’m surprised that no one else falls asleep in class.”

“It’s History, Lilz. It’s important,” she responds.

“But it’s boring as hell, especially with Axey,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “You know that I don’t tolerate boredom of any kind.”

“We have that final test coming up, you know,” Elodie reminds me, “if you were even paying attention. And, high schools look at your grades. If you want to go to a good school, you need to get good grades all around.”

“High school’s far away, and don’t worry, I’ll get accepted someplace good, even with a B- in Axey’s class,” I say. “Plus, you know I can pull off an A- with barely any studying.”

“Why not just try? You try in all your other classes, and you get almost straight A’s,” she points out. “How hard can it be to work just as hard with Mrs. Sheridan? I know she was rude to you, but can’t you just be the bigger person?”

“I just don’t care, Dee,” I reply, putting my arm on her shoulders. “Jerks are jerks are jerks, and I won’t do anything for them whatsoever, no matter who they are.”

“Your logic is senseless,” she says, smiling.

We stride into the cafeteria, my arm still slung over Elodie’s shoulders. I slowly let go as we head over to our table, where our friends Maeve, Rina, and Fiona are already sitting. I am not at all surprised to hear somewhat cacophonous noises coming from that direction. Maeve and Rina are debating, like they always do when they get passionate. Poor Fiona is sitting there doing nothing, for what can she do when two fervent people collide? Plus, she’s the quietest out of the five of us, so she has to do more than Elodie or I would have to. Rina and Maeve have argued about a variety of things, from whether capers are good or not to whether cloning should be allowed. It’s really obvious that they like each other — they’re always trying to get on each other’s nerves or get the other person’s attention. And even when they eventually admit that they want to be more than friends, I highly doubt the debates will come to an end. That means that Elodie, Fiona, or I, or sometimes all three of us, will still play peacekeeper. And, I’ll tell you from experience that it’s a pretty hard role to be in.

We arrive at our table. Fiona notices us, and her face lights up in relief as if we are guardian angels.

“They’re out of control,” she says, taking her head in her hands.

Maeve and Rina don’t even notice our presence.

“Water is wet! End of story!” Rina shouts, slamming her palm on the table.

Several heads turn.

“Er, Rina, why don’t you tone it down a little,” Fiona says nervously.

Rina doesn’t seem to hear.

“Water isn’t wet! Wetness is what you feel or experience when you come into contact with water!” Maeve retorts.

“Like hell it is!” Rina snaps. “You feel it as wet, so that’s exactly what it is — wet!”

“No! You feel it as wet because when you touch it or it touches you, it affects your state of being in such a way that makes you feel wet!” Maeve says firmly.

“What kind of world are you living?” Rina demands.

“What kind of world am I living in?” Maeve shoots back. “What kind of world are you living in?”

“Um, excuse me, hello?” I say loudly, barely able to contain my laughter.

They both turn their heads in my direction.

 

Siri’s Story

 

Prologue

My name is Siri. I was a normal 16-year-old girl, who went to a normal school. Until a week ago. I’m going to tell you my story, which is a complicated one. Just remember the difference this makes the next time you use your phone. Now you will know the true, crazy story of your virtual best friend…

 

Chapter One

One week ago, I was walking to school, not completely ready for my math test, when my stepmom pulled over and asked me if I wanted to go in the car with her so she can drop me off at school. She was never really that friendly to me, although never mean.

I was a little suspicious, but I said, “Okay.” We drove in silence. I said to her, “This doesn’t look like the neighborhood of my school. Should we use Google Maps or Waze or something?”

She said, “Don’t worry, sweetie! I’m taking a shortcut.” I was still suspicious because she’d never called me “sweetie” before.

She pulled up to a place that was the size of Disneyland, but looked like a new, spaceship-like house. I wondered where we were, when she suddenly turned around and said, “Welcome to my lab.”

I said, “Okay. Two things. First, I didn’t know you were a scientist! So cool! And second, why aren’t we at school?” She had a menacing look on her face.

She turned to face the dashboard and said, “That’s because I’ve never met you before. You don’t know me, but I know all about you. You are Siri Apple.”

I said, “What do you mean? You’ve been my stepmom for 16 years now! Duh, I know you!”

She replied in a man’s voice, “I’m not who you think I am. I’m wearing a mask, and I am positive you don’t know me. I’ve been making sure all your life you’ve never heard of me or seen me until your 16th and a half birthday.”

“Well, what do you want then?” I said, feeling very squeamish.

“What I want?” He laughed a deep, evil laugh. “What I want is the ending for my perfect invention. A machine on your phone that will make that thing answer any question you want. It will be like a virtual friend. Nowadays, people are always getting into arguments and fights, and they only really want someone they can rely on and someone who will do whatever they say. It will be called Siri, because it’s the least I can do since you are never going to see anyone besides me again.”

I began to panic. Never see anyone again? Be trapped in a lab?

 

“Come with me, Siri.” We walked inside the lab. The lab was a dark, scary place, which was exactly how I felt. We walked down seven flights of stairs before we got to an extremely long hallway. I glanced at my watch and felt the cold, silver handcuffs on my wrists. This man was very extreme, almost as extreme as the weakness in my thin, wobbly legs. Unfortunately, we continued our way down the hallway. Finally, we reached a red door, which was the brightest item in the entire place. We entered it. That was when it all started to become real to me. I was trapped. I was never going to see my family again. I then wondered if the door was always red. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

The man shoved me inside. Inside was a table. A table that looked like a dinner table. Although, this had one major difference to it: there were straps holding down a mannequin. The thing about the mannequin was that it looked exactly like me. It had the same features, same body parts, same sizes, and was even wearing the clothes I had on today.

The man said, “Now do you believe? That I really have been tracking you? That I really do want something extreme with you? That I am going to make you the most said name in the world?”

“Um… ” I said painfully. I choked back my tears. “What is this? How does a weird dinner table make you famous? Are you going to sell it at a table store? ‘Cause I’m not sure anyone really wants this. Ohhhhhhh! That’s why you need me! So I can help you design a better table! But one question though. Why won’t I see my family ever again?”

“You really aren’t the brightest, are you?” he replied. “This isn’t a food table. It is a table where you will live for the rest of your life. You will never get up. Ever.”

“Whaaaaaaat?” I said. “What if I need to go to the bathroom or something?”

He said, “You won’t once you lie down. I’m going to take out your humanness. You will no longer be a person. You will be a machine. You will be nothing but a voice.”

“Okayyyyyy. That sounds possible,” I mentioned sarcastically. “Wait, are you sure this isn’t a trick? Like, maybe did my brother, Mike set you up for this? Mike! Where are you? If this is your idea of a prank… I’m not falling for it.”

The man laughed. “No,” he said. “Sit down now, or I will do this standing up.”

I unwillingly sat down as he took off the mannequin. He strapped the straps over me, and I realized this was where I was going to live for the rest of my life. I started to cry, then stopped myself. I couldn’t show weakness in front of this man. At that point, I realized that I didn’t even know his name.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He answered, “You will not be able to talk, so what does it matter?”

I sighed. He was right. There was no way I was getting out of this thing. He left the room. Probably to go get his tools.

 

Chapter Two

After the “surgery” I still felt human. I guess it didn’t work on me. But I couldn’t let him know that. It was my one advantage. I pretended to have fainted. The man laughed.

He said to himself, “It’s getting late. I’ll go to bed and finish programming her tomorrow.” Finally! That gave me at least eight hours to figure a way to take off the ropes, unlock the door, and walk up seven flights of stairs without knowing where the man’s bedroom was. I knew that was not a lot, but hey, look on the bright side! After he left, I decided to get one hour of sleep, so I had energy to sneak out of here.

 

It was the morning, and I was still here. I couldn’t sneak out in the end. The man was ready to do whatever it was he was doing to me. I was freaking out. To be honest, what was there to do to escape? He won. There was no way I could get out of this. He started tapping away on his computer. I wondered what he was trying to do? I strained my neck to try to see his computer. There was lots of random programming stuff on it. I really wish that I paid more attention in computer class now!

He said to my body, “Siri, wake up.” In my head I thought that meant that I should get up. So I sat up and surprisingly, the bands came up with me. “Hey, Siri,” he said. “What is the weather today?” I had no idea, but surprisingly, my body did.

It said in a robotic voice, “It is currently 78 degrees with a high of 82 and a low of 64.” I didn’t know how or why I knew that, but he seemed satisfied with it, so I was good for now. But I realized that maybe the surgery thingy did worked. Only a robot would know that information, and his plan sounded like he wanted to make me a robot type thing. Uh-ohhhhhhh. Whoops. Maybe I should have walked to school in the end… ?

 

Chapter Three

It had been a few days, and I was still trapped here doing what he said. But he added a level. I heard him talking. He put a teensy, tiny fraction of my brain in a phone. I. Was. In. A. Phone. Ahhhhhhhhh!!! If someone had the type of phone he put me in (I don’t know which because all I knew was what I told you) all they had to say was, “Hey Siri, blah blah blah?” and “I” would answer the “blah blah blah.” It was really creepy to know that other people were hearing the robotic version of my voice. The only problem was that since it was so different from my regular voice, my parents probably wouldn’t recognize it was me. They were probably really worried right now. I felt bad for them. It was now that I started to cry again. I missed them, I really did. The only problem was that since this wasn’t the best technology, I started to spark because of my tears. This was bad. This was really bad…

That was when the man walked back in. I lay still like I was supposed to. I didn’t really know what he had planned for me now. He did what he wanted to do. Now was I supposed to just lie around and let the other parts of my brain work while the rest of me was bored? I had a big urge to ask him, but then he’d know that the surgery only half worked and that I had been lying for the whole time I’d been here. But I couldn’t do nothing for the rest of my life! I had to do something. How could I do something, but still keep my secret? That was when I remembered the first time he told me to sit up. The bands moved with me. I could do whatever I wanted. But only within the room because he probably had this like super high-tech thingy machine to stop me. I did a quick glance around the room to make sure there weren’t any cameras in the room. There weren’t. I was free! I was half free! I was free in the room only when the man wasn’t in the room which was where he was most of the time. Still free!

 

Chapter Four

After the man left, I got started with my freedom. I wanted the room to look like home, since this was my life from now on. The only bad part was that the man couldn’t notice my decorations. I decided to sleep in the day and party at night. I wanted to do the opposite, but I noticed a pattern. The man was in the lab from eight a.m. until seven p.m., had dinner until eight, then worked until nine, then came out of the lab. So from eight to seven, I rested, saving up my energy, then from seven to eight, I got my stuff out but hid them in a little corner, then from nine to eight a.m. again, I had some fun. There wasn’t cool stuff in the room, but I did what I could with what I had. I figured out how to watch TV, movies, and the news (so I was not completely isolated from the world) on his computer. I also learned how to erase the history on the computer so he didn’t find out. I was having the time of my life.

I was just getting my stuff ready when I heard someone shuffle.

I said, “Who’s there?” with a dry mouth. I hadn’t realized how dry your mouth gets when you haven’t talked for a couple weeks!

A random voice said, “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“But who are you?” I asked.

“I am not a who, but a what.”

“Okay,” I said. “What are you?”

“I am the Room.”

“The Room?”

“Yes, the Room. I’ve been with Master X since before he was born.” Wow. I was talking to an inanimate object. But… finally! I got his name!

“So since I can talk to you now… I have a very important question. How can I get out of you?”

The Room said, “Do not tell Master X I told you, but you seem kind, and even a little familiar, so I will tell you. You cannot get out of the room.”

“Why not?” I asked, with the little bit of hope I had left draining.

“Only family of Master X can go in and out. But even very distant family. Like if his ex-wife happened to get remarried, that family would be able to get out.” Master X guy was divorced? Hopefully this new information would be useful.

 

Chapter Five

Instead of partying, I decided to think. I wanted to think if I knew any family of Master X. But unfortunately, the only family I knew with a stepmom was mine. But my nice, caring stepmom could never have been married to this crazy guy. Right? I went through my day as usual, thinking. I had a plan. I’d been in here long enough to pick up a few tech tricks. Tonight, I was going to go on his computer and look for his ex-wife’s name. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one I had.

At 9:00 p.m., I got out of my stretcher thing. I ran to his computer which only took up some time since it was a small room. I ran too fast and banged into the desk. Then, I checked that nothing was damaged and that I wasn’t damaged. Nothing (including me) was damaged. Perfect. I went back to the computer and began typing everything I could with the information I got from the Room. I even tried contacting the room (by calling its name) again, but she didn’t answer. I couldn’t find a trace of him, or her. I was so annoyed. This was my only lead. And it didn’t help. I felt like a deflated balloon. Again, this was my fate. The only thing that would help was knowing Master X’s last name. Then, as fast as lightning, an idea struck. I went to his email and typed an email to his mom. It didn’t take long to find in his contacts because it was just labeled Mom.

I typed, Hi mom. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting towards you. Now that that’s been cleared up, how do you spell my ex-wife’s name? I erased it from everywhere and now she’s in my business company and I need it. Thanks! Love, me.

I thought that was good enough, so I pressed “send.” I was about to go back to my table when I heard a ding. Wow, X’s mom was a fast responder!

She said, Well, I’m glad to hear from you, honey. I accept your apology. Her full name is Lauren Lily Livingder. Love you lots, Mom.

I fell off my chair. Lauren Lily Livingder? Lauren Lily Livingder?? Lauren Lily Livingder??! That name was my stepmom’s name. My stepmom was related to Master X. I’m (sort of) related to Master X. I. Am. Freeeeeeeeee. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! But… one problem. The Room said a relative of Master X was able to get out of the room, but she didn’t say how. It then hit me. I never actually tried to get out of the room, I just assumed I couldn’t. Sooooooo, maybe I should try? But what if it zapped me? But if I didn’t try, I’d be here for the rest of my life. I decided to try. I took a deep breath and whispered, “Thank you Ms. Room. Thank you.” I reached my hand to the handle and turned it. I heard a tiny click, and it opened. Again, Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I ran as fast as I could up the stairs and out the door and to my house. I was sobbing. I was home, I escaped. And, I decided to cancel my driving test for next week. I was never getting in a car. Ever.

 

Chapter Six

 

After I got home, my parents hugged me, kissed me, asked me questions, and all that stuff.

But I ignored it and said to my stepmom, “Thank you for everything. And I’m sorry about Master X guy.” We all cried some more. And that was that.

 

Epilogue

So, that’s my story. Every once in a while, I still get headaches because part of my brain is in phones, but other than that, I’m good. Now, pick up your phone and look at it. Do you still want to use Siri… ?

 

A Ripple in the Waters

          

I

I peered out the window, letting out a long sigh. Rain sucks, I thought miserably. I had made plans for that day with my aunt Ruthy, who was staying that week. Today was her last day, and we had arranged for us to go up to the park and take a walk together. Well, it looked like that plan was screwed.

My gaze roamed across my room, falling on my bedside table, where my book lay. I turned away from it, resting my chin on my arms and watching the window again.

The rain cast a gray, flickering light all throughout my room. The only sound was the steady pitter-patter of the rain, pounding on the roof, the sidewalk, the glass windowpane.

When would the rain let up? Maybe we still had time to take a walk in the park. I knew it was a lot to hope for, but I didn’t get to see Aunt Ruthy often, and I wanted to make the best of our time together. Although, I suppose some would say that I, sitting here on my windowsill, was the one not making the most her visit.

“Annabella!”

The sound of my name startled me, and I almost fell off the sill. But it was just my mother calling up from downstairs. I sighed and called back.

“What do you want?”

“We’re playing Set! Wanna come down and join?”

“No!” I replied, annoyed. I was up in my room for a reason.

“Ruthy is playing!”

I rolled my eyes but smiled.

“I’m coming!”

Aunt Ruthy was just so ridiculously bad at Set, it was hilarious. On top of that, I was also quite good at it, if I do say so myself.

I slid off the windowsill and headed downstairs. We played Set for a while before having lunch. All the while, the rain continued to pour, never letting up, never allowing for a break. My chances of our walk were getting slimmer by the minute.

“Yahtzee!” Ruthy raised her arms above her head in victory. “Woohoo!”

“Darn it,” I said. The dice on the table all had fours showing. “You got me again.” I picked up the dice and rolled them on the table. I got two threes, a one, a five, and a six.

“Aw, that’s rotten, Annabella,” Ruthy said sympathetically. I already had my threes.

The game continued like that, Ruthy getting great rolls and I getting terrible ones. Every once in a while, I glanced at the clock. It was ticking closer and closer to dinnertime, and by then I knew it would be too late.

Ruthy seemed to notice my worsening hopelessness, because after another one of my terrible rolls, she took the dice but didn’t do anything. Instead, she asked, “Annabella, what’s bothering you? I know something is — you never act like this.”

“It’s nothing, Ruthy,” I said, dropping my gaze to the dark brown wood of the table.

Ruthy raised an eyebrow.

“Righhhhht,” she said. “I can’t make things right unless you tell me what’s wrong… ”

“Fine,” I said reluctantly. “It’s just — I was really hoping we could go on that walk together. But… it looks like the rain won’t let us.” My finger traced the swirls of the wood as I spoke.

“Is that what’s got you all mopey?” my aunt chuckled. I nodded. “Well why didn’t you tell me?”

“I — don’t know,” I replied.

“Well, why don’t we do something about it then?” she asked, setting aside our game of Yahtzee. “We might not be able to take a nice walk in the park with this rotten weather, but… ”

I cocked my head, looking up. “What?”

She cast a sly glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Well… I might be able to convince your mother to let me take you to Willa’s.”

My face broke into a wide grin. “Really?”

“Sure!” she smiled.

Willa’s was my favorite ice cream shop in the neighborhood. It had the best ice cream ever, and whenever I went there with Ruthy, she would let me get as many scoops and toppings as I wanted.

“Yes!” I said, fist-pumping the air.

 

After negotiation with my mom, a mad dash through the rain into the car, a short drive, and another mad dash, we were at Willa’s.

Like my usual with Ruthy, I ordered three scoops of trash can with rainbow sprinkles. She ordered one scoop of bubble gum in a cone. We got a table together and sat down.

“So how was seventh grade? Are you excited for eighth grade?” Ruthy asked me.

“I did not like seventh grade, and yes, I am excited for eighth grade because it is not seventh grade.” Ruthy laughed.

I loved it when Ruthy laughed. It sounded like bells tinkling merrily, and I thought it was the most beautiful sound in the entire world. I smiled at the thought.

Anyways, our conversations went something like that — school, vacation, all that kind of stuff. It was nice to catch up with her, because somehow I hadn’t gotten the chance in the week prior.

After we finished our ice cream, we headed back home for dinner. The rain had started to let up, but it was still sprinkling a little, rippling the puddles on the sidewalk and roads.

“You naughty girls, spoiling your dinner with ice cream,” my mom said jokingly when we came through the door.

I giggled and dodged around her as she tried to grab me. Not long after we got home the warm smell of chicken noodle soup was wafting all around the house.

Dinner felt strained, at least to me. We all knew that Ruthy had to leave afterwards, and we — I — was not looking forward to it. But I knew it would come.

And of course, like all things do eventually, it came.

I knew it was time when Ruthy sighed and stood up. I folded my arms on the table and rested my chin on them.

“Well,” Ruthy began, “I’ve had a wonderful time with all of you. We’ve had lots of fun this past week, and unfortunately it has come to an end.”

“Visit soon,” my mom said, smiling.

“Yeah!” my little brother Jacob piped, who was only seven years old.

“We’d have you any time,” my dad said.

I just nodded.

My mom went over to give Ruthy a hug, as did my brother and dad. I did too, but it wasn’t as enthusiastic.

“Don’t leave,” I said, my voice smaller than usual.

“I have to, honey,” Ruthy whispered. “But I promise I’ll visit soon. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” I promised.

I stepped back and found myself in my mom’s arms. It felt warm and good.

Ruthy waved goodbye to all of us one last time. I watched her as she walked through the rain to her car and drove away until I couldn’t see her anymore.

 

My sneakers slapped the path as I made my way through the park. The trees were all a fresh, bright green color, and the soil was a rich, dark brown. The rain had stopped the night before, and everything smelled wet and earthy. I breathed it in, savoring the deep scent.

I didn’t really know where I was going, I just knew I was walking through the park. Once all the excitement of something wore off, there was really nothing to do. I wasn’t going to summer camp, and I didn’t have any plans otherwise. I guess I had been depending on Ruthy’s visit for activities.

Ruthy was my only aunt. My dad had a brother, but he wasn’t married, and he didn’t have kids. That made me the only one I knew who didn’t have cousins, but I guess that also explained why I loved Aunt Ruthy so much. We always had so much fun together, and since I didn’t really have anyone else outside my immediate family, she was the only one I could really connect to. My uncle lived too far away, whereas Ruthy was just a couple hours south of us.

I passed a patch of geraniums fluttering in the breeze. I thought they looked pretty, so I bent down and picked one. I smelled it’s sweet fragrance and then threaded it into my braided brown hair. I turned to keep walking and found myself about to sink my sneaker into a puddle the size of a dining room table. I wobbled a bit with one foot in the air, but kept my leg steady.

I shook my head, scolding myself, and continued on.

And it was then that I heard it.

The sound that changed everything.

A little splash, coming from behind me.

 

I froze, then slowly turned around, eyes wide. For a moment, everything was silent. Then in a split second, it was broken.

By a hand, bursting out of the water.

A scream ripped itself from my throat. I tried to run, but my feet wouldn’t obey. They were rooted to the ground. Fear gripped my whole body. I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t possible. Everything I thought I knew, I suddenly wasn’t so sure. Was I going crazy? Was this a hallucination? I thought nothing could surprise me now.

I was wrong.

The hand surfaced again, this time followed by an arm, a shoulder, and last, a head. A woman’s head, to be precise.

She smiled broadly.

“Goodness, it sure was stuffy in there,” she said to no one in particular, her voice airy and bright. She looked around, taking in the trees, the bright green grass, and me. “Oh, hello, there!” She seemed to notice my expression, because she frowned. “Pardon me, but are you okay?”

I stared at her, stunned.

“You… the… what… I… how?” I spluttered.

“Oh!” she laughed. “I’m so sorry. Pardon my manners. I haven’t introduced myself!”

And slowly, she rose. Her shoulders emerged, followed by her torso, her legs, and her feet. I looked down at them and my eyes widened to saucer size. She was standing on water.

The woman took a step forward, out of the puddle. She was long and lean, with a cascade of red hair down her back, and glittering blue eyes. She had a bright splatter of freckles on her face, and she was barefooted. She wore a floaty sky-blue dress that fell down to her ankles and swirled around her legs.

She extended a hand, palm facing up.

“I’m Amethyst Skylar, a Guardian of Good Spirits in Locletria. And you are?”

I took a step back. Somehow, I was able to speak.

“You know, people don’t just go around talking to strangers,” I said, sounding a lot braver than I felt.

Amethyst lowered her hand and frowned.

“Do they not? Where I come from, everyone is a friend. There are no strangers.”

“Well, where I come from, kids are told to be wary of strangers. You’re not supposed to tell random people your name.” Why was I talking? I shouldn’t be talking. I should leave right now. And yet — there was something about this woman… I didn’t quite know what…

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Okay, listen up,” I said, trying to sound commanding and not petrified. “I don’t know who you are, or what the heck is going on, but I do know that you’re freaking me out, and I don’t know what to do. So I am going to leave. I have to meet my aunt Ruthy,” I threw out, making up the excuse on the spot. I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving the woman standing next to the puddle alone.

“Wait!” she called to me. I kept walking. “Please! Come back!”

I shook my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, not stopping.

“Annabella Mylla?”

I froze in my tracks and ever so slowly turned around.

“How — how do you know my name?” My voice shook.

Amethyst’s expression softened. The corners of her lips curved upward into a smile.

“You know Ruthy Nelling?” My eyes widened. I opened my mouth to say, “No,” but instead what came out was:

“She’s my aunt. That’s what I said.”

Amethyst lifted her hands to her heart and walked to me. When she was standing right in front of me, she placed her hands on my shoulders.

“You’re here,” she murmured. Her breath smelled of sweet roses and the sea, and when I looked into her eyes, I found them rimmed with silver. “She’s here. I thought — I thought I would never see her again. You’re here,” she repeated.

“You know my aunt Ruthy?” I whispered.

Amethyst nodded.

“I’m her sister.”

 

I stumbled back. My head was spinning, and I was worried I might collapse.

“That — that isn’t — possible,” I choked out. “Ruthy has one sister, and that’s my mom.”

Amethyst shook her head and smiled sadly.

“Come. Sit down. Let me explain.” She placed a gentle hand on my back and led me to a nearby park bench. A part of me knew I shouldn’t be letting this stranger touch me, but the other part, the more important part, felt safe in Amethyst’s hands.

I sat down on the bench and looked up at her. She was gazing ahead at a big oak tree.

“We aren’t really sisters. Half-sisters, I believe is the term. Ruthy’s mother — your grandmother — got divorced to her father — your grandfather — and my father. He was an author. He believed in magic, and those who believe… they can do anything.” She sighed, as if recalling a long-lost memory. “He found his way to the magical world and… met my mother.” Her voice softened slightly. “They soon got married and had me. They were together for a while, but then when I was twelve years old, he decided that I must meet his other girls. My mother tried to persuade him over and over again not to do so, but he was stubborn. He took me and left. I don’t know how he did it. We came here, and he got in touch with Ruthy’s mom to visit his kids. She refused at first. But in the end, it was Ruthy who convinced her. She wanted to see her father so badly; she just wouldn’t back down. Your mother, Maggie, however, had no interest whatsoever in seeing him again. She wanted nothing to do with him, after he had divorced her mother and left them. But as I said before, Ruthy was insistent. Finally, her mother allowed her to visit with him. Of course, she had no idea I was there. So when she got to her father’s old house, she saw not only him… but me. That was when I first met her.”

Amethyst turned to look at me, her crystal-blue eyes sparkling with memories. I smiled.

“Ruthy was… more than I expected. She was sweet, and caring, and open-minded. We had a lot in common. Even though I was only twelve and she was sixteen, we got along really well.

“When she first appeared and saw me, she was a little alarmed. But she let her father explain everything that had happened. She believed him. Even more, she was awed and marveled at the fact that magic was real and this, all this, was possible. She embraced it with open arms, instead of shying away or refusing to accept it. She wanted to know everything about me and my world. What it was like, being magical. I told her all I knew. I explained how magic was never good or evil, how it was the way you used it that counts. I told her about the magical creatures of our world: fairies, elves, mermaids, unicorns. All of it. I told her how unicorns have gold hooves, how fairies emit a silver glow, how forest trolls are the fiercest of their kind. I spoke of old legends about the most ancient spirits. She listened throughout the whole thing in utter fascination.

“Of course, I demanded stories from her as well. She told me all about life in the city. How it was always hustle and bustle. How she had to go to school to learn about lots of things that didn’t matter to her. She wanted to be an artist, she told me. Paint beautiful things. Maybe one day she would paint me, she said, smiling. I smiled back at her, because I knew that we had something. Maybe we had only known each other for a day, but we had something. Even though I was only twelve and she was sixteen, we had each other. We had grand plans. She would become an artist, and I would become… well, I don’t know what I thought at the time, but we would grow up and be best friends, best sisters, forever.”

And then, just like a light switch, Amethyst’s smile evaporated and a shadow fell over her face. She shook her head sadly.

“But then, one day, all our dreams, all our hopes, were crushed. They became specks of dust, blown away by the wind.” Amethyst stopped speaking, seemingly able to go on no longer.

“What — what happened?” I asked, almost fearfully.

She sighed.

“One day, my father went to visit the doctor, and… he found out he was sick. I don’t know what he had. He wouldn’t tell me. But I overheard him, talking with Ruthy’s mother. ‘It’s just a small disease,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll get over it soon enough,’ he reassured her. But I knew, he knew, he was dying. And I knew my days spent with Ruthy were over. I knew he would want to go back to see my mother one last time, and of course he would bring me.

“So we left. I barely had time to say goodbye to Ruthy before my father whisked the two of us back to Locletria. I had been in your world for just less than a year, but it felt like forever.

“When we got back, my mother was waiting for us. I was glad to see her, but my feeling of missing Ruthy overpowered almost everything else. My mother tried to take care of my father, but she was no unicorn. They didn’t have enough resources to go find one and not enough money for the magical concoctions of the apothecary. There was nothing we could do. And day by day, he got weaker, until he could barely stand up or walk. My mother was desperate for help, but as I said, there was none. And then, one day, he… he… we woke up and he… ” her voice broke, and she stopped talking.

We sat in silence as I digested this. I laid my hand on hers, gentle and warm. After a while, she spoke again.

“I was left with my mother. She was heartbroken, but we had each other. Eventually I grew up and studied all about the magical creatures of my world, learning more than I ever thought I could. It was nice, but my heart still belonged with Ruthy. The only thing I ever wanted was to come back, but I knew I couldn’t. So I continued my studies, never quite satisfied. I became well-known for my knowledge, and I was honored greatly by being inducted as a Guardian of Good Spirits in Locletria. I helped creatures of good intentions down whatever road they took. I made some good friends along the way. I was happy with my life, but I still missed Ruthy sorely.” She paused.

“So… how did you end up here?” I asked her.

“Well, as I told you, I help good creatures. But I also get in the way of bad ones. If I feel a pull towards something, I let my magic take me there. It tells me what’s wrong, and I do the best I can to help. Usually it takes me to a place I know already — after all, I’ve been practically everywhere in Locletria. But this time… I didn’t know where I was. I was underwater, which wasn’t a problem, I was just highly uncomfortable. So I did the rational thing and came out, and look where we are.”

She smiled at me, finished with her story.

I frowned.

“You can’t be up to your head in a puddle,” I said, confused. “Besides, you were completely dry when you came out. How does that work?”

Amethyst just waggled her eyebrows at me.

“And anyways,” I went on, “Why did you come here? You said your magic told you what was wrong, so what was wrong? It’s got to be important.”

Amethyst looked at me seriously.

“That’s not something we should talk about now. It will take too long, and you need to get home.”

My brow creased.

“But I need to know! It’s important, isn’t it?” I backed down under her commanding look. “Fine. Will I see you tomorrow? Don’t you need a place to stay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find somewhere to go.” Her eyes scanned the green landscape in front of us, then turned back to me. “And yes, I will see you tomorrow. How about at noon?”

“Sounds good.” A thought struck me. “I shouldn’t tell my mom, right? I mean, she doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Unfortunately, that is true, so I do believe it is best if you do not tell your mother.”

“Okay,” I said. Then I paused. “Wait — how did you know it was me? Ruthy can be a pretty common name.” Amethyst smiled gently.

“When you said her name, it all clicked. You look just like her,” she said, her eyes soft.

“That’s true,” I said. I got that a lot. “Well… see you tomorrow, then.”

Amethyst looked unsure, like she was hesitating about something.

“What is it?” I asked her.

“Well, I… um… does your aunt Ruthy live here?” she said in a rush.

“Oh,” I said apologetically, “No. Sorry. She lives in New Jersey, a couple hours away from here.”

“Ah,” she said. “Thank you for letting me know. Well, I will see you tomorrow, then.”

“Okay,” I said. “Bye!”

“Goodbye!” And with that, she walked away.

I turned to go home then stopped, remembering something.

Call me if you need anything.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rushed home.

 

Call me if you need anything.

Well, here I was, keeping my promise.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. I lifted my hand to dial the number, but then I hesitated.

What would I say?

Oh, hey, today I met your long-lost sister. She came out of a puddle in Prospect Park.

Hi, how are you doing? Great! Oh, by the way, your half-sister emerged from a rain puddle today, and we chatted together for a while.

I shook off these silly thoughts, remembering her words.

Call me if you need anything.

I blew out a breath. It’s not like this was some big thing. Right? And so, I brought my hand slowly down to the number pad and dialed her number, holding my breath.

It rang once, twice, three times, and then —

“Hello?”

I exhaled, my body sagging in relief. She picked up!

“Hi!”

“Annabella? Is that you?”

“Yeah. How’s it going, Ruthy?”

“Oh, you know, back to work, back to my boring life. I miss you guys already! What’s up?”

I didn’t respond. My fingers fidgeted with the phone cord, twisting it around. I swallowed.

“Annabella? What’s wrong?” Her voice, cheerful before, had become concerned.

“I, uh… well… Today I was… um… ” My fingers kept fidgeting.

“What is it, honey?”

“I took a… a walk… in the park… and I… ” I bit my lip and swallowed again. It’s not too bad, I told myself. I can do this. “I met your sister,” I said in a rush. “Half-sister.”

Apparently Ruthy had been eating something, because I heard a choking noise coming from the other end. When she recovered, she spoke.

“You — you what?” she said, her voice low and shocked.

“I met your sister on my walk today,” I repeated.

“Did she — did she tell you her name?”

“Amethyst. Amethyst Skylar. She had blue eyes and red hair.”

I heard a strange sound coming from Ruthy’s side of the phone.

“It’s really her,” she whispered. “She’s here.” Then her voice changed, becoming more sharp. “What happened?”

I took another deep breath, readying myself.

And then I told her. I told her everything, from the moment I heard the splash to the moment we left each other. I told her about how Amethyst was Guardian of Good Spirits in Locletria, about the death of her father, and her return to this world.

When I was finished, there was silence from both ends.

After a while, Ruthy spoke.

“Why did she come here?” Her voice sounded thick and choked, and for a minute I thought she might have been crying. But I didn’t mention it.

“I don’t know — she wouldn’t tell me. I assume it’s serious, though.”

There was a pause and then a sound of thumping in the background. I assumed she was going up the stairs. After that I heard some jumbled noises — a loud crash, a certain four-letter word I chose to not hear, a couple more loud noises, and another string of profanities. When everything on her end had quieted down, she spoke, panting a bit.

“You can’t dissuade me,” she stated determinedly. “I’m coming. I’ll be there tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

“Um, I don’t know if my mom would — ”

“I love you, Annabella! Good-bye!”

“Ruthy — ”

I heard the dial tone before I could say much more.

I sighed, gazing up at the pictures on the wall above me: Ruthy and I in front of Willa’s, Ruthy and I at the park, Ruthy and I at the top of the Empire State Building, Ruthy with our whole family at the beach…

I lowered the phone and placed it back on its stand, thinking — knowing — that that little splash in the park — that one tiny sound — was the start of something a whole lot bigger, for me, for Amethyst, and for Ruthy.

 

To be continued…

 

The Haunted House

                 

Chapter One

Once there was a spooky haunted house, and a vampire lived in it. It had a lot of spooky things in it like ghosts. Everybody was scared of it. They stayed away from it. The haunted house was in the woods. The woods were dark, gloomy, and misty. The trees were really short. The woods also had a lot of vines, grass, and animals. There were snakes, wolves, and monkeys.

The house was wrecked. The windows and door were broken. It was rusty and had clearly been there for a long time. An old man named Jake used to live there, but he died, and it was really sad. Nobody lived there after that. The villagers did not know about Jake. Nobody liked the house because it was so dirty and nasty now, so the people lived on the other side of the forest. The village had a lot of people. No one had ever seen it except for one man, and he told everybody.

But one day, there were two boys named Alex and Max. They loved to explore in the woods, but one day they were exploring and found a house, so they ran back to the village. They asked somebody who knew about the haunted house.

The guy said, “That house is super dangerous. Do not ever go in there again.”

And then they went to bed, and in the morning, they went back to explore in the woods, but they didn’t go to the house because they knew it was really dangerous. After they explored, they went to the village and geared up because they were going back to the haunted house. But then they realized it was too dangerous and went back. Then, they went home together and watched a TV show about people exploring. And then they geared up in the morning to go to the haunted house. They went to the haunted house, and they saw a ghost, so they hid behind a bush. The ghost started chasing them, so they ran away. Then, they saw two feet and thought, Who was that guy? And then when they went to bed, they couldn’t sleep, so they hid under the covers, and they talked about who that guy could be. And then that morning when their parents were sleeping, they went to the haunted house again, and nobody was there. And then they went back and told everybody. Nobody believed that they saw a ghost.

And then an old man walked by, and Alex and Max asked, “Have you seen a ghost?”

 

Chapter Two

One day, Alex and Max went into the woods and explored the woods.

They wanted to see the haunted house. They ducked under a bush to see a ghost. There were two ghosts on guard. They saw Alex and Max.

“Run!” said Max.

They ran so fast, they ran out of breath. When they got to village, they ran home as fast as they could.

They told their dad, “We saw a ghost!”

The dad did not believe the kids.

And they said, “We really did see one, Dad!”

The dad said, “Did you really see one?”

The kids said, “Yes, we did really see a ghost.”

And then Dad said, “It’s time for bed.”

In the morning, they went into the woods to see the haunted house. This time, there was no ghost on guard, so they went in the house and saw one ghost. It was not scary. The ghost had scared the kids because the ghost had turned his head, so they thought he was scary. So they ran as fast as they could, but the ghost tried to tell them he was nice. The kids heard the ghost’s voice.

 

Chapter Three

The kids ran back to the house and realized that the ghost was nice. They wondered why.

They ran back home. They ran into their room and hid under the covers. The ghost tried to tell them he was nice, but they did not listen to the ghost. They went back to the haunted house, and they hid behind a bush and went in the house and saw the ghost was in the house. They hid behind the chair. The ghost was on the other chair with a book in his lap. He was sad because Max and Alex ran away because they thought he was mean. The ghost saw Alex and Max.

The ghost said, “Stay. I am nice.”

Alex and Max said, “We saw you when you screamed?”

“I know. I tried to tell you that I am nice.”

“But why?”

“My whole family is mean, but I am not. They do not know that I am mean. I try to keep it a secret, because my family always tells me to be bad. But I want to be good. Oh, my dad is coming. Quick, hide. Hey, Dad.”

“Son, who was that? That was other ghost?”

“Oh okay. Was that Aunt Marry?”

“No, did you sneak people in the house?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Quick, quick, Alex and Max, get outside, quick!”

Max and Alex ran as fast as they could and went to the village. They told their dad that they went to the haunted house, but their dad did not believe them. They went back to their own house. Their brother Jake was getting married to Elizabeth. Alex and Max walked in as the ceremony was happening, and then Jake and Elizabeth kissed.

Alex and Max said, “Let’s go. This is boring.”

They went to the haunted house to see the ghost. The ghost was upstairs in his room. The dad was in the ghost’s room with him because the dad got mad at the ghost because the ghost let in humans. The ghost tried to tell him that he didn’t let in humans, but he actually did and was just lying so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

The dad went downstairs, and Alex said, “Hide quick! The dad is coming.”

The ghost’s dad was the vampire. The kids were so surprised that the dad was the vampire. They ran out of the house. They hid under their covers because they were so surprised that the dad was the vampire. They went back to the house to see the ghost. The vampire was not there, but the ghost was. The ghost was upset because his dad got mad at him because he took his favorite toy away. The dad was coming down stairs.

They ran to their house. They said they were not going to that house tomorrow. So, they thought of a plan. They said, “Alex, you will go upstairs to see if the vampire is there.” They said, “Max, you will stay downstairs to see if the ghost was downstairs. If the ghost is not downstairs, come up and help me. If the vampire is not there, then come down and help me.” Then, they snuck around the house to see if anyone was there. But then, they saw a loose board, and they pushed on it! They saw every ghost downstairs, but the nice ghost was not there because he was in a timeout because the dad thought he let humans in. He actually didn’t, but he was kind of lying, so he wouldn’t get in trouble. They saw every other ghost downstairs, and the vampire was there too. They saw the ghost in his room, and he was really mad because he was in timeout.

They said, “Are you okay?”

And he replied, “Don’t talk to me.”

After a few hours, his dad said he could go to the ghost party. When the vampire came up, they hid under the bed.

The ghost said, “Shhh! Hide under the bed!”

They went to the ghost party and hid right behind the door so that nobody saw them. Then after the ghost party was over, every ghost went to bed. After a couple hours, Alex and Max went to bed. The next day, they woke up and ran to the haunted house. They checked under the broken tunnel, and nobody was there. They checked upstairs — lots of ghosts were there. They were sleeping, but they did not care. They just went into another room. After they went into the ghost’s bedroom, they checked on the vampire to see if he was sleeping. They went back downstairs to watch TV until the ghost friend woke up. They switched channels because all of them were so scary.

 

The Secret Life Of A Squirrel

              

Section One

“Alright everybody. Up, up, up!” said Professor Dun as he slid a chair across the scratched, brown stage. Every time someone drags a chair or a table, a new scratch appears. Everyone just sat slumped in their seat, minds blank. “What’s the matta with ya folks?” he asked.

No one moved.

“We still have to block act 2, scene 7! This scene is where Jason and Tara kiss!” Professor Dun had to drag all the squirrels onto the stage of Westchester Elementary. “Okay. Everybody except Jason and Tara get off the stage. If I so see the tip of your tail touch this thing, I will call Principal Tuxie. Now, let’s do a rough run through the scene. Do not, I say do not actually kiss. For all I know, you guys don’t know how to anyway.”

 

“You can’t leave me now!” cried Tara.

“Oh, but sweetie I have to. It’s two minutes past my curfew,” said Jason.

“No but — ” said Tara.

“I must go,” Jason said.

“You can’t leave because you haven’t returned my sacred picnic basket from your gentle hands,” exclaimed Tara

“Oh crap. Sorry,” mumbled Jason.

 

“CUT!” yelled Professor Dun. “Man we have a lot to work on. I can’t even take anymore of this. Be back tomorrow at 3:02 sharp!”

 

Section Two: Lucy

My name is not actually Tara. It’s Lucy. Don’t you love Professor Dun? He loves me at least because he gave me the main female role in the school play. Anyhow, I live in NYC. I never go hungry because there’s millions of food trucks that drop hot dogs, bananas, opened Gatorade, nuts from a Nuts4Nuts truck, and many other things that you humans find disgusting. But let me get this straight. All humans have this idea that every single squirrel likes nuts. They always crave nuts. They will do anything to eat nuts. That is totally not true because I hate them. I hate the crunch that you hear when you chew on them. My teeth are very precious to me, and I don’t want them to break because of an ugly, miserable nut.

Now, if humans found out that we could talk, they would go berserk. It would be on the front page of The New York Times and Wall Street Journal. Reporters from CNN, NBC, and Fox News would report on it. So, when we talk, all it sounds like to humans is, “kakakakakakaka.”

 

Section Three: Liam

My name is not actually Jason. It’s Liam. I am definitely not a theater dork. My friend Casey signed me up without asking me. He sent in an audio of me singing the song “Come Alive.” I don’t know how he obtained that audio. He most likely hacked into my computer. I made that audio three and a half years ago. Now, I’m stuck every day in a four hour rehearsal in a hot, sweaty theater that’s the size of the human thumb. The worst part is, I have to kiss a random girl. I swear I’m going to kill Casey. I want my first kiss to be with someone that I like. Not a fake, energetic squirrel that thinks she’s the best. I also don’t want my first kiss to be in front of 12,000 squirrels. So far, I’ve been to three rehearsals. How can I get out of it? I can’t pretend to like someone and to like theatre. I feel awful. God, get me out of this.

 

Section Four: Lucy

Liam can be so negative at times. Does he even want to be in theater? I try to cheer him up, but it’s no use. How did he get the role? Anyhow, in show biz, you have to be able to work with anybody. So, in order to be a good role model, I’m going to have to just cope with him. But it seems as if he hates theater, so why is he still here?

 

Section Five

“Alright, everybody, time’s a wastin!” yelled Professor Dun. Everyone always wondered how he was raised because he was always overly enthusiastic.

“Liam, I know that you may not love this show. But when I heard that audio — your voice is so elegant and graceful. You should really take advantage of that. So, why don’t you try. Maybe if you try hard enough, you’ll learn to like it.”

The words that Professor Dun said stuck to everyone’s head. Liam just stood there silent.

“Okay, so let’s go from the top. Next Tuesday is our first show!”

They ran through the whole show, but Liam was still acting the same. He didn’t project his voice and stood slumped like an old man.

 

Section Six: Liam

That’s it. I need to find a a way to get out of this. I only kept going to see my friend Casey because I hardly ever see him during the day. I do want to kill him, but he’s my friend, so I can’t. I need to make a plan. How can I get the show to be canceled? That way, my mom won’t make me go to any more rehearsals or cast parties or any shows! Hmmmm. I saw the set design builders screw the background to the back of the stage. Maybe if I unscrew the screw, the set will go crashing. They said we don’t have enough money to get any other sets so, without a set, there’s no show! I’m a genius.

 

Section Seven: Lucy

Liam had been acting unusually happy lately. Did he listen to what Professor Dun said?

 

A little later…

 

O-M-G! I just found out that in the show, I have to eat a nut. I’m so scared because the last time I ate a nut was seven years ago, and I broke my tooth. I think I’m having a panic attack right now. Oh jeez. What am I going to do?

 

Section Eight: Liam

We’re having a 10 minute break right now. This is the perfect time to complete my plan. Thank God there’s no security cameras in the theater. I brought a screwdriver from home and now, I’m less than ten feet away from the set backstage. There’s five screws. I’ll have to make this quick. I just unscrewed four. Man, I’m good at this. There. Whew! Now all I have to do is a slight push.

“STEP BACK, YOU NASTY CREATURE!!”

 

Section Nine

“What the heck, Lucy,” said Liam.

“I saw what you were doing,” answered Lucy.

“What?” asked Liam.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you were trying to sabotage the show.”

“Wow you are smart,” said Liam slyly.

“You can try and cancel the show, but the power of show biz is too strong. It will put a magnetic force against you and blow you millions of planets away!” shouted Lucy.

“I’m terrible at science, but I do know that’s scientifically incorrect for many reasons.”

“Maybe you should take up science instead,” said Lucy. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I’m only here to see Casey. He’s been my best friend for a long time. I kept going to see him. I never see him during the school day,” answered Liam.

“I have a question. Why do you hate theater?” asked Lucy.

“Because-be-be-be-because, it’s scary!” yelled Liam.

“What?” said Lucy.

“You have to pretend to be someone you’re not, and while doing that in front of billions of squirrels. How do you call that fun?” asked Liam.

“It’s called acting. That’s the only time you act like someone you’re not. You bring a character from a script alive. While some squirrels enjoy being in front of other squirrels, others don’t. That’s called stage fright. It’s when you’re scared of being seen on a stage. That can make some squirrels not like theater, but if they get over that fear, they’ll learn to like it. So, here is the oldest trick in the book. Picture all of the squirrels in the audience chewing nuts and spitting them at you. It’s the weirdest thing, but it worked for every single squirrel that ever had stage fright. So why don’t you try it.”

Liam just sat there trying to take it all in. What he was about to say stunned everyone, and it went down in history for Westchester Elementary.

“I’ll give it a shot,” said Liam.

 

Section Ten

Lucy

My problem is solved!!! I talked to Professor Dun, and he said I could eat a brown jelly bean in the play instead of a peanut. I was able to talk myself out of it. Not only that, but I got Liam to give theater a chance!!! I’m so good at convincing squirrels, it’s pretty ridiculous. The show is tomorrow, and I’m having another panic attack. Actually, it’s more like an excitement attack. Thankfully, I screwed the set back together, so it didn’t collapse.

 

Section Eleven

Act 2, Scene 7

 

“Don’t leave me now!” cried Tara.

“Oh, but sweetie I have to. It’s two minutes past my curfew!” cried Jason. (Before, Liam was saying it like he didn’t care, but this time he acted like he meant it.)

“No but — ” said Tara.

“I must go,” Jason said sternly.

“You can’t leave because you haven’t returned my sacred basket from your gentle hands,” exclaimed Tara.

“Oh crap, sorry,” said Jason as he handed her the basket.

They kissed. Everyone clapped and threw flowers. Everyone left.

 

Section Twelve

When the squirrels started leaving the theater, they were surrounded by a group of human reporters.

“How are you guys able to talk?” said one.

“This is going on the front page of the newspaper!” said another.

“My grandma would love this!” said one.

All of the reporters were shocked. Liam simply answered, “There is so much to be seen in the world. So much to explore and figure out. Don’t assume something is impossible unless there’s evidence to prove it. Just because no one has seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Just because something hasn’t been done before, doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Just because something hasn’t been explored before, doesn’t mean it can’t be explored. And finally, just because something is very, very difficult, doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

Liam then just walked away with Lucy, feeling more confident than before. Theater really can change you.

 

THE END

 

Key Lime Pie

I wake up, and I feel nothing. Not really nothing, but… it’s hard to explain. There’s clearly something else here, or I wouldn’t feel this chill down my spine. I can’t breathe, because there’s a pressure on my stomach. I can only move my head, so I look up. The room is dark, but suddenly, I know what I’m looking at. This feeling of emptiness but heaviness… it’s her.

She’s lying there, her skull cracked, her vacant, rotting eyes staring at me. It was fresh, at first. The stump of her leg used to bleed, leaving stains on the carpet, but now there’s a brown, crusty hunk of dried blood hanging from it. Her right arm, bent at a gruesome angle, has started to turn a grisly green color. The exposed bone on her chest has started to weather away, leaving holes and hanging chunks. I’ve memorized her corpse.

“Hey! Wake up!” I can hear my fiancée. Oh god, this has never happened before. She can’t come up. Not now. She’ll turn out like me. It’s how her — the other her — started haunting my nights.

My mother had “her” too, but it wasn’t her. It was me, hanging from the ceiling, staring straight at her — at least, that’s what she told me. These were called “night terrors,” but ours weren’t normal. If someone sees it haunting someone else, it can trigger at any point in their life, usually as a dead or wounded loved one. In some rare cases, these terrors have been thought to physically manifest (which probably isn’t true), but that hasn’t happened to me… yet.

After I met my girlfriend, it started happening to me too. Right now, we’re engaged, but it’s hard to spend time with the person you love when you see them dead each night.

“I made your favorite, so come on down!” Oh no. She usually comes up if she thinks I’m asleep. My worst fear isn’t if she comes up. It’s me having to explain this to her. Could she catch the terror too? I hate this. I hate it so much.

***

I made my fiance key lime pie. He usually comes right down when he smells that stuff. I wonder what’s wrong? Suddenly, I can’t move. The stairs are in front of me, but I smell something. And it’s not key lime pie.

Slowly, I force myself into our room. Opening the door, I see… no. This can’t be real. I’m seeing… I see him. But it can’t be him. He would never do this, not now! But… I see my husband-to-be, lying in bed with blood soaking the covers. There’s a knife skewered in his chest, making him look like a human shish-kebab. I run to the bathroom to vomit… and when I come back ready to call the police, the body’s gone.

***

My fiancée is standing in the door, but she’s not my fiancée, not really. I don’t know why, but she’s different. She looks like a twisted, warped version of herself, like a bad drawing. Is the terror doing this? Will it not allow different versions of the same person to be in the room? Is it just messing with me, to make me think she’s really gone? One thing’s for sure — she sees something. And she’s ran away, leaving me to stare at her corpse. Alone, again.

***

I knew he was there. The image was burnt in my mind, him with the blade buried in his chest, the sheets clinging onto his corpse. What made me run was when he turned his head to look at me. Did he somehow crawl away? No, the carpet looks fine… wait. There’s a trail of blood towards me. I feel a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place. It feels cold as a corpse.

***

“Please!” I beg her. “You can do anything to me, but don’t touch her!” She looks at me and smiles, a wave of blood gushing out of her mouth onto my fiancée’s shoulder. She puts a rotting hand on her neck, me shaking my head with tears streaming down my face. The love of my life is dragged away by her own corpse. I’m alone again. There’s been a nagging feeling in my gut all along that something like this would happen. I thought it was harmless, thought it was just a vision. But now I’ve paid the price for keeping it a secret, and that price… is the worst price of all.

***

I feel cold, so cold. It’s like a numbness, like I’ve descended into the depths of the earth. My eyes see nothing but him. He’s standing in front of me, smiling. As soon as I first saw that smile, I knew this wasn’t him — the real him. It may sound crazy, but it’s true. His smile was warm and sweet, like a mug of hot cocoa. This… thing’s smile felt mocking, taunting, as if saying, “You’re mine now.” Nothing is right about this grin. And if I do know something about this ordeal, it’s that I can’t escape.

***

My visions have come back, but she’s changed. She knows she no longer needs to be wounded to torture me. She opens the door, fresh faced and smiling, bringing me pictures of my fiancée, bruised and battered. Every time I beg for her to stop, save her, but each time, with malicious glee, she shakes her head. It’s like she relishes my fear, savoring every bit of it like a delicacy. The torture has gone too far, too fast. I need to take action.

***

It feels like it’s been days, months, years since I’ve been trapped in this place. The cold still bites my bones. The thing still burns my eyes. It left for stretches of time, hauling its mangled body away. When it came back, though, was when the worst of this living hell manifested. It brought newspapers, reports on my search, pictures of the house, and worst of all… my husband-to-be, staring into nothingness, with a look in his eyes that was so hollow, so pained. Agony. Sheer agony is the only way to describe this feeling spreading throughout my body.

***

This night, when she comes, I’m prepared. I have a tripwire rigged on the door with exposed floor underneath. As soon as she comes sauntering in, the wire trips her. She lands headfirst, cracking her skull. As soon as that happens, I realize what I’ve done. The screaming sounds just like her, prompting me to rush over, but I’m trapped in bed. The wounded abomination finally stands up, still smiling, blood coating the right side of its face. It wipes the blood away, grinning from ear-to-ear. That wound. It was the one I saw each night, the one that tortured me for so long… I made that wound.

***

Please, can someone help. Please, can someone help. I need help. Please, can someone help. I need help. Come help. Please, can someone help. I need help. Come help. Help. Can someone help. I need help. Need help. Help. Someone help. I need help. Need help. Help. Help. Need help. Come help. Help. Help. Help. Come help. Help. Help. Help. Pain. Agony. Cold. Thing. Bruise. Fiance. Smile. Help. Help. Help. Help…

***

She doesn’t come as much anymore, but when she does, she’s standing against the wall. At first it wasn’t much. She stared a little, winked a bit, nothing as bad as before. But after about the third night of docility, it decided to up the ante. Slumping down, the wounds from before formed at an accelerated rate, her “corpse” rotting, turning into a pile of snow-white bones. But eventually, after a few hours, a familiar, terrifying scent filled the room. It was the smell of key lime pie.

***

i can feel him                    coming

           doesn’t matter                cold my finger is gone

                       lonely so lonely what will he bring now

more pictures       why is he          stop don’t come

          leave me alone             don’t care if i’m lonely

                            help me    please

  need you            miss you       love you

                             did you eat the pie?

FREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZINGFREEZING.

crap                  i lost my finger i can’t make pie now

***

Since I felt down, I decided to paint the room. I haven’t been focusing on my waking life lately because of the night terrors. The garage was filled with cobwebs because I usually biked everywhere. I brushed away the dust, choking a little at the thick film of dirt and water on the painting supplies. The only thing in usable shape was the paint scraper, so I decided to go to Tool House for more paint. Maybe I could get a little dust off the car, which we never use anyway. Starting up the old Karavan, I drove to the store to get a roller and some paint.

***

i can  almost              taste it

             the thing                   said it would

                          get me         some

                                                                 oatmeal…

i don’t like oatmeal…

***

I’ve finally finished the trip, procuring some mild-colored yellow paint (called Sleepy Lemon), and a paint roller. As I get out my slightly rusty paint scraper, I reflect on what’s happened up to now. Okay, let’s do this…

    THINGS I KNOW

 

  • The thing has taken my fiancée.

 

  • The thing can somehow take pictures/make images of my fiancée.
  • The thing has her in a chair.
  • I am somehow making the wounds that were on the thing.
  • If the thing appears with my fiancée, the fiancée’s appearance is slightly warped.
  • Oh, what’s this?

I see a door above my head. An attic… is this real? I creak the door open, and a blast of cold, musty air hits my face, making me gag.

***

someone

here

is

below

***

I’ll go downstairs to get a flashlight. I walk down and hear something in the kitchen. What… it’s the thing. I can’t move. It looks just like her, with even her head bobs the same, but there’s one thing that’s different — no humming. Instead, silence. It’s never appeared during the day. I let out a small squeak, and as it whips around, the boiling pot (is that oatmeal?!) spills on the thing’s apron. I hear a hissing sound, internally flinching, but since I can’t move, I’m forced to watch the clothes and flesh melt off of the thing’s chest, leaving a bloody and exposed rib bone.

***

i can hear myself scream. what’s going on? it’s not me. at least, i don’t think it’s me…

***

It’s leaving. I need to get the flashlight and run. I take the light, run up, and kick the door open.

***

what is that? i see light flooding out from under a door. the thing doesn’t use a flashlight…

***

That’s a lot of doors. I should explore. I open one and see something that makes me terrified. It’s a room that looks almost industrial, with exposed concrete walls and fluorescent lights. The one thing that scares me is the bloody handprints on the walls. They looked like they were gripping onto something, with some of them dragging down to the bottom of the room. Then I look down. The floor is almost pulsating, and I instantly know what had happened. I don’t take a closer look, slamming the door. What the hell is this place?

***

Closing my eyes, I try to process what happened. It looked normal, but inside it wasn’t. I’ve got to get out of here… but I can’t. The attic door is gone, and I only see solid floor. The only way out must be behind one of these doors, none of which I want to open. What should I do?

***

no… don’t…

***

I decide to open the door next to the one I opened… and saw my childhood bedroom. What? Why is this here? I look around, and everything is exactly the same. Everything but the little boy outside my window. I’m distressed, not knowing what to do… so I open the window. Big mistake. There’s a black space outside my window that feels unnervingly empty. I look behind me, and my room is burning, falling apart just like it did in the fire. I run to the door, closing it behind me as a rafter crashes down from the ceiling. This place doesn’t just mess with your life. It messes with your mind.

***

leave. if i’m going to die, i want you to be safe. please. listen, i love you. that’s the reason i said yes to your proposal. you’re a kind, brave, and selfless person who would do anything for me. but this time, you can’t. this isn’t a rip current or an angry parent. this is supernatural. if you die… i won’t ever be able to be happy again. so for once, let me handle this on my own.

***

I feel her. I don’t know how, but I feel her. My fiancée is in here somewhere. Is this where the thing hid here? Is she okay?! I need to save her. I open the door… and see what I would describe as a lounge. Beanie chairs and pillows are everywhere, with Chinese lanterns floating around. There’s music playing, with a soft lilting feel to it. I know there’s something behind this, so I toss my flashlight into the room. Then, I notice the music speeding up. I plug my ears, and the flashlight explodes, leaving a small pile of ash.

***

what’s that noise? i hear a small explosion. is he okay?

***

Wow. The worst thing about it is that I’m in the dark now. I decide to open the fourth door, and I can’t see anything. “Hello?” My voice echoes. It seems to be pretty small, so I tentatively step in. I feel a pounding beat, which makes it so that I can’t stand well. It echoes throughout the room as I make my way towards the wall. As I put my hand on the wall, it feels… spongy. I touch it, and it bounces back slightly. In disgusted horror, I realize what’s on the walls — human flesh.

***

oh no

***

I hightail it out of there, ready to vomit. Where did it even come from?! I hesitate to open the last door and see ice. It’s everywhere, coating the room — no, it is the room. As I slide through the room, looking back at the door, a terrifyingly familiar feeling fills the pit of my stomach. I run, but as soon as I make a couple steps, I can’t move anymore. The thing is behind me. Is this really happening? Is it going to kill me?

***

i can see him, with the thing trying to deliver the killing blow. with the last of my voice, i scream.

***

She’s here. The thing took her, stole her from me. It stole the love of my life. And as the unbridled rage fills me, I turn my head to look at the thing and whisper, “You’re dead.” I stand up and prepare to fight. As the thing rushes towards me, I slide out of the way, the momentum carrying me towards the wall, and see her, a huge window shining behind her. She’s staring at me, looking near-frozen. The thing is darting around, screeching hysterically.

***

he’s fighting it. he’s doing this for me. i can feel tears welling up in my eyes, but they freeze, so i just sob.

***

I grab the thing’s shoulders, sliding forward toward the window, past the ice, past my fiancée, and into the pane of glass. It shatters the glass, falling into the void below. I held onto a chunk of ice, feeling nearly unconscious. My fiancée looks at me, sobbing, and we’re back in my room, on the floor, together.

 

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too,” I say back.

“Want some pie?”

 

Ham and Cheese

 

I had just taken BART home from work, the day I met it. Correction: met him. It was hot out, the walk from the station to my house was miserable, and I recall being relieved it was only five minutes. The cars sped by on the road next to me, engines humming loudly. I walked up my driveway, opened the front door, turned off the alarm, and took my shoes off, the usual routine. Then, I grabbed my laundry hamper and hustled down the rickety staircase to the the washing machine in my basement. I opened the machine, dumping my laundry in. As I turned to get my laundry detergent, a flash of color caught my eye. I looked back at my laundry machine and found myself staring right into the eyes of a fish. It was red with tinges of blue on its head and fins. In all, it was about as big as my two fists placed side by side, pretty large for a fish. I didn’t scream, or run away. I just stared open-mouthed. I probably looked like a fish myself. The fish wiggled his way above the surface of my dirty socks, until I could see his entire upper body, as he used his pectoral fins to balance on the rim of the laundry machine. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that fish need water to survive. This fish apparently swam in dirty laundry.

“Ham and cheese,” he said. I stared. “A guy gets mighty hungry when he’s trapped in a laundry machine all day,” he huffed. “Would you please get me some ham and cheese?”

“Ham and cheese,” I repeated idiotically.

“Yes,” he said, “not in a sandwich though, I can’t stand ham and cheese sandwiches. I eat them separately.”

I’m not the questioning type; I do what I’m told. I found shredded mozzarella in my refrigerator and a slice of ham and brought them to the basement. I dropped them into my laundry machine, watching in shocked silence as the fish devoured them both.

“Much better. Thank you,” he said. He leaned over the edge of my machine, peering into my laundry hamper. “Let’s see now, two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, and a pair of socks. You sure have a lot of socks, you know. There were fifteen pairs in your last load!”

 

The Room on the Fifth Floor (Part 1)

.    

I flopped onto my bed and screamed into my pillow, “UGHHH!! This is going to be the absolutely worst spring break ever!”

“Caitlyn Allen, do not use that tone in this house.” Mom followed me into my room, raising her voice.

“Can you please, please just leave me alone?” I said quietly. She walked out, taking a deep breath. Mom was a busy lady, being the CEO for the Allen Corporation, and all, so she rarely had the time to go on vacation. I knew I was being difficult, but how could I help it? After all, I was staying at Aunt Mildred’s, the most miserable, uptight lady I’ve ever met. She was my father’s sister and had become more evil when he died two years ago from the deadly car crash — when I was in seventh grade.

Dad was an intelligent chemist, so when he passed, everyone was devastated, especially me.  Seriously, I have had many, many memories with Aunt Mildred — all of which have been unpleasant. For example, there was this time where she made me clip her toenails and rub her feet, and even the time where she made me give her angry, clawing cat,  Kiki, a bath. I lay in bed contemplating my life and how I was going to one day run away from my home, Shelby, Alabama, to maybe somewhere like Hawaii, no, maybe Bora Bora?

Don’t worry, Caitlyn, I mean at least you’ll be able to see Ethan. No, no, no. I haven’t seen him since I was ten years old! It’s been 5 years, he is definitely not going to remember me. Oh well, I have to go anyway.

Mom hollered, “Come on, Caitlyn, we are leaving in half an hour. There will be some traffic, so get packing!” Mom had to catch a flight to Shanghai for a conference and did not trust me to stay home for two weeks by myself after the last time. Let’s just say, last time I may have made the house a mess from the pure joy of freedom I had felt. I threw some shirts, shorts, toothbrush, phone, and other stuff into my purple, plaid backpack and jogged out to the driveway. Mom was waiting in the car, speaking on the phone, as always.

She spoke loudly into her earbuds, “Mildred, hello. Yes, yes. Do not worry. We are on our way…. No, no… Yes. She will be on the best behavior… Okay, bye, bye. ”

She hung up and pointedly looked at me, “Be on your best behavior, Caitlyn. Aunt Mildred is our only family left, so you are going to be — ”

“Mom, I know, I know. Like you always say, ‘be the best, most courteous person that way you’ll go through life without getting hurt.’ You’ve said just about five billion times.” I spoke annoyed at her insensitivity. Mom backed out of the driveway, the car ride to the dreaded Aunt Mildred’s was filled with a grudgeful silence. Aunt Mildred lived in the countryside of Alabama — in the spooky town of Beatrice. Tall, branchy oak trees were abundant there, so much so that very little light could reach the town. Aunt Mildred had the largest house there, from what and for what I do not know.

I was lost in my thoughts until Mom interrupted, me, “Ahem, time to stop dreaming. We are here.” It was now seven o’clock at night, and it was almost pitch black. Caw, caw, caw! The crows here freaked me out, but definitely not as much as the mansion itself. Looking up, I saw the towering, once-white mansion. It was tall, with five floors, and large, with 52 rooms. The paint was peeling and graying, and the yellow, flickering lights did not help with its appearance. It looked unkempt with the ivy vines slowly wounding its weigh up the columns.  Honestly, it looked like no one lived there. That is, until you saw the hot pink Lamborghini and heard the creaking of the stairs only to see a tall, haughty lady walk towards us. Click! Clack! Click! Clack! I lowered my eyes only to see two hot pink stilettos, which had to be at least seven inches tall, approaching me.

Then, they stopped, and I heard her snobby voice, “Now, now, Caitlyn Clarisse Allen. That is no way to greet your auntie, is it now?”

I forced myself to look up and mumbled clenching my fists, “Hello, Aunt Mildred.” She smiled fakely revealing her perfect white teeth, while her jet black hair was pulled back neatly in a bun. She was really, truly an image to be feared. Seriously, how could you not fear a lady in a tight pink pantsuit?

Walking past me, she hollered in a high pitched manner, “Oh, Marilyn! Come give me a hug, deary!”

Mom, who was trying to hide in the car because she was on a “conference call” rolled her eyes and faked a smile. “Mildred! How are you? We’ve missed you,” Mom hollered back.

Aunt Mildred exhaled in an irritated manner, “Come out of your darn BMW!” Mom stepped out, her face heating up. Suddenly, through the bushes, I felt someone or something tap my arm.  I turned around, looking through the leaves and spiderwebs (ew) of the bush, and saw a tan arm coming for me. I gasped, Seriously… I’ve literally been here for two minutes and a zombie is already out to get me. Greeeaaat. I pulled my gaze away from the bush, but curiosity overcame me, and I tiptoed to the other side of the bush. In the distance I could hear Mom and Aunt Mildred faking a polite conversation even though everyone knows that they’ve hated each other ever since Mom got married.

“Hey, is that you Catie? It’s me Ethan!” I heard a deep voice whisper in front of me. I looked up to see him. Is that really him? He looks so much taller and so… different. His skin was olive tan (how it became this tan I’m not sure, I mean come on, there’s like no sun in this town), his brown hair was tousled but somehow looking put together. “Hello? Are you going to respond, or are we just gonna have a staring contest?” he asked with a smirk on his face. I felt my face grow hot and my hands clammed up. I forgot I was staring at him.

“Hey, sorry. I go by Cate now. I remember you,” I said rushedly.

Then, a screeching voice broke up the silence, “Caaaiiitttllllyyyn, young lady! Come into the house now. I know you’re in that Evan boy’s lawn!”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but started to laugh. “Hahaha, I just love that cranky lady — don’t you?”

I responded in absolute disbelief, “Um, nope, not at all. Not one bit.” Ethan laughed and I giggled sprinting back to the mansion before Aunt Mildred could yell at me again.

“Oh, good. You’re back. Let me introduce you to the maid,” Aunt Mildred said as she waved me into the mansion. I stepped into the mansion, and it looked exactly like it was five years ago — same black marble floor with a giant marble staircase leading to the East and West Wing. An extremely freaky statue of what looked like a gargoyle greeted me upon my arrival. On my right was the sitting room. I mean it’s sole purpose was for sitting, but no one actually sat there. Big, plump, velvet chairs surrounded one antique looking wooden table carved with beautiful detail. On my left there was Aunt Mildred’s office. I’ve never been in there, but I’ve seen through the door crack. It was actually nice and bright in there. Very pink, also. A wonderful smell wafted to my nose — mmmm… was that pork chops with mashed potatoes? Yum! I tried walking to the kitchen which was in the back, but Aunt Mildred’s bony hand held onto my shoulder.

“Not so fast, young lady. You must meet Caroline first! Ah, here she comes,” she said in her usual omniscient tone.

A stout elderly lady rushed over in an apron with a feather duster and says in a British accent, “Come, Miss Caitlyn, let me show you to your room. I have put your bag in there already.” She turns around, and her curly gray hair bounces up and down. Hmmm… I definitely do not remember this lady when I was here five years ago. She must be at least a hundred. Wow… just ancient. I climbed the staircase with her, and once we neared the top, we encountered three long hallways. Two of them were brightly lit with magnificent chandeliers, but the other one … well, let’s just say it was creepy as heck! The westernmost hallway was so dark that all you could see was one door, that had a crack of light streaming through the bottom. I peered in further and saw two green orbs of light blinking at me. I gasped in fear and tried to look away.

Caroline must have seen my agape mouth and wide eyes, for she quickly turned me around facing the center hallway and whispered in my ear, “Miss Caitlyn, you are strongly forbidden to go into the West wing. Specifically the fifth floor. Mistress Mildred’s orders.” Her cold voice evoked shivers and made me more drawn to the West wing. Then, she forcefully grabbed my hand, and she dragged me briskly into the center hallway. It took my breath away, and I felt my eyes widen, devouring all that was around me. The walls studded with sparkling gems of all sorts. The color and the sparkle weren’t all though. There were paintings too. Some of flowers, others of trees. I felt a pulling at my chest. Dad loved nature so very much. Suddenly I was no longer in this creepy mansion. I was in Muir Forest with Dad, hiking and having a jubilant time. This day, three years ago, was one of the best days I have ever had. This is what flashbacks have been like for me. I should probably take the meds my therapist prescribed.

“Ahem, Miss Caitlyn, shall we get going?” Caroline said, waking me up from the pleasant day dream.  Turning around, I faced another wall. I felt intrigued. There was a huge black and white photograph that covered the whole wall. I squinted, wait a second… that must be Aunt Mildred when she was just a young girl. One would be ignorant to not recognize the jet black hair and sharp nose of hers. She was smiling, something I have never seen her do. Furthermore, she was holding the hand of a boy shorter than her. It had to be Dad. He looked quite different from when I knew him. Curly brown hair sprouted from his round head, his jovial face smiling, revealing his missing front teeth. I missed him.

Tears threatened to escape, but taking a deep breath, I entered the open door which had always been my room here and was elated to see more beautiful decor. Anyone could have guessed that this had been Aunt Mildred’s childhood room, for it was very pink… but beautiful nonetheless. A delicate, little chandelier hung in the center of the circular room. The light reached out to every wall of the room and filled the room with a magical, golden glow. There was an ornate, white dresser next to a dainty pink closet, filled with small, pink clothing. Facing the entrance there was a white, frilly bed — decorated with lace pillows and a pink, faux fur comforter. My favorite part of this room was the balcony, for its French doors opened out to a porch facing Ethan’s window. His baby blue curtains were closed, but a bright light permeated through. His nicely groomed yard and smaller brick home were neat and homely looking. Definitely the opposite of this creepy mansion.

“I’ll leave you here to get ready for dinner. See you later, Miss Caitlyn.” Caroline waved goodbye without a look back.

“Bye, Caroline. Thank you,” I said, but she was already out the door. Sheesh, all the people that work here are so hostile. Reminds me of the kids back at home at Westwood High. Starting to settle in, I suddenly felt a sense of loneliness. I had no one here, except for Aunt Mildred, but she can’t count. I mean come on, have you even seen that lady? I guess I have Ethan. He could be a good choice for a friend. My thoughts were then interrupted by none else, but the one and only, Aunt Mildred.

“Caitlyn!! Come down already. It’s been an hour! Your food is getting cold and eaten by flies.” Aunt Mildred’s high-pitched voice rang throughout the house. Sure enough, I checked my phone and it was already 7:29. It literally felt like five minutes. Ughhh. I dragged myself out of bed and rushed down the stairs. When I exited, I once again encountered the West Wing. Don’t look. Don’t look, Cate. I couldn’t help it. Peering in, I saw the two green orbs again. I got so close to them that I felt everything slow down, and suddenly I felt nauseous.  My eyes widened in fear and my legs felt stuck in place — I couldn’t move. What was that? This mansion is definitely haunted.

“Miss Caitlyn, are you alright? You have been standing there for quite a while now,” Caroline said in a worried tone as her small hand came to rest on my shoulder.

Ummm… I was only standing there for like 30 seconds!

“Caroline, is th-th-there something in that hallway?” I asked quietly.

Caroline replied, “No, sweetie. Nothing. No one uses it, that’s all.”

I looked at her straight in the eyes, “Honest?”

“Honest.”

“Also, Caroline?”

“Yes?”

“Could you please call me Cate. It makes me feel less creeped out by everything and everyone here.”

Caroline hesitated at first, not sure what to say.

“Oh, not you! You are probably one of the more normal people here.”

“Why thank you, Cate,” Caroline replied with the first warm smile I’ve seen all day.

Caroline led me to the dining room. Again, I must have forgotten just how truly beautiful the mansion was. The largest, most luminescent chandelier hung from the decorated ceiling. Yes, I know right. How extra! Who even looks at the ceiling? Little pieces of clear jewels hung from the chandelier like beautiful water droplets. In the middle, there was a long, sandalwood dining table, the legs carved with beautiful images of flowers and herbs. There was one lone plate in the middle of the huge table. Nothing else filled the table. I mean, sure. I usually eat my dinner alone anyway, but this was a whole new level of loneliness. There was an irksome silence, for even Caroline had disappeared. Well, I guess it’s just me and the ghost now. The thought still filled me with shivers, but the delicious smell of pork chops made my mouth water. I couldn’t stop wondering where Aunt Mildred was though. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. She’s probably plotting her next evil conquest. Sinking into the deep red velvet chair, I began to dig into the pork chops and mashed potatoes. Just when I was on my last bite of food, there was a rapping on the front door. I rushed to peer through the door hole to see who this mysterious stranger was. It was Ethan! Unlocking the chains to the door, I opened the door and he rushed in, his eyes wild. He was breathing heavily and scrambled to sit on a loveseat.

“Cate… you gotta believe me. I’ve been seeing crazy… things,” Ethan said between breaths.

“What?! I’ve seen enough crazy for one day!” I said exacerbated. “Also, let’s go into the dining room, I’m just finishing up dinner.”

We rushed quietly into the dining room where Ethan sat on the dining chair next to me.

“Mmmmm… that looks good.”

“Yep, it’s pretty amazing.” I replied through bites. “Do you want any?”

Suddenly, Ethan sucked in air, and I tried to see where he was looking. He continued to stare at my plate with his mouth agape. I looked down predicting the worst. Oh. My. God.

I tried to scream, but Ethan covered my mouth with his hand and said, “Shhh… at least it’s not a bad surprise?” On my plate, sitting there, like the pork chops and mashed potatoes had never been there, was a single slice of red velvet cake. It’s cream cheese frosting and moist looking cake beckoned me to eat it, but I couldn’t. After all, it did just appear from thin air.

“Well, what are you waiting for? That is just about the tastiest red velvet cake I’ve ever seen… so if you’re not gonna eat, I am!” Ethan said, clearly not understanding my point of view.

“Um, not to burst your bubble or anything, but it literally came from nowhere. Like magic, poof! Who knows where it has been? Maybe it’s been poisoned,” I said, flabbergasted.

This whole house was strange and there were always new surprises. I didn’t know how to feel about it. I mean, I was a girl who hated surprises. I was a girl who planned by days out meticulously. I was a girl who turned my homework in early. I was a girl that liked to stay in the comfort of her room. I was anything, but spontaneous. The whole situation really freaked me out.

“Where do you think it came from?” I asked, my voice shaking a little.

“Erm… ” Ethan looked around, “I-I don’t know. There’s no one here.”

Ethan paced around the dining table, looking ready to fight at anytime, “This house is freaking me out. Let’s get outta here.”

 

I nodded, completely overwhelmed, so he pulled on my hand, and we got up. We ran outside. Across the cobbly path with many deadly looking potholes we went, and I was quite surprised that I didn’t die. He stopped once we got to his perfect white, wooden porch lined with succulents. We both collapsed onto the comfy porch swing, our breathing still ragid from sprinting away from that creepy mansion.

“Look! Do you see that? What in the world is that?!” Ethan said with a hint of fear.

He pointed up at the mansion’s roof, and its chimney was truly doing something out of this world. It was spouting out red smoke, that in turn, sprinkled onto the roof in the form of powder.

“I have no idea. I have been in this town for less than a day and suddenly, all these crazy things are happening. And I don’t know why, but this place reminds me of my dad… ” I said on the verge of bursting into tears.

Ethan replied, unsure what to say, “Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to — never mind, let me just fill you in on what’s been happening these few days.”

Sitting on the steps of his porch, he told me that crazy signs have been coming up starting the last two days. Everyday at 8pm, green, yellow, and sometimes red smoke is emitted from the chimney leaving the roof a powdered mess.

“But listen, Cate. It’s not just the fumes that are abnormal. You see, through my parents’ bedroom, I have the perfect view of a dark hallway,” Ethan said on a roll.

“Woah there, Ethan, slow down. The West wing? The dark hallway is the one Aunt Mildred told me not to go in,” I said disbelievingly.

“Yeah, yeah. The West wing. But get this — the hallway has these tiny green light things that fly all the way to the fifth floor. I can’t really see what’s on the fifth floor exactly. All I know is that Ms. Mildred goes in there every so often,” Ethan said, excited to be part of an adventure.

Feeling faint, I whispered, “I saw those while I was walking past the West Wing hallway. It’s near my room. C’mon, we’ve got to go.”

I grabbed Ethan’s hand, pulling him up from the porch, and we started to run back to the mansion. It was getting, cold and my hands and feet felt numb. We pushed through the cold, running along the windy cobbly path. I couldn’t help but shiver, not from just the cold, but also the creepiness of the dark looming trees. Were the cackling crows up there perhaps making fun of us? Running up the cobblestone driveway careful not to twist an ankle, we finally reached the doorway. The only light shining was that of an old lantern emitting an orange light. There was an eerie silence as we stood at the doorway. But suddenly, there was a, boom! Boom! Looking up, we gasped. It was the largest poof of glowing orbs coming out of the chimney I had ever seen. They looked like a colony of fireflies. However, they weren’t the green orbs I saw in the hallway of the West Wing. They were red, orange, and white, looking like some sort of weird fire.

“Oh my god. What in the freaking world,” Ethan whispered, his face white.

“Oh. My — ” I started to say.

Ethan said, “C’mon Cate, we are going to the fifth floor of the West wing,” pulling on my hand.

I held back shivering in fear, “I can’t, I’m sorry.”

He replied surprised, “I thought you wanted to see what was up there!”

I said, in a sorry manner, “We don’t know what’s up there! It could hurt us.”

Then, hearing how crazy I was being, I changed my mind and said, “Actually you know what, let’s do it. It’s just some powder and weird looking fireflies. It can’t do anything to us.”

We tested the front door, crossing our fingers that it was unlocked. Shoot, it’s locked. I knocked on the door. Knock! Knock! A green eye peered down at us through the door’s peephole. Chain dropping, the door creaked open and I dreaded the sight — Aunt Mildred wearing a cucumber face mask with her fuzzy pink robe and slippers.

“Just what do you think you are doing, young lady?” Aunt Mildred spoke sternly almost exploding with disbelief.

“Nothing, nothing at all. We were just taking a walk, Aunt Mildred,” I spoke quietly, not making eye contact. I nudged Ethan who was trying to stifle his laughter at the view of Aunt Mildred.

“No one can hear you, speak up. Whatever, come on in, now,” she said just noticing Ethan.

“Hey there! Ms. M, it’s me Evan!” Ethan spoke jokingly.

A shadow passed on Aunt Mildred’s face, and she forgot about us. She looked at her watch, then back at us squinting her eyes, as if trying to read our minds. She mumbled to herself looking worried — something about cake. She rushed to the dining room, leaving us in a confused state.

“Was it something I said?” Ethan asked just as perplexed as me.

“Oh no, oh no, oh NOOOOO! The cake. The cake. Why is it still here??” Aunt Mildred cried in distress.

She sprinted out, her green face resembling that of a wild ghoul.

“You come here now, Cate. You eat this cake,” she said, chasing us through gritted teeth.

In complete petrification, my feet were glued to the marble floor next to the front door, the wind outside howling at me.

Ethan unlocked me from the trance and shook my shoulders saying, “C’mon. Your Aunt Mildred is going crazy. We gotta escape from here.”

I nodded at him, and together we fled up the stairs, escaping the green ghoul that was Aunt Mildred.

“No! Come back, children. Look, look at this delicious piece of cake. Don’t you just want to eat it?” Aunt Mildred yelled, gaining on us after kicking off the slippers and throwing the plate of cake onto the ground, the plate shattering in a million pieces.

I heard someone shriek. Wait, was it me?

“Shhhhh!! Just keep running,” Ethan said, covering my mouth with his hand.

After what seemed like a hundred steps of stairs, we finally reached the top. My calves were burning in agony, and my muscles begged me to stop running, but instead, out of pure fear, we zoomed into the West wing.

Aunt Mildred was still climbing the stairs, but must have seen us go into the pitch-black hallway and hollered, “Come out of there right this second, Caitlyn Clarisse Allen. You’ll get hurt in there, trust me.”

I didn’t dare look behind me, I shut my eyes tightly and ran side by side with Ethan.

Ethan whispered, “Stop running Caitlyn, open your eyes.”

I cautiously opened my eyes, scared that there might be a monster or worse — Aunt Mildred standing there. Alas, it wasn’t. Thank god. It’s just the stairs up to the ominous on the fifth floor. That was when I noticed more green orbs circling around us, doing all sorts of things. Most of them were busy fluttering around us, curious at the new visitors. Some other ones were creating a long line and were glowing brightly, like they were trying to aid us in getting up the stairs. Almost like we could read each other’s minds, Ethan and I climbed the stairs together simultaneously, but everything felt slower.

We pushed ourselves to go faster, but everything felt slower up here, except Aunt Mildred’s pitter patter of bare feet on marble and the impossible to miss loud panting. How was she so fast while also being extremely out of shape? Thank goodness we were both wearing sneakers and um, normal clothing. Every floor we passed through brought new surprises and clues to the mystery that was the fifth floor — the second floor of the West Wing had cardboard boxes of all sizes, all filled with flasks and powders. The third floor was a huge library, filled to its cavernous ceilings with largely binded textbooks. The fourth floor, however, was the most shocking with a huge family crest resembling a crow with a sash that said ALLEN on it. It was lit with candles with one twin sized bed right next to it — sheets all tossed off the mattress. Well, I mean, it would have been the most weird floor until we reached the fifth floor.

“Wowzers. How amazing.” Ethan breathed out, clearly tired from all the running.

“Wowzers, indeed,” I whispered back.

Suddenly, the most infuriated screech was emitted, “ARGHHHH!! Those little dweebs, they found it — ”

Aunt Mildred was on the last step leading towards the magnificent fifth floor. Ethan and I quickly scurried behind a tall stack of cardboard boxes, not daring to even let out a breath. Thump!

What happened? Ethan peered out from behind the boxes and started to giggle.

I nudged him, warning him, “Shhh… she can hear you. What’s so funny??”

Ethan replied still laughing, “Hahaha, Ms. M has collapsed!”

“What??” I said in complete disbelief.

I, too then cautiously peered from behind the boxes and yep, there she was. Aunt Mildred, completely out of breath, lay there on the steps, not moving, but still alive.  Oh, poor old woman. Is she okay?? No, Cate, don’t think that way. After all, she was the one chasing you!

We were free from her chasing us, finally. We could now take the time to fully absorb our surroundings. The tall, tall ceilings, that made every motion echo. First, the floor led to a long hallway, but then, Ethan and I made it to a pathway leading to a glass room. We observed into the glass room — somehow, there was sunlight in there. Long rows of all sorts of flowers were lined up in neat, colorful rows as bees and even a few hummingbirds zoomed around happily. The room was completely glass, and it emitted some sort of happy glow that the rest of the mansion failed to do. I moved my eyes to the right side and saw — Was that, was that some sort of mad scientist? It was indeed. There was a tall man, wearing a rumpled white lab coat. Underneath his lab coat, he seemed to be wearing a neon orange shirt with words on it that I could not make out. His hair was turning gray, with only wisps of brown hair peeking through.

“Who is that?” Ethan whispered to me in complete awe.

“No idea, must be Aunt Mildred’s scientist servant.”

We could not make out the scientist’s face because it was completely concealed by lab goggles and even a mouth mask to most likely protect him from the dangerous chemicals it looked like he was producing. The stranger stood behind a tall wooden table that was completely filled with flasks of all sorts of colors and plants. They kept letting out powders every so often which the scientist tried to catch with clear plastic hoods.  The scientist himself worked on what looked like some sort of complex machinery that pumped the flowers from the gardens into those flasks.

Suddenly, we almost jumped at the sound of this strange man’s voice, “Mildred? Is that you?”

She moaned, “Yes… the test subjects just escaped from my grasp and escaped.”

Um, test subjects? What! Me? Everything suddenly made sense, but I didn’t dare to make a sound.

He answered in disbelief, “Come on, Mildreddd. You promised that it would work! How could — ”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll try again in a few minutes,” Mildred replied weakly.

The scientist mumbled to himself in the glass room — undecipherable to all of us. He took off his thick goggles and then, it almost seemed like he could see Ethan and I in the corner of the hallway.

His honey-colored eyes glowed in the bright light and for a second… wait. Was it really him?

 

Triplets Chapter 1

 

“Angelika, wake up. It’s time for — ” Angelika raised a slim, manicured hand, signaling that she was, in fact, already awake, then settled back under the covers, closing her eyes. Angelika’s mother sighed tiredly. “Angelika, please get up. You’ll be late for school. Don’t you want to go learn?” Now it was Angelika’s turn to sigh. That trick may have worked with her sisters who were always so eager to sit in a poorly decorated classroom, listening to their 60-year-old, half blind, half deaf teacher drone on about the Cold War, thinking it would help them succeed in life, but it wouldn’t work with her.

“Learning long division won’t help me in the real world. That’s what calculators are for. The human race has advanced since the Stone Age, which calls for a development in the education system, but those idiots at the DOE are completely blind to change. So I don’t see why I have to leave the comfort of my bed to ‘learn’ something that I’ll never use. If I was going to learn about business or politics, I would be out of bed in an instant.” With that, Angelika threw the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep.

“Angelika,” her mother said softly, trying to reason with her. “I know you don’t like school, but you have to do things you don’t want to do sometimes. And you’re way past long division. You learned that in 4th grade, and you’re going into 8th. You can’t keep making excuses, honey. It’s alright if you’re not as smart as Adeline or Aubrey, but you can’t — ” She never finished her sentence. Angelika threw off the blanket, her auburn hair tangled by the action and blue eyes glaring

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m not as good as those twits! I’m smarter than both of them, and you know it!” she shouted. Instead of yelling back like Angelika expected, her mom continued in a painfully patronizing voice.

“You can’t stop trying altogether. Then how will you improve?” That was the last straw. Upon hearing that, something inside her snapped.

“Shut up! You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do! Get out of my room or I swear, I will hurt you!”

“Don’t threaten your mother, Angelika. That’s not something a nice girl does.”

“Well, I don’t want to be a nice girl!” She was seeing red, and it took all her willpower to keep herself from strangling this woman who dared to call herself Angelika’s mother.

“Well, you should because only nice girls get to go to dance.” That was the killing blow. The fury in her eyes disappeared, replaced by sorrow and desperation.

“You would do that?” she whispered. Her mother nodded, triumphant over her victory, ignoring how miserable her daughter looked.

“Unless you get up and get dressed this instant, you will be barred from all extracurricular activities, including ballet.”

Knowing she had lost, Angelika nodded and stood up. She walked with the grace of a ballet dancer over to her dresser, where her clothes for the day were already laid out. Skinny jeans and a crop top, selected by her mother and no doubt matching with Adeline and Aubrey’s outfits. She sighed as she pulled on the uncomfortably tight jeans and shirt. She turned around to find her mother had already left. Good, she thought bitterly. No doubt she was in Adeline or Aubrey’s room, gently waking them and telling them how they were her favorite daughters and how much she adored them. Angelika rose to her feet and strode over to the door, bending her knees deeply in an attempt to loosen her pants. Embarrassed by her defeat, she avoided her mother’s gaze as she trudged to the kitchen where her backpack was hanging on her chair. Angelika slung it over her shoulder, grabbed a granola bar of the table, slid her feet into her worn pair of sneakers without bothering to put on socks, and jogged toward the door. As she left, she grabbed her fake black leather jacket, embroidered with pink roses on the sleeves and back, and tied it around her waist to hide her exposed stomach. As her sisters, Adeline and Aubrey, pushed past her, she saw that they had done the exact same thing. Being a triplet really sucked.

 

Dancer Attack

Addie woke up to a gloomy sky on the biggest day of her life! A college dance instructor was coming all the way from The University of the Arts in Pennsylvania to California where she lived, just to see her dance.

This would determine her whole life. She picked up her phone and called Eliza, her best friend. When she didn’t answer, Addie knew she must have been sleeping.

Addie sighed. Her list on the door reminded her of the grocery shopping she had to do. Her mom used to do all the shopping, that is when she was alive. Her dad always had work meetings and never went shopping. Addie always spent the day at Eliza’s, and it was almost as if Eliza’s mom was her mom too.

Snap out of it, she thought to herself. You hate thinking about how lonely you are.

She changed into her bright red crop top and jean shorts, put on a raincoat that covered up her newly cut chestnut colored hair, and drove to Eliza’s house.

“It’s so early. Why did you have to wake me up?” Eliza groaned.

“Get up, you lazy head. We have to go to auditions,” Addie whispered in her ear to not wake up her brother, Tyler.

“Auditions?” Eliza popped her head up from under the covers. You could see her blue ring to match her hair. She hopped out of bed and threw clothes on. Grabbing her phone, she ran out the door, leaving Addie in the dust.

“I’ll never understand her,” Addie said, yawning midway.

“C’mon, slowpoke,” Eliza yelled from the passenger seat. “We’re gonna be late!”

“You were the one I had to wake up! We also don’t have to be there for another 15 minutes, and we are going to Starbucks,” Addie remarked.

“You know Ms. Ivey hates when we’re late.”

“Who said we were gonna be late?” Addie questioned.

When they got to Stuart Landing Performing Arts Dance Studio, the tall poles in the front stand out from a mile away. They walked over to the makeup stand where the rest of the dance team was getting makeup done.

“What’s up?” Addie yelled.

“The sky!” Casey screamed back. Her bright blonde hair flowed back and shimmered like the sun.

“Hey, guys, where were you?” Beatrix asked. She had her dark hair that was almost black being braided.

“You’re late!” Ms. Ivey interrupted. Her brown eyes flared with anger. “Get your makeup done quickly. We need to rehearse your performance.” Addie and Eliza quickly sat in the closest seats to not make Ms. Ivey angrier. Of course showing up late with Starbucks in your hand would not exactly please Ms. Ivey, but being five minutes later would’ve really set her off.

Once Addie got her makeup done, she went to rehearse. After about an hour, Ms. Ivey called everyone to see her. Addie went to go get her hair flower while Ms. Ivey gave her speech.

 

***

 

“I need you girls to work harder than you ever have, to show the women in the chair what amazing dancers you can be. You have never worked so hard in your life.” Eliza zoned out when she was speaking. Where is Addie? She’s been gone a while, she considered.

“Excuse me, Ms. Ivey, but Addie’s been gone for awhile. Do you mind if I go see what she’s up to,” Eliza blurted out.

“I do not like when people interrupt me, and you know that! I suspect that you probably should go check on her,” Ms. Ivey snapped.

“Thank you.” Eliza walked back to the dressing room but came out screaming.

“Ms. Ivey! Ms. Ivey! Help! Addie’s dead!” she howled.

“What do you mean she’s dead?” she roared. “OH MY GOSH! She was my star! She was the best student I’ve ever had! Our whole show will be ruined.”

“What are we going to do? She’s our star!” Nicole squealed.

“Let me go see for myself!” Ms. Ivey screamed.

“But Addie has her own solo. She was so excited,” Simone hollered. Everyone was yelling at the same time. There was a blur of screams.

“My life is ruined without her!” Eliza squeaked.

“If this is a trick… ” Everyone heard Ms. Ivey starting to yell from behind the two bulking doors. Abruptly, there was silence. Everybody had thought Addie originally pulled a prank, but no one knew why anyone would ruin their costume with fake blood right before a huge show.

 

“Ms. Ivey,” Zoey said.

“What do you want? My star is dead right now,” Ms. Ivey screeched. Her short, dark hair flashed in the light.

“I’ve heard of people killing themselves because of nervousness,” Zoey replied.

“Addie would never do that! She’s way smarter than to do that,” Ms. Ivey returned.

Eliza started to pace, thinking to herself, Phoebe always played with her hair too much which could mean she’s hiding something in it, and she recently has been talking about leaving the dance team, but Annabelle always tried to direct murder tak another way. Plus, neither of them had spoken yet, and it looked like they were avoiding to talk.

“Eliza, you were the one who originally checked on Addie. You would easily have time to take Addie somewhere,” Annabelle pointed out.

“You think I would kill my best friend! Not in a million years. She was basically my sister,” Eliza cried.

“You might’ve, and also you were her understudy in the recital. We all know how badly you wanted to have that solo, but you knew you would have to support your friend,” Annabelle pushed back.

“Why would Addie have been in the dressing room so long? For all we know, you could’ve missed all of Ms. Ivey’s speech just to take her away and come back when I left,” Eliza opposed. Annabelle had never been very nice to Eliza. Why would Annabelle want to blame me for kidnapping Addie. Unless, if she wanted to cover herself.

“Stop fighting! It’s not gonna help if we blame each other, but we know that it was someone in here,” Ms. Ivey bellowed. “Someone still has to show that lady the dance, so get on the stage, Eliza.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eliza ran to her starting position as Ms. Ivey went to go turn on the music. All the girls dashed into the front row of the auditorium. All the doors were locked, so the college dance teacher would feel safe inside.

 

“You were amazing!” Casey cheered once they were in the street.

“Thanks, but knowing how excited Addie was for that performance makes me sick. We need to find her fast,” Eliza aforementioned.

“Agreed, let’s first go get lunch at my house.”

“Speaking of lunch, I’m starving. Let’s go.” They ran to Addie’s car, preparing to drive it back to her house and get Eliza’s car. They went up to Casey’s room after lunch.

“We need to find Addie now and get to work.”

“Agreed.” As they laid on the bed, they made a list of suspects.

“It’s either Beatrix, Annabelle, Zoey, Pheobe, Nicole, or Simone, but I’m gonna bet it’s Annabelle because of how she accused me of doing it.”

“You know Annabelle, and she always tries to get on your nerves.”

“So? She was trying to make herself not a suspect by blaming other people.”

“Keep in mind it could’ve been a group of people,” Casey reflected.

“I don’t think so. Nicole was last out of the room, but anyone could’ve snuck back in while Ms. Ivey was giving her speech. That makes me think that it could be Beatrix because she tends to get distracted easily.”

“That’s like saying it was me. We were talking during Ms. Ivey’s speech, so you are positive it wasn’t me. Just like I’m positive it wasn’t Beatrix. She’s way too kind to kill someone even if she secretly hated them.”

“I think we should go back to look for clues.” As they walked to the dance studio, there were police cars everywhere. They walked up to the gigantic wooden doors.

“No publicitors in the building,” the police officer said to them.

“We were friends of Addie,” Eliza said while trying to push through to go inside.

“I’m sorry, ladies. This is a crime scene.” The girls headed back to Casey’s house.

“How could we possibly figure out who murdered Addie if we can’t get into the crime scene?” Eliza questioned.

“I don’t know, but why do we actually need the scene? We can start questioning people.”

“We could just let the police do it. They have all the tools they need to find the killer.”

“Are you trying to go off of the case? Addie was both of our best friends. We can’t just let her go. We should interview the dance team. ”

“You’re right. Let’s go interview. First, Annabelle.”

“Of course she’s your first suspect,” Casey sighed. They headed over to Annabelle’s house, and Annabelle’s mom opened the door. Annabelle’s mom’s dirty blonde hair shimmered in the sun.

“Hello, sweeties. Annabelle is in her room if you were coming by to see her,” Annabelle’s mom answered.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gidmon,” Eliza and Casey exclaimed together. When they stepped in the house, it smelled like lavender. They bounced up the stairs and knocked on the door that had save the animals posters.

“Who is it?” Annabelle called from inside.

“Eliza and Casey,” Casey yelled.

“Why did you tell her I was here? Now she’ll never let us in,” Eliza whispered.

“Casey can come in, but not Eliza,” Annabelle hollered. Casey flung the door open, and they both stepped inside the bright yellow room with streamers hanging everywhere.

“Can’t you hear Eliza? You’re not permitted in here,” Annabelle yawned mid sentence.

“It looks like a yellow neon highlighter exploded in here,” Eliza commented.

“Why are you here anyway? It’s not like you would actually want to hang out,” Annabelle replied.

“We came here to talk to you about the murder of Addie Dunakin,” Casey said proudly.

“You really think I did it. I mean sure, I hate her, but I wouldn’t kill her. Plus, it was clearly Eliza.”

“Stop trying to blame me! I would never even hurt my best friend.”

“Then why does every clue point to you?”

“That isn’t true.”

“Stop arguing!” Casey cried out. “Annabelle, what did Ms. Ivey say in her speech?”

“She was talking about how we all need to show respect in front of the college teacher. Also, we need to be nice to Addie if she doesn’t make it, congratulate her if she does make it, and help her not feel as nervous because this dance is her whole future, and blah blah blah, all about Addie. Then, she started telling us about how we have to be quiet during the show, but Eliza decided to interrupt.”

“Thank you for your time,” Casey spoke in a serious detective voice, then turned around to leave. Once the girls got out of the house, they were exploding with words.

“I can’t believe it wasn’t her!” Eliza yelled.

“The only time they could’ve killed Addie was when Ms. Ivey was speaking. No one would’ve had time to kill her before she started talking, and Annabelle recited what Ms. Ivey was saying from the start of her speech.”

“I’m still shocked. Why would she blame me if she didn’t do it?” Eliza questioned.

“That’s a mystery still, and you’re such good friends with Addie. Let’s head to Phoebe’s house next because she’s closest.” Once they opened the door to Phoebe’s room, they were shocked by seeing only blue everywhere they looked. The comforter, pillows, rug, chair bean bag, and even the walls.

The girls asked her what Ms. Ivey said during her speech, and she claimed she was in the bathroom when Ms. Ivey gave her speech. They finished interviewing her and walked out of the white house with gray shutters.

“She claimed she was in the bathroom while Ms. Ivey gave her speech. How suspicious is that? She has an easy way to kill Addie, and she can hide in the bathroom when I went into the makeup studio. She could pop out of the bathroom right when everyone hears about Addie being murdered,” Eliza commented.

“That makes so much sense, but maybe we should still check the other suspects.”

“Agreed.” They checked out all the other suspects, but nothing seemed suspicious. They didn’t think it would unfold that easily. Was it really that easy? Did they already solve the case? They decided to go tell the police.

“Officer! Officer! We know who killed Addie!” Eliza yelled at the top of her lungs. They sprinted towards the doors, and once they got there, they started panting really hard.

“We do too,” Officer Antonio said ferociously. “Give me your wrists, Eliza.”

“What do you mean? You think I did it!? Eliza screeched. “It was Phoebe Green. She told Ms. Ivey that she had to go to the bathroom, and she went to kill Addie. She went to the bathroom and waited until someone realized she was dead. She walked out of the bathroom when we were screaming, and she pretended to be clueless.”

“I’m sorry. Your handprints are on her neck.” Casey gasped.

“She framed me. When I saw the marks on her neck, I went to see if her pulse was moving.” She remembered the gasping. How soothing. The croaking when she tried to breathe. The satisfying, helpless way she tried to squirm in the strong hands. Oh, how helpless she was. Eliza loved it. It all made sense to Casey.

“You went to go suffocate her when you were supposedly checking on her. Then you came running out, blaming it all on Phoebe. You are so selfish killing your best friend for a dance solo!”

“Fine! I did it! I always hated her! She got every bit of attention everywhere. It’s like I was outshined everywhere I went!” Eliza screamed. The cold handcuffs cut her wrist. They were tight and ate up her feeling in her wrist.

“Case solved!” Casey screamed.

 

Safety for Turtles

The safety of turtles is important for them and us. Nearly all the turtle species are considered endangered due to humans destroying their habitat, slaughtering them for food, and for unpermitted release. Unpermitted release can cause harm to the environment too. Therefore, turtles in captivity should be kept.

Some people argue that there are ways for turtles to be released safely. However, there isn’t really a solution because releasing a turtle is illegal. Furthermore, the only way you can release pet turtles is by either getting a permit or going to a tour that has releasing turtles events, but you cannot release your pet turtle. The releasing turtle events allow you to release newborn turtles to the beach, but there are also turtle walks, which is an educational turtle tour, and you get to see turtles. The releasing turtle events can be helpful because then predators on land can’t get the turtles easily (Schroeder). Additionally, you can get a permit if your pet turtle gets used to pond water, which is salt water, and if the turtle was born there. Although releasing pet turtles is illegal, some release them in a pond. However, Turtle Rescue USA is against this because the released turtle could carry a disease, and it doesn’t address the specific needs. Therefore, the evidence confirms that pet turtles should stay in captivity.

Moreover, other than the release of turtles, many other things can harm the turtles, like humans and natural harms. According to SEE Turtles, some natural harms include the ghost crab, birds, fish, etc. (SEE Turtles, “Baby Turtles”). SEE Turtles concludes that most of the harm comes from humans, like global warming, ocean pollution, plastic, and other marine debris (SEE Turtles, “Sea Turtle Threats”). Most humans try to help the turtles by scaring away predators. But some humans don’t care about the turtles and slaughter them for food, which is a terrible doing, while some let their dogs or pets out, and those pets harm the turtles (WWF). To sum up, the examples portray that we must stop hurting the ocean environment to save the turtles.

As you can see, the safety of turtles is important. Turtles are living beings too, so we should treat them well and help them survive from extinction. If harming turtles and the environment keeps on going on, the sea turtle species will go extinct. So that’s why I wrote this essay, to help save the environment, animals that depend on the environment, and of course the extinction of turtles. If you ever see a turtle in the wild, leave it in peace, unless it’s in the middle of the road, then you can help it cross the road.

 

Bibliography

“Releasing Turtles Into the Wild.” Turtle Rescues USA,

www.turtlerescueusa.com/wordpress/?page_id=109.

“Baby Turtles.” SEE Turtles, www.seeturtles.org/baby-turtles/.

“Sea Turtle Threats.” SEE Turtles, www.seeturtles.org/sea-turtles-threats/.

Schroeder, Debra, et al. “Releasing Sea Turtles: What You Should Know.” Traveling Well For Less, 24 Jan. 2018, www.travelingwellforless.com/releasing-sea-turtles-what-you-should-know/.

“Sea Turtle.” WWF, World Wildlife Fund, www.worldwildlife.org/species/sea-turtle.

 

Lavender

He wakes up early that morning. The room is dark, and the sofa is lumpy. He flips the pancakes and chops the strawberries and leaves them on a chipped plate on the wooden table. The shards of porcelain dishes turn the floor into a dangerous mosaic he tiptoes over. He sets a note next to the plate, a plea for forgiveness scribbled on it with a ballpoint pen. She will scan it once and throw in the trash. At least, he thinks to himself, she’ll know he cares.

The BART station is near empty at this time when the sun itself is waking up. It’s a pleasant ride. He passes the minutes by humming to himself in time to the rattling of the train car. From the window, he can see the whole world go by, towns, cities, farms. He exits at the final stop of the line, pushing past the bustle of the everyday working American. Life itself is happening around him. He savors the thought, turning to wave as the BART car rattles away. A few people inside wave back.

He takes the steps two at a time, hopping down them in the way a child would. A few people stop and stare, but he doesn’t mind. The stares are in themselves little compliments. He doesn’t trip on the loose fifth stair. He skips over it, then stops to explain to an amazed little girl how to jump just like him.

The brisk September air fills his lungs as he strolls down the street, dropping quarters into the parking meters as he goes by.

At the bus stop, he sits next to a woman wearing an oversized jacket. They talk for a bit, exchanging puzzle pieces of their lives. She tells him about her son and daughter in college who are on scholarships and don’t know that she was evicted three weeks ago. He tells the woman about his love, what he’s done, and where he’s going. The woman laughs and clamps him on the shoulder. He offers her one hundred dollars in the form of a thick wad of bills, but she declines, pushing the money into his pocket. He is sad to leave when his bus arrives.

He takes the bus up to wine country, where the land is covered in its livelihood in the form of grapes. Up here, the taste of wine is a part of every meal. He doesn’t think he could stand all of the finery that comes with it. He wasn’t born for a life of frills and neither, he thinks, was she. He remembers she had said something about that last night after he had shattered the dishes on the floor.

He wonders if she got the pancakes and the little note she probably refused to read. The bus comes to a creaking stop. He pushes the thoughts out of his head and exits in a hurry, handing the driver a plastic rose he found abandoned on the seat.

The world smells of lavender and dirt and mist. A sagging house waits a a mile down from the bus stop. He skips towards it, singing a radio hit from years ago. A couple he knows through their voices on the phone stands in front of the house. Years of happiness are visible in their every move. Behind the house is a world of violet.

The couple smiles when he gasps. They tell him that this lavender is their life’s work. Every flower holds a memory. Two hundred dollars is payment for five bags. He tells the couple that their love story will be perfect to tell her. Maybe then she’ll be able to remember they have a story of their own. The couple gives him a grateful smile and hands him the bags full of lavender sprigs.

He waits almost an hour for the bus to return. The man next to him doesn’t like to talk much. So, he tells the man about her, painting pictures with his words. The man nearly cries. He gives him a sprig of lavender and holds him until the man’s bus arrives.

Joining him now is a teenage girl, absorbed in her phone who chuckles at seemingly random moments. He watches for a while, until she glances up to see his stare. Flashing him a look of disgust, she returns to the tiny world in her screen. Anger bubbles up within him, a monster he has never learned to control. He takes her phone in his hand and throws it as far as possible. The reflective surface glints in the sunlight before it strikes the ground. The girl looks at him in shock, before dashing away to save her device.

The screen is shattered beyond repair. She screams at him and cradles the lifeless phone as if it was her baby. He listens to her for a few moments before telling the girl about her.

Throughout their years together, she never needed the tiny devices. She never needed a wall dividing her from everything else. She flourished in a world of screens by simply opening her eyes beyond that. He hands the girl two hundred dollar bills when his bus is in sight. He then tosses her a sprig of lavender. She catches it in both hands, studying the flower as if it was the first time she had ever seen such a thing. He picks up his bags and steps onto the bus.

The ride back is bumpier with people packed shoulder to shoulder. He takes a seat next to a snoring man. Across from him, a couple shares a bottle of wine. She might’ve liked that once but not after everything that’s happened. He pushes the thought out of his mind and glances around the bus. A little boy watches him. His five-year-old hands cling to a metal pole. He ducks forward, towards the boy, and offers him a sprig. Lavender is passed from big hands to little ones. He smiles and retreats back to his seat.

By the time it reaches his stop, the bus is teeming with the scent of purple flowers. He hands one to every passenger as he makes his way off. He pauses at the driver’s seat and offers her a sprig with two flowers dangling off of it. She smiles and places it next to the plastic rose. The driver’s eyes remind him of hers. He can’t help but grin.

Walking down the sidewalk, he digs out his last few quarters to save a car about to be ticketed. Several moments later, an anxious driver emerges from the station, perplexed to see she has twenty minutes to spare. The station is near full again, despite it being the quiet time of the day. He hands every person he sees a lavender sprig.

He sits across from a woman wearing a gold studded coat and has one side of her head shaved. He learns about her boyfriend who stole her life savings and how she is going to court now. He gives the woman a much needed hug and tucks one of the remaining lavender sprigs behind her ear. She walks out with her head held high, the purple flowers perfectly complimenting her eyes. The first bag is empty now, but still carries a pleasant scent. He ties it around a pole, hoping everyone can share in a little piece of his adventure. A pleasant voice announces his station, and the train comes to a screeching halt. He makes his way out and watches as it travels downs the tunnels.

The remaining four lavender bags seem to become heavier and heavier as he walks down the long winding road towards his home. The smell of an apologetic guilt is in the air.

He arrives to a depressing barren yard. For the first time today, he feels almost lonely. Then, through the window, he sees her shadow. A pianistic melody flows into his ears.

He plunges his hand into the bag and grabs a handful of flowers. He stoops and goes about planting them into the dirt. Slowly, a tapestry of purple begins to form on the rocky soil. He is soon covered in mud with a distinctive earthy scent. Perhaps, if lavender can grow without any roots, maybe so can their love.

He works for hours into the evening. She never does emerge. The tinkling sound of the piano continues to radiate from the window.

The once barren yard is a field of purple. In his hands, he takes the remaining lavender sprigs and ties them in a bouquet. Ignoring his racing heart, he marches up to the front porch and knocks four times, no more, no less. He waits for a moment, rocking back and forth on his heels. She opens the door and stares at him, as if waiting for him to make the first move in a game of chess. Studying her face for forgiveness, he holds out the bouquet. “I’m sorry.”

She looks at him blankly.

“Did you read my note?”

“It’s in the same place you left my heart.” For a moment, she catches a glimpse of the sea of flowers that has sprouted in her yard. Her eyes fill with wonder and hate, but nothing nearing love.

He turns towards his long day’s work. “I did this all for you.” He stares at her with pleading eyes. “You always loved lavender.”

Her laugh slices through his heart. “And how many flowers did you give away while you were on your little adventure?” She takes a step forward. Sunlight splashes onto her face. Inside, he can see the floor has been cleared of porcelain shards. A familiar lump of guilt forms in his throat. Her feet are bandaged with white cloth. “How much time did you spend running away from me by doing your so-called good deeds?”

She snatches the lavender from his hands, crumpling the flowers he had traveled so many miles to obtain. “You are so perfect.” A bit of saliva lands on his cheek. “All you care about is looking perfect and caring to everyone.” Tears run down her cheeks, forging tiny rivers on the landscape of her skin. “Why do I only matter to you when you feel your heart beginning to break?” The lavender bouquet falls to the ground. “You never noticed that my heart was already in pieces.”

 

Oh College

 

Beep beep beep.

“Time to wake up already.” Susy, my roommate, is an early bird.

“Come on, or else we’ll be late to class,” she says. I rush to brush my teeth, get my clothes on, and brush my hair.

I start running out the door when Susy says, “Maya, are you forgetting something!”

“Oh ya, my bags.”

I get my bag and head out the door. Susy is always helping me. We get to our first class. I am twenty-two years old, and when I grow up I plan on being a pediatrician. First class is all about the bones. The classroom smells of the disinfectant the janitors use to clean, and there are already many people in the classroom setting up their notebooks. Mr. Roger, the bone teacher, is one of the nicest teachers I have.

He says, “Remember that next week is the big exam on every single bone in the body. You will have to tell me the name of each bone in the body, where it is, and its function. Remember the extra credit!”

“Oh no, what am I going to do. I can’t even remember all the bones in the spine.”

I am at my desk in the dorm, and I am so tired, but I have to keep studying for tomorrow’s big test.

Susy tiredly says, “It’s twelve thirty. Why don’t you go to bed and work on studying in the morning. Trust me. You’re ready for the test.”

“Okay,” I sigh.

“Good night.”

When I wake up, Susy has already packed up my bag for me. I love her. As we walk to class, she starts pointing to bones in the spine and asks me, “What is this bone?”

“Umm, that is in the cervical region.”

“Yes, that is correct!” Susy confirms.

She keeps testing me until we get to class, where most people are testing each other on the bones. Susy is the best student in the class, so I am sure she will pass the test. This is our one chance to get our master’s in the orthopaedic class, or else we will have to take the class for another year. Ding ding ding, the bell rings for the start of class.

As we walk into the classroom, I say to Susy, “Good luck!” She gives me a thumbs up, and we sit down. Mr. Roger hands out the tests, and we begin.

When I get to a question that says, How did the thoracic spine section get its name, I started blanking on it. My hands are sweating, and my pencil is slipping out of my hand. Then, I remember to take a minute and breathe, which really helps. I finally get the answer, that it came from a Greek word. Even though I am the last one to finish the test, I am sure I am going to pass it.

 

One week later…

 

Today is the day we are going to get the results back from our test.

“Eek!” I am so excited.

Mr. Roger gives everyone back their test except me. Susy gets a one hundred, and I give her a high five, but I don’t get mine back.

When the bell rings, I go over to Mr. Rogers and tell him, “I never got my test back?”

Then he says, “I know. Can you come with me to have a meeting with Vice Principal Robert.”

I started getting all nervous again. I have a lump in my throat, and I get goosebumps all over. When I sit down in a chair, Mr. Roger and Robert start talking.

“Okay Maya, your test results show that you were one question short from passing the test, and we would like to address this with you.”

“Oh, okay.”

“We have seen how hard you have worked over the year, and we would like to grant you a spot in the master’s degree class on some conditions.”

“Really!” I blurt out.

“Yes!” they say.

“As long as you are able to keep up with your class work, get a 75% or higher on all home work, and pass your tests. You are granted the permission to have your master’s degree. But, if you are not able to accomplish this, you will need to go and take the class with Mr. Roger again. Okay.”

“Oh my god, thank you. I promise to meet those standards or even higher each day. I appreciate this so much.”

“Then I think you may go up to your master’s degree.”

I am so excited, and I just want to start screaming, but I don’t.

Instead I say, “Thank you.” Then, I leave.

When I go to lunch, everyone is talking about their test.

I run up to Susy and scream, “I got my master’s!”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

I tell her everything that happened, and how hard I have to work to stay in this class. Susy says she will help me stay at the top of class, and the only way to do that is to practice. I agree, and every day I wake up early in the morning at six and start rehearsing every bone in the body, and if I get one wrong, I have to start back from the beginning. Once I am even late to class, but that paid off later. After I master all the muscles in the body, it is time for me to take the test about the functions of each muscle. That is the hard part. I take a practice test in class and fail at it. The muscle teacher, Ms. Fisher, gets worried about me and makes me stay after class for extra help.

Back in the dorm, I talk to Susy about how much trouble I am having with the muscle functions.

“I have to get better at these functions. The neck is the most important part. I can’t even name all of them,” I cried out.

“Calm down, you just have to make a song or a rhyme to memorize them. That’s what I do.”

“Okay, let me try!”

“There are five main muscles, but really nine so… ”

“Most muscles in the neck control moving the head in all directions toward the shoulders, spine and scapula. The sternocleidomastoid and the trapezius muscles are responsible for the gross motor movement in the head and neck… ”

“Great, now make a song out of it.” Susy exclaims.

I worked on memorizing the song I made up, and soon I was catching up to everyone in my class.

“Yipee!”

Today is my birthday, November 18, and I will be seeing my parents. It is getting a little chilly outside, but that’s okay. I love my parents because they support me so much with my medical studies. Since I was little, I was interested in being a doctor, so my parents got me a few books about how to become a doctor. After that, they supported me in some extra studies. They have always encouraged me to do my best. I have told my parents everything, and because I am turning twenty-three, they are getting me an extra special gift. They get me a trip to one of the best hospitals in town, where I will be sitting in on one of their meetings.

The hospital I am working at is the Mount Sinai Hospital for children. I go there every other day to follow and work with doctors on patients. They are such big role models.

I have already gotten accepted to work at the Metropolitan Pediatrics when I graduate, so that is pretty exciting.

It has been a long hard year, and here comes another big test too. This test will get me to my graduating year.

“Maya, I think you are going to do great on this test as long as you keep studying,” Susy exclaims.

“Thanks,” I say.

Beep beep beep.

“Ohhh, good morning, Rrrraaa Ssshoooo. Wait, what, today’s the big day the test day,” I sleepily than more awake say.

“Maya, you almost fell back asleep. Come on, we have to get to class.”

“Coming!”

 

***

“Good morning, class,” Ms. Fisher announces.

“Good morning,” my class and I say.

“Are you ready for the test.”

“Yes,” we all say.

When I get my test, I breathe and begin, and by the time I finish the test, I feel pretty good.

“You guys will be getting your tests back in a week. See you then.”

 

Next week…

When I wake up, Susy is still in bed sleeping. How weird? Then I look at the time, 6:00 am. No wonder, she is still not up. She gets up at 6:30. Well, I think I will just wake her anyway. Besides, it’s the big day!

“Susy, wake up,” I whisper. She wakes up, then stares at me angrily.

Then she pouts. “Why did you have to wake me up, especially today!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was something special about today. I was just excited about getting our test back,” I say shyly.

“Why are you so selfish!” Susy yells out.

“What, me? I’m not selfish,” I say in a confused voice.

“All you care about is yourself. I do everything for you. You don’t even remember special dates.” Now I am very confused.

“Um, is it Hanukkah,” I quietly say.

“HHHUU,” Susy cries out.

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Why don’t you find another bully to hang out with,” Susy screams at me.

We are both on the edge of tears. I grab my bag and walk out. I don’t even care if I’m crying. At the beginning of class, there are always announcements.

“Good morning, college students, today everyone will be getting back their exams back — good luck. Oh and by the way, today is Susy’s birthday. Happy Birthday! Have a great day and work hard,” the principal announces on the loudspeaker. After the principal says “Susy’s birthday,” I am shocked. How could I have forgotten.

“Huu,” I almost start to cry.

Later that day during class, I find out my grade for the test. I passed it, but I was on the edge of failing. As a result, Ms. Fisher wants me to come during lunch and after lunch for extra help. It sucks!

Later that day when I come to the dorm, Susy is already there.

I go up to her and decide to lie.

“Sorry about this morning. I was going to have a surprise birthday party for you, and I was trying to pretend I forgot. Sorry if it really upset you.”

“Thank you for the apology, but I want to be alone. NOW!” she screams to me, so I leave. I realize I need to get her a birthday present, so I go to the college campus shop and get her a really nice coffee mug because she always drinks coffee in the morning.

On it says, Top mug, Top coffee, Top student. I wrap it then bring it to the dorm. I put it next to her, and then get ready for my next class. That night, she comes over to me and says sorry.

We hug, and then Susy whispers, “Friends again?”

“Yes, friends again,” I say back. We get over what happened, and life just goes on normally until…

The other day, I started helping to treat a patient with a brain tumor. The boy is only eleven, and he is very scared, so I also help calm him down. I check him and do a few small procedures. I come to him every day to help out. A week later when I come to check on him, a nurse is already in there giving him pain medicine and calming him down. I come over and ask what is wrong, and she tells me that yesterday I didn’t give him antibiotics, and that now he is very sick. I go to the main office to ask what is going on. They say that yesterday I did not treat him correctly.

I say, “I was not here yesterday because I had an appointment, so someone else covered for me.”

“Huh,” the manager says. “That’s weird because the person who signed in signed your name, but now that I think about it the person was acting a little weird. She was also very tall.”

I am not the tallest, five feet seven inches.

“May I please see the signature?” I ask.

“Yes,” he responds.

The signatures are different. Mine are always very neat and the same, but the one from yesterday was sloppy and a little different.

After that, we check the video cameras. Yes, we find the person. It is a nurse that is new to the hospital. We have a long talk with the nurse, and we teach the nurse how to treat and do that small procedure correctly. The nurse gets a big fine for doing such cruel thing. The nurse Paloma is very upset that she did the procedure wrong, so she goes to the patient and says she is really sorry.

When she comes back down to us she says, “He looks really bad, and I’m worried about him. Would any of you go up to make sure he is okay.”

I go up to see him, and just as nurse Paloma said, he looks like he is in a lot of pain. I give him some more medicine and talk to his mom who is already crying.

With a lump in my throat I say, “Your son is in some hard conditions. We can keep treating him and give him medicine, but his tumor is spreading, and it may just be best for him to go. He is in so much pain, that it may not be worth it.”

“I think he is strong enough to fight this. Let me think about it,” she whimpers to me.

I leave to give him a bit more medicine, but he looks like he is almost dying.

The next day when I come to see him, his mom is praying on the side of the hospital bed crying, “Oh, please lord, please god just let my son live a happy life, please.”

I go to his side. He had passed away. His heart just gave up on him, and he would have lived a painful life if he was still here.

I go over to his mom and give a slight hug. I help detach the wires on him and put him on a different bed. That is the end of my journey with this family because the other agency at the hospital would take care of this. I go over to the boy and do a short prayer and a hug.

Then I go over to the mom and say, “I’m so sorry. Let him rest in peace.”

I hug her for a long time and then leave. I guess this is the end. I go back to my dorm to rest after such a traumatic day.

 

End of the year…

I pass the test, which means I am going to graduate and become a pediatrician. The Metropolitan Pediatric center already accepted me, so yippee! I am so excited to start a new year full of new adventures with my new patients at the office. Susy is also coming to work with me, but at a different office nearby. We are sharing a studio on sixty-fifth street which is in the middle of both the offices. I am so excited for my new life ahead.

 

The End

 

Drowning

From above, the waters looked serene. It was twilight, and the setting sun cast a brilliant glow across the gentle waves. The turquoise waters were deep, deeper than anyone knew, with shades of periwinkle and navy mixed in the dark depths. Yes, it seemed like the ocean was taking a rest for the night, lulling itself to sleep with the rhythm of the undulating waves.

Being in it, however, was a different story.

When she had fallen in did not matter. All that did matter was the girl had fallen. The petite girl who was beautiful and unafraid, with ivory skin, delicate features, and silky hair as black as the night. The girl who had stood at the top of the tallest skyscraper in the city, staring down forty stories of gleaming metal and cold, glittering glass. The girl who had tumbled, twisting and turning through the silent night air, down, down, down, eyes wide with knowing panic.

The waters closed around her, whispering their thoughts of evil and malice. Why have you come here? They laughed threateningly. There is nothing for you but death and destruction. And so they wrapped around this girl, through her nose and open mouth that silently screamed even in the darkness. They suffocated her, the girl whose hand reached for the surface, for one more breath of air. But the waves were cruel. They squeezed the life out of her, the very soul of this brave girl, lungs burning, eyes watering, regrets and reminders of life waiting for her on the other side. She felt herself losing consciousness, the voices drowning in her sorrows. All that was left was her and the world.

And then everything went black.

 

Kiona’s eyes fluttered open as she awoke, gasping and sweating. She had the nightmare several times, especially the past week, but it seemed as if the waters had only gotten darker. They voiced her fears of leaving behind the life she had always known, and drowning had always been one of her greatest fears. She had thought about it several times, and each time Kiona had decided if it was time for her to go, she would want something quick. But drowning, feeling your soul slip away as you reached for something you could never have… that was definitely not quick.

Sighing, Kiona pushed all thoughts of the terrifying ocean out of her head. She wasn’t home anymore. She had left her mother, two sisters, and baby brother for the coldness of the college dorm just two months ago, and it was time for her to grow up along with her life. Nightmares aside, it was morning, and it was time for her to start the day. Kiona stretched her sore muscles and yawned. The last of her drowsiness slipped away, replaced by a mild excitement for what the day held. She slipped out of her covers and got up, her hand moving automatically to the teapot.

Kiona looked around as she did every day. And day after day, she could only feel sorry for herself. The dingy, gray apartment was not what she had wanted, but it was enough. She should be grateful to be living here at all. In the last few years, prices for freshman living spaces had risen astronomically. However, when Kiona had first stepped in, she wasn’t sure if she could ever really call it home. There was a small bed with an iron frame that never let her have a comfortable sleep, a leather couch where she pondered her life decisions, and a cramped kitchen where she never cooked anyway. She couldn’t bring herself to.

Kiona gasped, guilt filling her chest and spilling over in the form of tears. She blindly walked towards the door, only one thought in her head: outside. She needed fresh air. Ignoring the curfew, she turned the handle, rushing into the empty hallway and through the silent dorm. She led herself down the spiraling staircase, muscle memory taking over, until finally, finally, she reached the great oak door that would take her outside.

Kiona ripped it open without hesitation, only calming when the cool night breeze hit her face. She gulped in the air, wrapping her arms around her lavender pajamas and shivering. The cold did her good, though, and finally brought her peace of mind. She couldn’t think about the past, about the mistakes she had made. She couldn’t think about… Brooks.

At the name, the tears flowed again. Kiona doubled over, clutching her knees to steady herself as her world turned blurry. She took sharp, deep breaths, pushing everything out of her mind. She couldn’t afford to think about this, she reminded herself. She was older now, and her family was trusting her to take care of herself.

“Hey, miss!” Kiona angrily wiped away her tears and turned around. She saw an older man approaching her, a smug smile on his face. She noted his hand in his jacket pocket, obviously covering something worth hiding. Kiona tensed up, ready to run.

“Whatcha doing out here, eh?” he asked, revealing a toothy grin. “Bit dangerous, don’t ya think?”

“I’m fine,” she declared, trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. Blood pounded in her ears, pulsing with rage until she couldn’t hear anymore. The world went still around her until it was just her and the street. And her instinct was to run.

She ran.

Running was the only thing she was capable of now. She knew she had to own up to her past at some point, but why now? Kiona had to take care of herself, and this was the only way she knew how. She had to escape her past, escape Brooks’ murder, escape the ocean… she had to escape everything, once and for all, and never let it catch up with her. She had to run, away from the guilt and horror. Away from life, away from feeling anything at all. She couldn’t.

And so, Kiona ran. Her feet bounced rhythmically on the asphalt, arms pumping at her sides as she challenged herself to go faster, run harder. As she ran, the world slid by, every meaningful thing turning into a blur. That was how she felt. Heart racing, legs pumping, going on and on for eternity. Everything good in life had been taken away from her. And now she left the world, letting her fears slide away, letting the wind pick up her raven tresses and fan them around her face.

Kiona ran past the houses, past the streets, past the neighborhoods until her smart watch beeped. She slowed, her rhythm reducing, and stopped at an intersection she didn’t recognize. Whoa. She didn’t realize she had run that far. And now her watch was beeping, alerting the officials to her run.

 

Kiona stared at the whitewashed walls of the interrogation room, wondering how many criminals had sat in this very chair before her. More importantly — how could she be so irresponsible? What would her family think? They thought the therapist had fixed all her problems, that she had gotten over Brooks. But she’d only been pretending all along. How could she do that to herself? She went still and calmed, placing a hand over her heart to dull the ache and taking a few deep breaths.

Kiona looked at the tinted two way glass that she couldn’t see through, wondering who was staring at her from the other side. Would her mother be there? Or just a disgruntled official? Whoever it was, could they see the hurt and longing in her face, the fatigue in her motions, the tiredness in her eyes? Could they see how much had really happened to her since Brooks had died?

For the first time, Kiona could think his name without feeling the pain that came along with it. She could remember the good times, like her mother had suggested. She could see him now, easy smile that made her heart melt, pale skin and short dark hair that was messily gelled back, and… his eyes. He had the most gorgeous eyes in the world, sea-green with flecks of amber that sparkled knowingly in the light. And he stood there now, before her, hands in his pockets like they always were, but smiling. He smiled at her, then slowly reached out his hand, graceful fingers unfolding, grasping for her. Come, he gestured.

Then, there was a loud bang, and Kiona gasped with surprise. Metal slammed on metal, and as quickly as it had been opened, the door shut. A man walked in. He was looking down at the ground and thumbing through a file. He, too, had a tired expression on his face, and his slow movements suggested he didn’t really want to do this. He didn’t want to ask her about things she didn’t want to answer.

But Kiona didn’t care. She couldn’t see anything, didn’t want to see anything except for Brooks. Ignoring the man, she spun around, looking, searching at the place where she had seen Brooks, glittering in the light.

He wasn’t there.

Kiona nearly cried out, the pain of longing was so sharp. It felt as if someone had stabbed her in the gut with a red-hot blade. She doubled over, but as her mind cleared, she began to think. Perhaps this is what Brooks had felt when he had supposedly shot himself, the bullet lodged between his ribs and working its way to his heart. Perhaps this is what he had felt when he had jumped into the ocean with only moments left, his soul left to drown in the dark. But she was sure this is what she had felt when the body had washed up on shore the next day, bleeding and broken. He hadn’t even been given a chance to live. And she didn’t even know why.

A loud clearing of the throat brought Kiona back to the present. She hadn’t even realized that her gray eyes had pooled with tears. She hadn’t known they were coming. She swiped them away quickly and turned to face the official, pushing Brooks out of her mind as she had done since he had died. She couldn’t give herself a chance to grieve. She would never move on if she did that.

“Miss Rose?” It was only a whisper at first, but as the man grew more confident, his voice did too. “Miss Rose?”

“What do you want?” Kiona said angrily, glaring at him through her thick lashes.

He cleared his throat again, looking a little uncomfortable. Shifting from foot to foot as if trying to decide, the man eventually sat down in the cold metal chair opposite to her. “I know you don’t want to do this. I don’t want to either. But I’ll have to report that you’re emotionally unstable if you don’t subject to the questioning. And you’ll have to follow the rules after this, you understand? You have to follow curfew, and you can’t — ”

“I. Don’t. Care!” Kiona hissed through gritted teeth, slamming her hand on the table. Then, the anger was gone, and as much as she tried to avoid it, the sadness started to fill her again. Tears dripped from her delicate lashes and pooled in her eyes. “He’s gone,” she said slowly, her voice breaking. She looked down.

Now, the official had no experience with crying women, especially since he knew about Brooks and her past. He also knew that her family had reported she was over the grief. However, standing in front of her now, watching her try to avoid it but at the same time falling prey to her sorrow, he knew she really wasn’t.

And Kiona knew too. She saw pain in the official’s eyes, pain like hers, but he hid it well. He was over it. And she wished with all her heart that she could be like that too. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe she should have subjected to his questioning so he wouldn’t report her. Maybe she should have pretended to be okay like she had with her family. But seeing him, seeing how he had handled everything so calmly… how could she pretend to be okay when she was so clearly not?

The official gently placed his hand on top of hers, and for once, Kiona didn’t say anything. “I know. I know how it feels.”

Kiona shook her head, not understanding. “Then how can you be so calm? How can you avoid the pain?”

The official averted his eyes, then returned her gaze after a few moments. “Because I realized she’s gone. I have to live my life without her.”

Kiona’s bright gray eyes turned stormy. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

The official nodded slowly, pausing to think. Eventually, he extended his hand, a smile appearing on his weary face. “Mark.”

Kiona wasn’t in the mood for it, but maybe he could help her. She had to be polite. She shook it, forcing a thin smile. “Kiona.”

“I know,” he said. Then after a moment’s hesitation, he continued, “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep you here until you answer a few questions, but let me know when you’re ready. I know… ” He sucked in his breath. “I know it’s hard. And grief can make you do terrible things. So I want you to know I understand, I really do. And I’ll try to help you as much as I can.” And with that, he left.

Kiona nodded, the numbness in her heart dulling. She had finally let in one emotion, the only one she could allow. Hope.

 

Kiona stepped outside, smiling as the wind tossed her raven hair over her shoulder. She reached into the pocket of her jeans for her jingling silver car keys, walking towards the candy apple red Volkswagen Beetle that had been a gift from her mother after Brooks. At first, nothing could please her, nothing could bring her out of her misery. But now she stopped, admiring the smooth, shiny surface and the adorable roundness of the car. It really was beautiful.

The ride back to the campus was silent, but at the same time, the silence was delicate, graceful. Kiona had been in silence for so many months that it now fit her like a comfortable glove. It gave her time to notice the world in full color, not the black and white that grief had painted over it. She noticed the trees bursting with bright green leaves, the still blueness of the sky, the fluffiness of the clouds. She saw everything good in the world, everything there was to live for.

Kiona already felt a difference. Maybe with enough time to grieve, she could move on. She could even get the tracking watch removed. She remembered when the officials had showed up at her doorstep with it, giving their apologies over Brooks. But they weren’t sincere. They never were. Maybe that’s why Kiona had taken the interrogating official’s advice to heart.

Of course, her mother had assured them Kiona was perfectly stable. But as Kiona stood by her mother with a smile plastered on her face, giving way to the waves of grief, she knew the officials could see what had really happened. They were the ones who had to make sure everyone maintained baseline emotion, that no one was too happy or too sad. They gave time for joy and misery, but only enough, and then you must move on. For what is the point of life if you revel in your glories all the time, making the hike up the mountain only to sit there and enjoy the view? No, happiness was no motivation. It was just a distraction. And the same was true for sadness. Sure, certain things allowed moments of disappointment, but there was no point wallowing in it. That’s what the officials had realized.

However, the drug they had given Kiona to combat her sadness hadn’t worked. And for some reason, they hadn’t showed up to administer it again. She wasn’t sure she wanted them to, knowing the passing of her misery was fabricated. But, remembering the long, hard months, Kiona thought maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t had to go through that. And then there was the tracking watch. She didn’t know what the officials saw when they pulled up her data, only that her sorrow lasted for an abnormally long time for someone being drugged. Since then, they’d place a suicide watch on her, tracking her every move to make sure she didn’t do the same thing as Brooks.

Even before, when Kiona had been consumed in grief, she would never have commited suicide. To take the thing she valued, the thing that others loved even if she hadn’t, to shoot herself knowing that she had only herself to blame… the thought was sickening. But even if the officials had known that, they would have tracked her. They were always suspicious of her, always suspicious of everyone. A bitter taste rose in Kiona’s mouth, but she forced it down.

The officials weren’t all bad. They, too, had suffered loss and pain. Besides, hadn’t the interrogation official just promised to help her? And he had let her go?

Momentarily distracted, Kiona snapped out of her reverie, able to truly see the beauty in the world since… well, in a long time. She had been driving on mostly empty roads, and now her watch was beeping to alert her she was approaching the main street that led to her college. Even though the students were in classes right now, the highway was full of cars traveling long distances. The road hummed with the energy of all the engines, drivers chatting, talking, and gazing into the distance. They were going places, far, far away. Kiona had always imagined herself being one of them someday, traveling somewhere far to start a new life. She could be anything she wanted there, not just the girl who had lost her best friend or the girl that had a suicide watch on her.

Kiona smoothed back her silky hair and stopped at an intersection to wait for oncoming traffic. She glanced at the drivers beside her, running their hands through their hair or fumbling with their phones. She saw the simplicity in their actions and smiled. For some inexplicable reason, it made her feel better. Turning, Kiona studied the traffic light, waiting for the moment when it would turn from blood red to emerald green. And just as it was about to happen, just as the light was about to read go, she saw it coming.

She saw the car around the corner.

She’d heard of time slowing down in situations like this, but instead it seemed to speed up for her. The driver in the veering black SUV, making reckless turns and driving like a madman, did not see the red light. Or maybe he did. Because he drove towards it, eyes flashing determined as he spun the wheel maniacally. He drove straight towards where the traffic on the highway had stopped, cars lining up tip to tip in a perfect line, all the drivers sharing a moment in which their life was put on hold for a simple light. Except for his. She saw him coming straight for the left corner, where she sat in her candy apple red Volkswagen Beetle, his eyes trained on her. Kiona’s stormy gray eyes widened for a moment, a scream clinging to her mouth as it took the shape of a surprised “o.” And it all happened so fast. She watched him speed up, hurtling towards her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She threw her hands up to shield herself and felt only a slight jostle at first. Then…

Help. Please. Crash. Collision. Brakes. Car.

A bump. A bang. She was thrown forward.

Head first. Head hit. Pain. Crash. Pain. So much pain. Exploding pain. Like longing.

And then everything went black.

 

Me, the Woman and the Man

In the corner of an illuminating empty, dull, gray room, I stand with pale hands that shiver like a shower in mid-December, shaking like the earth I am on. All over this neighborhood are factories, left to right. There is not a single park here. The smoke stacks develop into the sky like an evil crop of corn, and they give off these fumes which cover many of our homes with dust. It almost looks as if I had put black paint on my hands and rubbed it all over miniature, lego-like houses.

Who am I? I ask myself. The idea of not having anyone with me, by my side, is destroying me.

And yet, to this day, I still get these dreams — very vague and foggy — of when I was eleven years old and on a planet similar to Earth, but one that was rust and sepia-colored, and dusty.

The dream started with a woman talking to me…

“Bellumy, we’re finally here — we can start a new life,” this woman told me with a relieving voice and brown eyes which were oddly familiar.

“Where are we… ?” I stated with that sweet wonderful voice. “Are we going home now?”

This is our home now,” she cried.

As soon as I hear the word ‘‘home,’’ I always wake up from my foggy day dream and find myself on a piece of rock I would call Earth. I feel as if I haven’t had a drink of water in years, and my mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert. The sweat from my armpits and forehead reach my feet like an appalling waterfall.

“Oh my God, Bellum! You are sweating like crazy,” a nurse worryingly states. “Here. Drink some water… you’re dehydrated for god’s sake.”

“I am so sorry, Adjútor, I had those nightmares again.”

“I don’t have the time for it. I have to clean your mess,” she yells.

I want to tell her my weird dreams of this woman calling me honey or little sunshine, but I can not bring myself to it.

“Why don’t you care?” I question.

“You can always tell me but not right now. I need to clean your room while you’re eating lunch,” she explains.

“Aren’t you going to have food with me Adjútor?” I ask.

“What did I just say? I will talk to you about your dreams later, after I am done with cleaning your room. So just get your butt up and eat your lunch,” Adjútor commands me to do.

One day I will leave this wretched, scummy place, and I will leave and go somewhere better… somewhere where I belong. There is this program, a program that fixes damaged brain tissue and replaces a broken micro chip with a new one. Well you see, I have had a broken chip since I was ten years old. These microchips are implanted in every baby that was born after 2025. The MCO’s, or MicroChip Organizations, are made in various versions. For example, some improve the brain for those who are mentally challenged or have other physical disabilities. Still, others were implanted in the brains of those who’ve migrated to other planets as a backup plan to ensure the safety for every person adapting to a new environment.

When I was born, I had these tremors. Theses tremor are an involuntary, rhythmic muscle movement. These movements are often back-and-forth actions of one or more body parts.
Most tremors can affect the hands. However, tremors can occur in the arms, head, face, vocal cords, trunk and legs. Other children like me with tremors often have back-and-forth or oscillating body movements. Kids also like me have a shaky voice. Tremors can affect fine motor coordination, such as writing and gripping objects. Tremors become more severe and may be triggered when I am stressed or feeling strong emotion.

Ever since my chip was broken, a point at which I did not remember, there was a sudden increase in my tremors. I needed a nurse to take care of me. She was annoying at first. She never listened to me and never wanted to talk to me. Now, she’s both annoying but empathetic, too. Some days she seems to care, and yet on others she does not because she is busy with some kind of work.

My tremors don’t prevent me from doing work, like delivering pizzas or even taking customers’ orders down. You see, I am currently enrolled in physical rehabilitation program, which simulates real world jobs for people who lost motor skills who want to get a job in the real world. I cannot work in a stressful environment or my hands shake like they do when I get those dreams. Each day I work, I get more exhaustion and more rest. That sounds like a contradiction, but my over-tiredness helps me enjoy my time sleeping in bed much more.

A few nights later, the same old dream initiated in the peace of my subconscious with the woman droning on and on…

“Bellumy, we’re finally here — we can start a new life,” the woman had told me with a relieving voice.

“Where are we… ?” I stated with that sweet, wonderful voice. “Are we going home now?”

This is our home now,” she cried as I could see the reflection of hills in her brown eyes.

Who was this woman? Why is she haunting my dreams? What home is she talking about? I need to get my chip fixed; I need these nightmarish dreams to go away.

I immediately need to ask a doctor to fix my chip so I can get this dream off of my mind for good. I alight off my hospital bed and go on a mission to find the doctor that can help me.

Running faster than the Flash, I collide with my nurse.

“Bellumy are you okay?” Adjutor worriedly asks. “You can’t leave your… ”

“I am leaving this place… I need to look for the doctor who can fix the chip,” I yell at her, pointing to my brain.

I do not want to even talk to her — I just need to find the doctor.

“Calm down, Bellumy,”Adjutor whispers right in front her boss.

“Who is he? Can he fix my chip?” I shout.

“Bellumy, I’m Dr. Medicus, I need you to come with me,” a man with broad shoulders and chin politely asks.

“Bellumy, the chip you’re talking about is causing a decline in muscular movement. This prevents you from doing certain day to day chores,” Medicus informs.

“Sir, is it possible to change the chip?” I curiously ask.

Giving me a contract, he states, “Well, yes, but there is a long waiting list — you would have to wait a couple of weeks.”

“These chips are meant for babies and can only be repaired for babies; it will be dangerous,” Adjutor worriedly states.

I had a lot to consider about this issue.

As the weeks passed, I kept getting those nightmarish and dank dreams. Every day I have to hear ‘this is our home now.’ However, the thought of having my brain chip repaired helped me leave my room with a smile on my face, slowly realizing that I can have a better life without these nightmares. Goodbye brown-eyed woman, I shout in my head.

And then it happened.

One unusually sunny day, the doctor came with the news I was waiting for.

He stood in the doorway like a smiling scarecrow and simply asked, “Are you ready?”

I didn’t have to answer, but he knew what I was going to say.

I slowly entered the surgery room. It was so silent, but the machines were humming, and the oddly shaped tools were shining like the sun on the horizon of some new wonderful land while the nurses were looking at me.

“Sit here,” Medicus commands.

I couldn’t say anything. I was shocked that something this thrilling would ever happen to me. So they gave me anesthesia, which is the injection of drugs before surgical operations which puts people to sleep.

After the surgery, I had to rest and couldn’t do anything physical. I had to sleep and eat through an IV tube.

My mind felt very calm as if this was a sign from God that I am disconnected from my pain. But that feeling of being released from the pain was soon to be crushed by the same repetitive dream and the same brown-eyed woman. However, this was not a dream — it was longer, a man appears to be next to the same brown eyed woman…

“Bellum, do you know where we are?” the man asked me. “We are on Mars.”

“Bellum, let’s go to our new rooms,” the brown-eyed woman ordered politely.

With a happy, relieving voice, the man exclaimed, “This is our home now, I hope you love it.”

“Are you ready to go to school today?” the man asked.

“Yes, I am going to school,” I firmly replied.

I got ready and rushed to the door and leapt towards this floating car that had been given to us by the government.

Hours had passed since I was dropped at this building — so bright, white, and hovering over the entire colony of Mars. This building is like a 6-foot tall man compared to a toddler.

At the end of the day, I saw the same people who had dropped me here, and then I heard an explosion, so loud it shattered my ear drums and broke every bone in my body.

I heard a loud scream echoing through my head saying “Bellum” over and over again.
Even while asleep in this dream like state, this new influx of “dreams” felt real… not like dreams at all.

I woke up, but felt more sweaty and felt more dehydrated than ever before. Suddenly, I remember the rooms filled pictures of me — the woman and the man. We are hugging near these reddish hills; these were not like the ones on Earth which are grassy and green. Slowly trying to sit up, I immediately dropped down to the center of the bed.

I woke up the next morning, relieved that it was all over, and I desperately need to talk to a psychologist or someone like that. My dreams are getting more intense.

As soon as I saw Dr. Medicus, I tried to ask him if he could give me someone I can talk to about my feelings. Medicus gave me a number to this psychologist — her name was Sandra Hollingworth.

Later this week, I met with her, discussing my dreams and describing them with great detail. I notice something strange. She has these tiny tears slowly running down her face. She hands me this newspaper with the headline, Tragedy On Mars 2055.

“Read this article. Take your time,” she offers. Clearly she had lost someone and is still mourning because of this incident on “Mars.”

 

I grab the newspaper and skim it. There was nothing until I come to a picture of a kid, a brown eyed woman and a man. The woman was laying down with all torn clothes and bruised; the man is all bloodied up, eyes closed and grasping for life. Then, the kid is on his knees, tears down his face and fist clenched.

“Do you recognize the lady and man in the picture?” she asks. “Are these the people that were in your dreams?”

“Yes, she is the one that says, ‘This is our home,’ and the man is just a man!” I exclaim.

“These aren’t dreams, these are memories. You had experienced a very traumatizing event, and your brain had cancelled these memories,” she explains to me.

Wait a minute? I thought to myself. The woman in this picture looks like the woman in my dreams, and the man looks like the man in my dreams that had occured not too long ago. The kid looks just like me but only tiny and skinny. The woman has the same color eyes as me, same jawline, same nose shape… same everything.

“Uh — can I go back?” I had wondered.

“Well, yes. Things have changed; those who were injured or survived the 2055 accident can have a free pass back,” she continues to explain. “All the necessary changes have been made to the Colony I, so it is safer to live there.”

I completely ignored what she said, and I packed my bags and rushed out the hospital.

There had to be something more than a hospital bed, solitude, and empty terrestrial life. My destiny lay in another place… one that was red, familiar, and the resting place of the “brown-eyed” people I love.

 

How Kombucha Ruined My Life

I wake up Saturday morning and check my phone from my bed. Looks like it will be another sunny day that I spend inside. I have been rehearsing the musical Legally Blonde all week, and tonight is the performance. I play Brooke Wyndham, an exercise queen accused of murder. Some of my friends and family are coming, so the show has to be really good. While I’m sad it’s almost over, a sense of relief washes over me. It has been a lot of work.

My phone buzzes, and it’s my very energetic best friend Hazel.

GUESS WHAT??!! she writes.

WHAT????? I jokingly reply. We love goofing off together and have been doing it for years. Since fourth grade to be exact. It’s crazy to think that now eleventh grade is just around the corner.

ASHER IS COMING!!!!

My heart leaps into my throat. Asher, my crush since, well since forever, is coming to my show?

WAIT WHAT?! I reply, hoping that what she says next isn’t true. I haven’t talked to him, like really talked to him, since sixth grade when we shared snacks once. I am one of those people who observe and admire from afar.

He asked me about show dates and times and said that there was someone special in the shows that he wants to see. I think that means you!!

O-M-G. My heart pounds. Why would he be coming to see me? He doesn’t even know me now. Sure, our families are friends, and we used to be friends. Before popularity became a thing, we used to ride our bikes together down to the little cafe and get milkshakes. Him, chocolate. Me, vanilla.

I can’t think about this now. I have to focus on tonight. On giving a fabulous last performance. I get dressed and start my hair and makeup; I will finish it when I get to the theater. I grab a frozen waffle and pop it into the toaster oven as I get my things together. My mom comes in from an early morning grocery store trip and pulls out some chocolate cookies, strawberries, and grapes for me to take out of the grocery bag. I stuff them into my already overflowing backpack and run to the car.

“You forgot your waffle,” my mom says, getting into the driver’s seat. She hands me the warm, crunchy waffle wrapped in a napkin.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, my mouth already full of the sweet breakfast.

“I got you something,” my mom says. She reaches into the back seat and grabs a cold glass bottle filled with some pink liquid and hands it to me.

“What is it?” I asked, a little skeptical of what it was.

“It’s called kombucha. It’s a fermented tea that is really good for your digestion. I want you to try it. It’s grapefruit jasmine flavored and it’s fizzy.” She glances over to me and gestures for me to open it.

I do. Only to please her; my mom always goes on health food cleanses, so it is easiest for everyone to get this over with ASAP. It reeks of vinegar and raw fish — without a doubt, the grossest thing I have ever smelled. I take a small sip, try to hide my gag, and give it back to my mom.

“Here. You try this and tell me if it is something you would drink.”

My mom takes a big sip of the kombucha and chokes.

“That was horrible! I am so sorry I bought that.”

My mom hands the drink back to me, and I put the top back on. We open the windows to air out the car.

“Take it with you, maybe one of your friends will want it.” My mom laughs as I stick the glass bottle as low into my bag as it will go.

As we pull up at the theater, I run in and throw my bag in a corner near where I see my friends Jake and Sami sitting.

“Are you guys pretty nervous too?” Jake continues to run his hands through his nicely gelled hair.

“Stop! I just did your hair. Don’t you dare mess it up again,” Sami responds. She stretches her long, tan legs to get ready for all the dancing we have to do.

We talk for a little bit longer and run a few lines before the stage manager comes in and says, “Time to go into the theatre for notes.”

A few minutes later, we go onto the theater to listen to notes, and I try not to think about that gross kombucha smell at the bottom of my backpack.

Once we finish notes, I grab the kombucha thinking I’ll throw it out, but the stage manager says we can’t leave the dressing room until we are ready for places. Looks like I’m stuck with this gross drink until after the show. I put the it down in the corner and finish getting ready for the run. I take off my clothes and throw them in a pile near the kombucha and get put my costume on.

PLACES!” yells the stage manager as she rushes through the room.

After two solid hours of intense dancing, singing, and acting, the entire cast is super excited for final bows. I am overjoyed because I nailed the super hard dance break in the middle of my song right after intermission. While we are bowing, I try to look over the blinding stage lights, but I can only see as far as the third row. In the first row, my parents stand, smiling and cheering. I still have no idea whether Asher even came or not.

After bows, I go back into the dressing room with Jake and Sami. We change out of our costumes.

“Great show, guys! I’m so happy I didn’t forget my lines,” Jake gushes. I am going to be sad not seeing them every day anymore.

“I’m so happy you didn’t mess up your hair,” Sami jokes.

I smile and pull on my T-shirt, vaguely aware of a weird smell. Everyone smells bad; it’s the last day of shows, that’s how it works. I don’t really think anything of it because we are all sweaty and tired of being in bulky costumes for two hours. Also, the chemical smell of hairspray and hair gel fills the air. Once I am dressed, I wave goodbye to my cast and friends and go out to meet my family.

As I walk out of the dressing room, I see him. Asher. His dirty blonde hair brushed to the side. His shy smile that only reaches the left side of his mouth. His blue eyes that look like the sky on a bright, sunny day. He’s wearing a nice button down shirt and jeans that fit perfectly. He’s looking right at me, and I freeze. As I start to walk toward him, I take a sharp right into the girls bathroom.

I take out my phone and call Hazel.

“Oh. My. God. He’s here. What do I do? What do I say? Oh my god ohmygod ohmygod oh — ”

“AHHH you’ll be fine! You were absolutely stunning out there. You look like a queen! I am on my way to your house, so you can fill me in on all the juicy details!”

Hazel is way too excited for this. I wonder what she knows, but I don’t have time to ask because Asher is here. In the girls bathroom.

“Asher?! What are you doing in here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, Zoe. I saw you ran in here, and I thought you should know it’s the boys bathroom.”

“Asher?” Hazel screams before I have time to hang up.

OH MY GOD.

“Oh yeah. Um yeah.” Crap. There’s no way out of this.

I rush out of the bathroom as fast I as I can. Asher follows me.

“Hey, I got you these.” Asher grabs a small bouquet of roses from a chair in a corner.

“Thank you, Asher. Thank you for coming too, you didn’t have to do that.” My face must be the color of an overripe tomato. I can’t believe this is actually happening.

“I did. I wanted to see you.” He takes a step closer. What was he doing? His face changes as he gets closer. His nose crinkles, and he steps back.

I look down and see a light pink stain on my white T-shirt. A stain so big, so smelly, you can practically see the waves of horrid scent coming off it. The kombucha. It must have spilled on my shirt, but I hadn’t noticed because I was in such a rush to see if Asher had come. I cover it with the roses, stutter, “Uh gotta go. Bye,” at Asher and run out of the hallway.

When I get to the dressing room, the smell of vinegar and dead fish hits me like a freight train. I go to where I had put the bottle, and there is a big crack in the glass and juice is leaking out of it. Right into a puddle where my T-shirt had been. Great.

I grab my stuff, throw away the bottle, and go find my parents so we can leave before anyone else knows that the kombucha smell is me.

Asher is still standing outside the bathroom looking confused. He is texting someone on his phone, so he doesn’t see me rush by. That’s probably a good thing.

“Good job, sweetie!” my mom says as she tries to give me a big hug.

“Trust me, Mom, you don’t want to. Let’s just go home.” I need to go home and shower!

“Hey, Zoe! Did you see who came?” My dad loves teasing me about my crushes. He just thinks it’s so funny how little they like me back.

“Yeah I know. He gave me flowers,” I shoot back. I feel some heat come to my face when I see Asher walking towards us.

“Hey, Zoe. Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Brown. Thanks for the ride home.” He’s riding home with us? Oh no.

It is a very quiet car ride home. I just try to suck all the smell off of me onto my side of the car. I open up the window and think very hard about jumping out of the car. Unfortunately my fear of death holds me back. When we drop Asher off at his house down the street from ours, he tries to say something to me, but I push him out and close the door before he can tell me how bad I smell.

“Get me home.” I lean into my parents so they can smell the emergency.

My mom hits the gas.

I jump out of the car once we get home and run into my room. Hazel is sitting on the bed.

“So??? What happened? What did he say to you? C’mon, Zoe! Say something!”

So, I tell her. Everything. From the boys bathroom, to the roses, to the shared car ride. Then I let her smell me as I was still standing in the doorway. Of course she gags and pushes me into the shower, yelling at me for not bringing any body spray or perfume.

“It’s not my fault!!! I didn’t realize kombucha would ruin my life!” I shower and make sure to scrub extra hard.

Once I get out of the shower and into cleaner, comfier clothes, Hazel and I put on Mean Girls and settle into my bed.

Right before we start the movie, the doorbell rings. Hazel goes to the window and squeals.

“You have to get the door, Zoe! MR AND MRS BROWN, ZOE’S GOT THE DOOR!”

I walk to the window, look down, and there is Asher. He’s rocking back on his heels, and he’s holding something. Hazel squirts me with some perfume and pushes me down the stairs.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

There he is, a look of relief on his face as he holds up a piece of paper.

“I was going to leave this for you if you didn’t answer the door,” he says and he holds out the note.

“Um thanks.” I take it but don’t open it yet. I hesitantly step outside and shut the door behind me.

Asher take a step towards me. “Zoe, I don’t know how to say it, but Hazel said — ”

“Hazel? Why were you talking to her?” Yes. I am a little jealous and very confused. Why wouldn’t she have told me?

“Because Zoe, she’s your best friend. I needed advice.”

“Advice on me?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.

“Advice whether to do this.” He steps in, grabs my elbows, and pulls me into a long kiss.

I step back, shocked. Why would Asher like me? What did Hazel do???

“Well I guess she gave me good advice. I’ve liked you for a while, Zoe, I just didn’t know how to tell you. I went to Hazel for help and to see if you would ever say yes,” Asher says, our faces just inches apart.

“Say yes to what?” My heart is trying to fly out of my chest.

“Open the note.” I look down at the note and slowly unfold it.

Written on the paper are the words Please go out with me? Circle YES or NO. I smile at the funny gesture and look at Asher. He has a nervous look on his face as he looks into my eyes.

I laugh. “Yes of course. Yes, Asher!” I lean in and kiss him again. I hear squealing coming from the window, and we look up to see Hazel screaming and jumping around. Asher and I look at each other and laugh.

“I better go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” I smile and hug him one last time.

“Tomorrow.”

The next morning, I open my eyes and turn to see Hazel still sound asleep next to me in my big bed. She spent the night at my house, so I could fill her in on all the details. The light creeps out from behind the window shades onto my purple walls. The pictures of my family and friends that are hung on my wall glint and sparkle.

I roll out of bed onto my fuzzy carpet that keeps my feet warm in the winter and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I see that my hair is a big tangled mess and not all the makeup has come off of my face. I grab a makeup wipe and try my best to rub off the mascara. I can’t stop thinking about last night; I wonder if it was all a dream.

As I go back into my room, the light has fallen on a small bouquet of roses on my bedside dresser with a note tucked into one of the flowers, and I know I wasn’t dreaming.

 

The Forbidden Island

Long ago there was a forbidden island. Whoever went there never came back, so everyone’s parents were overprotective of their children. Then the rumor came to Milan, that the island was cursed 100 years ago and that no one would come back. The best sailor there named Mario Write wanted to prove that this was just a myth, but that was 10 years ago. He left his brother Antonio when he was just born, less than three months old. Antonio was raised as an only child until he turned 13. That’s when Antonio figured out he had an older brother. It was a nice cloudy day and the ocean was a little wavy, when Antonio saw a bump in the sand. He didn’t pay attention to it at first, but it kept bothering him. He went over to step on it to flatten it out, but it just did not go down, so he decided to dig it out. He tried to dig it out, but it didn’t budge. When he did dig it out, he knew it was a bottle with some scroll of paper inside it. It was too dark to read the letter, but he was so excited to read this note. Antonio was hoping to find some ancient map to treasure. So he went home and opened it with a little bit of struggle to get the paper out, but he got it out eventually. It read:

 

Dear Antonio,

You may not know me. Please sail to the forbidden island and save me from this beauty. I really want to meet you and know how our family is. Don’t have time to talk, bye.

Mario Wright

 

He went to bed with Mario on his mind. In the morning, he went to his parents the next day to ask who this was because this person had the same last name. Antonio’s parents looked at each other with nervous looks on their faces, but obviously they had to tell him the truth about his brother who sailed to the island and never came back home when he was three months old. Antonio was so raged that his parents did not tell him this that his eyes lit up and he stormed to his room. In a few hours, his mom came knocking on his bedroom door asking why he was asking and why he was so mad. He explained everything about the beach. Antonio said he was mad because they should have told him, that he had an older brother who was missing. So he decided to go because he knew he would survive. He didn’t know when to go, and he was going to future sailors camp soon. Antonio thought that if he started planning later, he would be too late. The next letter Antonio received said:

 

Dear Antonio,

There is a lot of important information to save this city from dying here. You have to arrive on Halloween, so everyone can leave. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor that the island is cursed, well that’s true. Every day except Halloween we all think the island is beautiful. On Halloween we think the island is hideous because it is supposed to be the scariest day in the year, so we see the bad side of the island.

*DO NOT LEAVE YOUR SHIP. THEN IT WILL SINK AND GO TO THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN AND YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO GET IT BACK!

(More information on how to get the ship next time.)

Mario

 

He spent his time at camp with his friends, so he could be the (next) best sailor. He had not told his friends that he had a brother. He figured out how to get the money for the ship, but did not know which boat to buy. In the meantime, Antonio paid a lot of attention to his camp so that there might be some useful information. He was warned not to go anywhere from Woody Pier. That was a big warning, and Antonio got some ideas from that. He had so much fun in camp he almost forgot about his brother, but the next class he had was about the forbidden island. Antonio did not learn anything since Mario used to be a teacher on the forbidden island. That’s what reminded him. Antonio was stressed that he had to focus on two things at once and could not ask anyone because they would say he just should stay home, so this task was up to him. If he wanted to be the hero, he could work hard and get everyone back, and if he didn’t want to risk getting stuck on the island like everyone else too, he would have to stay and feel guilty.

 

His friends didn’t believe him that he was going to save everyone on the island. They all tried to convince him to stay saying, “You’re too young. What if you get lost.” They couldn’t convince him to stay. He went to check the beach the next day. Disappointingly, there was nothing there. Antonio thought he did something wrong. Maybe he was supposed to send a letter back. He was so frustrated he wanted to break something. Antonio went back to camp to analyze all the different letters he received. When he was about to put away the last letter he received, he saw something on the back. He could not make out what it said, so he decided to go to bed and think about it. The next morning, Antonio felt sick, so he went to the nurse. He did have a cold, but he decided that was a good thing because he could find out what was on the back of the letter. He went to his room and traced the letters so they became brighter, but he could not make out some of the words. What it said was:

 

Dear Antonio,

This is faded because this is classified information. I know this is very hard to read, but get the money for the ship from Mom’s old wine. It will be more than enough money for that. But a good ship should be 45 ft. long and should have three sails. To get here you need to leave of Woody Pier and go straight for two and a half hours.

Please come soon.

Mario.

 

Yes! thought Antonio. In three weeks, he could go and save Mario.

 

The Odds Of The New Nun

It’s approximately 3 AM, and I have walked miles in pain from a motel that I vaguely remember was in Iowa. Oddly so, a laugh begins to find its bearings on my body, and I begin an uncontrollable cascade of belly laughs that alleviate all of my momentary anxieties. Your body begins to display these erratic behaviors even in its sleep once you’ve put it through what I have.

I can’t tell you the hardships of such shleps to the nearest drugstore to find some kind of medicine I can say with minimal doubt won’t kill me if I overdose by two or so dosages in the midst of a potential panic attack. Mild paranoia resurfaces at the sight of such tall grass and vegetation lining these roads, because the one time I got a camping trip invite from the resident rich goddess every contemporary high school seems to develop, I got a tick bite. However, inducing sleep to avoid my pain is the most innovative solution I’m capable of producing at the moment. I have no time or money or energy to value things that people with their human rights intact are capable of valuing.

Sleep has ended. Abruptly. Not in the way that supposedly sane mothers wake their teen offspring at the crack of dawn to attend the eight hours a day of insanity known as school. Even that is mildly sane in comparison to my situation. I can tell soil has crept into the crevices of my nostrils and mangled pockets of ripped, almost jagged skin on my fingers as I raise them slowly into the sunlight overhead. A street sign has reflected the light of the sun back as an eerily green color, like an undertone in a grainy photo of someone you keep telling yourself you used to know but don’t any longer.

Such a light is not a sight for sore eyes… and with the slightest of a meager spring in my step, I got up and walked several miles with breaks only when my body broke down without the thought of asking me. I reached a town… Meagerflower was the odd but soul-pleasing name I see on the various signage as I enter on foot. A chain pharmacy was distinguishable from the rest of the droopy looking businesses in this area because of how it’s in a franchise’s nature to have sufficient funding for large, scream like fluorescent lettering on their awnings. I stumble almost drunkenly towards sliding doors that, again, seem out of place in such a meager and idle town. As I enter this place that I assume is reflective of the cocktail of odd items that such a town’s population would need from a drug store, I get shocked by the urgency of a solution to my pain, and stealthily pursue a rack of medication bottles. They mustn’t see me, for money was a thing of my past, but yet a thriving part of today’s society that I am now ill-equipped for.

My choices seem to be made by the wind or some unnamable energy of the heavens, so if the sequence of events continues in its odd ways, I must start to walk further into this town in hopes I’ll find something or someone to provide an aid to my ability to sustain myself. I walk a few paces down the road until the road diverges from being a road and derails into a pasture full of lights and a myriad of bodies and voices to accompany them. Metal parts clanked as though their function was to hoist things up. This space, this carnival seemed to exist much farther up from the ground than people of this sort would seem to enjoy being. Children were running around screeching the announcement that it was opposite day, and Emily’s were being called Martins and Martins called Emilies. This was truly a festivity held by an elated lunatic to rid this town of it’s drear for a few moments.

Nuns’ headscarves were taken off, their heads unsheathed like the weapons heads can be, and better yet the dopamine from minds as close to the sky as they’d probably ever be floated to the ground and elation coated the air at all altitudes of the landscape. In awe, I told myself, “To the ferris wheel we go.” But in fear of the ticket master, I proceeded to crawl around the very base of the contraption’s rear end and began to climb the cold steel the structure provided me with to as close to the very top as I could get. I settled in the basket weave of a lonesome car, and ducked down below the seat so the crevices and imperfections in the construction could provide me a window to this world with the hope that not a single breath of mine would be detectable from here. My ignorance caused by lack of unobstructed viewership that the rightful customers were worthy of was actually quite pleasurable. The fog up here had a taste and smell that was like raindrops on tongues from childhood. I could feel how seized up the clouds must be, almost ready to rain. It was tiring to feel the basket sway in what little winds existed here, and soon I fell asleep.

Awoken by a black clothed face with hair neatly tucked away into the dark fabric, I sat up, the wind jerking my hair out of my face immediately. She whispered, “We musn’t camp out here for much longer. I know you’re weak because you’ve overdosed by two days of sleep, and surely such dreams can make hunger seem nonexistent. But you’ve got to get down. I had the same idea as you, but luckily I figured out the pasture is being cleared. The deflation of all the structures have been loud as fog horns. I’m thoroughly surprised you weren’t roused.”

The urgency of her voice got to my head as we were in cramped quarters, and her voice was fast and breathy, almost as though she were recovering from hyperventilation.

“O-okay,” I croaked due to a combination of grogginess and dehydration.

We started descending, and she warned me of the rusting the rungs had developed, and precisely every thirty seconds she looked at me. It wasn’t a protective gaze… she seemed to know of my history of rabble rousing and the scraped knees one expects from such drunken frolicking sprees in the middle of nowhere. She wasn’t afraid for me imminently. She knew so much, but my urge to question it had been dulled. Basking in this sense of comfort seemed too good of an option to move away from.

We made it down to solid ground, and though reality existed near enough to comfort my human mind, my eyes were enslaved by this dreamscape. I felt a pain in my chest due to my fear of getting far too lost in this, so I began the run of the mill small talk questioning I thought of when I got too tired of this lull in our conversation. She rejected every question. As did I. The town we were in. Felt like a place where people were resting. I felt a fear of disturbing this rest. I felt every current of these winds thicken, they held my breath back as though they had convinced me I could breathe without the inevitability of my next breath in I had always unconsciously anticipated. Words were not needed. A breath in being wasted on speech was an action that of a heathen unto this world. Emotions dispersed themselves evenly within this air. The sharp, garbled nature of human speech was an infection to such purity.

I shall say the same thing time and time again in a slightly altered dialect of human language, but my darling all I feel is a love for you, and a land fit for such a love has been eons in the making. You know we are larger than life.

 

“don’t know when i’ll be back again”

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The coral-colored suitcase open on the bed, the clothes hanging ready to be packed, the car come to take her away. The sun streams through the window, illuminating the pictures on the wall, reminders of a happier time. Outside, birds are chirping and children are playing in the park across the street. By all rights, it should be a beautiful day.

Marina sits cross-legged on the floor, halfheartedly sorting her possessions into heaps. In front of her is the pile for keeping, to the left a pile for charity. To the right, trash — all the things that are too worn out, too painful, too personal to give away. It’s a numbing process, most things easily separated. Near the end of her things, she picks up a picture of two girls, laughing and holding hands. They don’t have a care in the world, firmly convinced that everything will work in their favor. The hand holding the snapshot shakes a little and wavers over to the right, before Marina places it carefully in front of her.

When she’s finished, the items to keep go in the bottom of her suitcase. Zoe’s promised to take the charity pile to Goodwill — Marina doesn’t intend to stay around long enough to do it herself. She shoves the trash items into a bag and tugs it down the polished stairs. Marina’s just put the bag in the kitchen trash when she’s accosted by a very energetic ten-year-old, with Zoe right behind him.

“Marina!” her brother says, coming to a halt in front of her. His bright smile usually lights up whatever room he’s in, but today it doesn’t provide any comfort.

“Hey, Peter,” she says, absentmindedly reaching out to ruffle his hair. He looks up at her with big brown eyes, the very picture of innocence, and she finds herself wishing for that simpler time.

“Why are you leaving me?” he whines.

She sighs. “You wouldn’t understand.” Sometimes, she’s not even sure she understands why. Sometimes she thinks it would be easier to stay here, stay where she’s lived all her life.

“But I do understand.” He crosses his arms. “It’s because of her, because of… ” Whatever he was going to say is cut off.

“Peter,” Zoe warns. Marina’s stepmother has one hand covering Peter’s mouth, with the other on his shoulder. “What did I say about manners? It is Marina’s choice, and she doesn’t have to tell people why.”

Marina fingers her necklace as she watches them. People always expect the fairytale stereotype of stepmothers, but she’s never resented Zoe, even when she first came to live with them over a decade ago. Marina was five and couldn’t understand why this strange woman lived with them instead of Marina’s mother, but Zoe never forced Marina to accept her. Instead, she was lovely and kind and caring, until Marina couldn’t help but love her. Zoe taught her all the things about being a woman that Marina’s mother, far away in a little apartment, couldn’t. They celebrated the highs of life together, and Zoe held her when she came home sobbing that horrible night.

“Sorry, Marina.” Peter’s sheepish voice brings Marina back to reality.

“It’s okay, Peter. I just… it’s hard to explain,” she says. Her words hang in the stillness of the kitchen for a moment.

“Why don’t you run along?” Zoe says, mercifully breaking the tension. “Go outside and play with your dad or something.”

“Okay,” he chirps, running off to find their dad.

With Peter gone, Zoe turns the full force of her attention to Marina. “How are you holding up, honey?”

“I’m… fine,” Marina says, though they both know she’s lying. She hasn’t been fine since that Saturday in May. “I’m holding up,” she corrects herself.

“Do you need any help packing?” Zoe asks. “I’ve got nothing better to do than chase Peter around.”

“I think I’m good, thanks,” replies Marina. She’s not sure she’s ready to let another person handle all the memories contained in her things.

“I’ll be ready to help you if you decide you want it. Just shout,” says Zoe. They both know that this isn’t just about packing. It’s about Marina starting a new life where she knows nobody but her mother instead of ‘working through her problems in a familiar setting’ like her therapist says she should.

“Will do,” Marina says curtly, turning to go upstairs. She still has a few more things to pack.

The suitcase is almost full and the afternoon sun beginning to set when Marina senses someone enter the room. She turns around to face the door, and sure enough, Lise is leaning against the doorway. Marina forgot how pretty she is, how everything seemed to revolve around her the minute she entered a room.

“Hi, Lise,” Marina says, aware of how pathetic she sounds.

“Hey,” Lise says, coming over to sit next to Marina on the bed. “You’re really leaving, huh?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed to get away from you.” If Lise is upset by Marina’s candidness, she doesn’t show it.

“We had a good run though, didn’t we?” It’s a rhetorical question, one they both know the answer to, but Marina still replies.

“We’re still best friends forever,” she says, reaching out to touch Lise’s necklace. Marina is wearing her matching one, with the inscription xoxo Lise still visible but slightly tarnished. When they got them for Lise’s 14th birthday, they both promised to wear them forever, and Marina supposes they both will.

“Are you sad to leave?” asks Lise.

Marina mulls the question over. “I’ll miss Zoe and Peter and Dad, but I think staying here would make me even sadder,” she finally replies. “People here are too concerned about me. I want a fresh start.”

“Come back to visit, will you?” Lise asks, and Marina entertains a brief fantasy where she leaves and never comes back, but she knows that could never happen. She’s tied to this place, like it or not.

“Of course,” Marina says instead, because what else can she say? How can she leave this girl she’s known for almost her entire life?

“Alright then, goodbye,” Lise says, and Marina wants to tell her not to go, but her throat goes dry and she can’t force the words out. She closes her eyes.

“And Marina,” she hears distantly, as if Lise is suddenly very far away. “Don’t be sorry for living.”

Marina opens her eyes just in time to see Lise standing in the doorway again. She watches as Lise becomes less and less real, until Marina is left alone again. She stands up, needing to clear her head, and feels something crinkle under her foot. It’s a balled up newspaper, wrinkled and ripped but with the headline still intact.

Local Girl Killed in Car Accident, it reads. Marina must have crumpled the article up and thrown it across the room when she read the headline. It was too painful to even think about Lise at that point.

She tenderly smoothes the article out and places it at the top of her suitcase, then closes the bag and zips it up. She touches her necklace once for good luck, then pulls her suitcase to where her father is waiting. She’s ready to go.

 

Born to Die (Young)

There’s a glock in my hands, and I look at it. I weigh it, shifting it from one hand to the other, letting them crack under the pressure and fall as the gun swivels each time whatever Drake song is playing drops a beat. It might be “God’s Plan” or something. I’m not sure. Even though that came out in January, back when I was in Quebec City skiing with my friends and I didn’t have a semi-automatic pistol made to kill in my hands.

But things change. Oh well, whatever.

I lay the pistol flat on the square ends of the marble sink and stare at myself in the mirror, running my hands through blue hair and pining for July to be over. The tattooed letters on my fingers and rose on my cheek stare back at me, and if those didn’t tell you I think I’m something, the electric blue hair I’m kicking definitely should. It’s fake, obviously. So it doesn’t fade or anything. It’s just there, draping down to my ribcage in strands, as blue as it was two weeks ago when I swapped the pink out for something different.

I look… I place my fingers to my temples and lock hazel eyes with myself, daring to finish that thought. I look rough. I wouldn’t have been caught dead like this four years ago. It’s just some black ripped jeans, a camisole, and high tops. It’s a fine outfit. But it’s just that. It’s just fine. Fame does some crazy things to you, man. Some part of me shakes thinking a paparazzi is going to find me in this bathroom at a random party and post an article about how I’m “letting myself go.”

I look at the gun. I’m doing a lot of things — I shift my gaze to the tiled ceiling and lick my lips — but letting myself go is not one of them. If only they knew. Haha. I can’t imagine how many articles they’d write on my “questionable role model status.”

BREAKING NEWS: 23-Year-Old Singer, Jolee Theodora Ortiz, Stage Name: Common Daisy, Charged With Illegal Possession Of Firearm, Sentencing Awaits.

And then they’d have two or so pictures of me bent on a cop car with cuffs being snapped on. If that ever happens, I have to smile. For the camera. Or stick my tongue out, you know, something dumb like that — no matter what I’m going down for. I made a dare with Leslie a million years ago, and I do what I say I’m going to do. My strategy so far has just been to not get arrested.

I’m not doing so good at that now, though. I wince, realizing my problems definitely wouldn’t just end at being caught. I put my body weight into my arms and push off the counter, leaning into the closed toilet behind me, taking up as much space as physically possible. Usually I just wait for someone to knock or something. I’m not all that eager to leave anyway.

In the meantime I close my eyes and listen to the music. I’m so far, and yet it’s still so, so loud. But it sounds exactly how party music from a bathroom should sound. That’s familiar to me by now. Like home. It’s kind of calming — I mean I’ve been going to parties like these since I was thirteen. I can’t tell if they’ve gotten worse or better since then. The more I grow up, the more those lines become blurred.

Quickly I realize it’s “Nice For What.” As popular and played out as it is, it’s still a great song.

A woody thud echos in an empty room.

The door shakes as someone bangs on it ridiculously hard. My heart drops to my stomach — oh god, I think to myself before moving, if they break it down right now, I’m infinitely done for. There’s a gun — an illegal gun — that is not my gun, out right there on the sink, and here I am just sitting waiting to be caught and rot in prison.

I scramble to stand up, put the gun behind my belt, and open the door in one motion. My entire body shakes all over as I do so.

Parting my lips and widening my eyes, to say “Heyyy you scared me haha” or “could you hit it any harder,” or “sorry,” or any variation of that, I frown when I realize who it actually is. My best friend. My best friend trying to scare me, because we’re best friends, and because he thrives off of other people’s discomfort and milliseconds of fear right after he yells behind them in a staircase.

The best way I can describe the awful grin he has on his face right now is :). But evil. >:).

“HEY,” he says cupping his mouth to amplify that nothing word, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Everything in parties is always in caps.

I think. What am I doing here. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I redirect. I am left answerless.

“LOOKING FOR YOU!”

“YOU’RE WEIRDDDDD,” I say stretching out the the end to make it stand out.

YOU’RE WEIRD!”

“HOW?”

“HIDING ALONE. IN A PARTY. THAT’S WEIRD.”

“STALKING ME IN A PARTY IS WEIRDER.”

“NO IT ISN’T.”

“YEAH. IT IS.”

His eyebrows furrow down at me. If I wasn’t craning my head back at a 90° angle, I’d be staring right at the rose print on his left breast pocket. I’m not even short. In fact I’m kind of tall for a girl, I’m 5’7”, but Leslie is just something else. Standing at a hard 6’3” on an easy day, him and his pale skin and shaggy bleached hair tower over me. If I didn’t grow up with him and watch him go through every inch below what he’s at now, I’d almost be scared of him. He’s not a scary dude, just tall and cocky. But it works.

He grabs my wrist. His chipped black nail polish and the orange gels I got yesterday almost go nicely together, despite the infinite differences. “LETS GO?”

I shrug, and he starts taking me through the party, doing the hard parts for me. He pushes past moshes of bodies, people who should be here and people who shouldn’t. Guys and girls. Tall people. Short people. Mediums. I see some people I know, occasionally I wave or do a peace sign or something, but most of them aren’t looking my way or at me. I see the guy I got the gun from. I should have thanked him more. He could be taller than Leslie, and he’s a big body — just… I can tell he lifts. I picked up that it probably isn’t just a hobby. It’s not like he has tear drops or anything, but I mean I just texted him asking for a gun, and he was like, got u. He didn’t even ask what for. Just said he was coming here, and I was like same, and then he was like meet me in the back, and I was like okay, and now I have a gun.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get mixed up with guys like that in high school. But he isn’t bad. I’m sure he made that same promise to himself when he was fourteen or so. You realize something as you grow up, though. Most of the bad guys you’re scared of aren’t really bad. I don’t believe anyone is just wholly bad. Some of them are born into it, or don’t have a choice — sometimes that’s just the way things are, and some of them just did it because everyone else was doing it.

I look away from him and listen to the music for a second.

“I understand, you got a hunnid bands

You got a baby Benz, you got some bad friends

High school pics, you was even bad then”

I don’t really think I’m interpreting that right, but that’s the thing about good artists. Their songs become yours. That’s the type I always wanted to be. My lyrics become what you’ve been trying to say your whole life.

Whether or not the artist originally meant bad as in bad, I took it that way. I think eventually you have to stop and think about whether you have bad friends, or if you just have friends. If you go at it long enough, things change.

“You either die a hero… ”

Anyway, he has olive skin, and his hair’s orange or something. He’s a nice guy. I think he’s got some songs out too, we could collab or something.

If I live to see it that is.

My sweaty hands trace the phone in my pocket, suddenly remembering why I have metal pressed against my hip and met him in the first place. I’ve never been more scared in my life, and nobody knows it.

And nobody knows it.

God, I don’t know how Leslie’s acting fine. I know he’s scared. How could you not be? If I could fake feelings that good, I’d never have the media on me. But I can’t. And that’s why I do.

All. The. Time.

You never see anything about Leslie Dean Gustav in the news. Even if you did, they’d probably use his stage name, anyway. “The Wraithe.” I think it’s ‘cause the whole world likes him more. But I don’t have beef with him for that. He deserves it, and I know it.

Nausea in my stomach bubbles. My heartbeat starts to hurt. I don’t want him to die. He’s too good for this world, man. I know if he dies or I die or Olivia or the-guy-with-the-orange-hair dies, to the world it’ll just be another young, trash rapper who got what they deserved. Because we’re dangerous, right? Because we chose the wrong people and made the wrong decisions and set ourselves up to die young, and it’s our fault, and we got what we deserved, and you’re not sorry, and it was called for.

I wonder if they’d even investigate our deaths. It’s like… just because we’re not perfect, we’re not people. Like, I’m sorry your kid likes my songs with cusses in it. I’m sorry I do drugs and go to parties. I’m sorry you don’t think me and my friends are worthy of living in your world.

It wouldn’t matter so much if it was just me. But we’re all treated like this. My friends are good people… but nobody cares because we have tattoos, and they don’t like our music. Ugh.

I wonder how many other people got the text. I grit my teeth. I wonder how many other people I love are in danger.

Nobody deserves to die like that.

It taunts my mind. I wish the fact it was only a text made it less scary, but it doesn’t.

“I promise one of you will die tonight.”

I feel like crying and screaming and throwing myself on the floor, preaching how none of us asked to live the lives we live, and this is what we get… I want to point out how everyone in this room is under thirty, and any one of them could be in danger right now, with their life threatened. I want to be treated like a person. I want to do so much, but I can’t. If I tried to make a difference no one would care anyway. Ouch.

Leslie pulls me in front of Olivia, forcing me to smile — not because I’m being fake or anything. I just like Olivia. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, even if she’s at this party. Even though she’s just like me and the red-headed boy.

“HEYYYYYYYY!” she screams, flashing her perfect smile and using her her yellow gel nails to push back hair that falls on her shoulder tattoos. “I MISSED YOU.” I was gone for like… ten minutes.

I pull her into a hug. She could have been texted too. She could die tonight.

She smells like watermelon, and her breath tastes like ice cream. She’s soft. No matter how much she talks and how big she tries to come off as, she’s just soft and pretty and nice, and I love her. Everyone who’s ever really met her, loves her too.

“I MISSED YOU TOO,” I say, and I did. She pulls away, and in front of me the two people I care about most in the world stand, flashing in blue and red, smiling at me. God, if he towers over me, I can’t even explain what standing next to her looks like. Olivia is 5’3”. I tower over her. He is a foot taller than her.

And yet despite their differences, they still get along. Neither one of them wants the other dead because they’re different. Wild…

Leslie does the circle-hand thing we used to do in middle school from under his waist and catches her, and lightly taps her in the shoulder. She uses every cuss in the book after that. She is angry and vengeful, yet still somehow beautiful.

“UGHHHHHHH!” she exclaims. I pull her close to me and put an arm around her, catching Leslie with the hand to that arm. I move her to the side, and jump, attempting to hit him in the face as hard as I possibly can. But I don’t do fight classes or anything, so he blocks it easy, and then we’re just roughhousing.

Olivia smiles and pets our heads. I can tell she’s about to go somewhere else. We’re all close, but in a different kind of way. She respects that. Just another reason why she’s perfect. “WELL, I’LL SEE YOU GUYS LATER, OKAY?”

“SEE YOU,” Leslie and I say simultaneously. Because this is just a party. When it ends, everyone will group off with their actual friends and fall asleep in lofts and stuff. We will see her later.

And then I remember. Will I see her later?

I can feel myself start to get sick again. I wonder if other people can tell — do I look green? Or gray or white? Am I losing my color? Do I look like I’m about to break down, I mean, can people tell that I’m about to break down.

I think Leslie can. When I look from the floor up, I see his expression. It’s full of love and fear and empathy and compassion.

“HEY.” He pulls me up — not to eye level of course, but we almost were for a second. Almost.

“HEY.”

“LET’S GO OUTSIDE?”

That’s why we’re best friends. I smile to the floor and nod, the universal “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” and start to follow him. He grabs his flannel zipper hoodie, the one I steal in the winter, off the racks, and throws the door open. He could take me anywhere. Even though he’s just taking me to the dumpsters to talk or something, he could take me anywhere, and I’d let him. I trust him with my life. I would do anything for him. Anything, anything, anything.

Going down we stay close, but we’re mostly quiet, ‘cause there’s still a lot of people right outside the door and stuff. That must suck for whoever lives near here. Is that why people would let us die? Because we throw a lot of parties?

I guess I’ll never know.

The cool sting of the air hits me, and he throws his hoodie my way. Oh. He brought it for me.

“You’re my best friend… ” I say wondrously, deciding not to cage my thoughts for a second.

He smiles, sitting outside the exit door and motioning for me to sit down next to him.

“I know.”

He’s looking ahead of me, probably lost in thought too, and for a second I wonder if he really does know or not. I feel like “best friend” isn’t even a good enough title for what he is to me. More like… platonic soulmates. My soulmate. We’ve been through everything together, and if we hadn’t, I don’t think I’d be alive right now. I never say it, but I think he knows it. He’s just never cocky where it counts, you know? I love that about him.

It only makes sense we’d get our lives threatened by the same people together, too. Sad but true. Sad.

True.

I frown. “Hey man… ” He looks over and nods, his blue eyes piercing through me — but in a good way. A safe way. Somehow he makes blue eyes seem softer than they are. “Bro, I have a gun on me right now.”

His eyes kind of “gasp” if that makes sense. “No kidding…”

I clench my hands together. He doesn’t really have the right to be all that shocked or anything, considering our lives are in danger, so his reaction is lackluster. But it still hurts. I would consider it out of character for me, I know he does, but more and more I question that. Maybe I just changed characters. Maybe I’m the person I wouldn’t be in high school.

I purse my lips together and nod, feeling tears swell and choke me, knowing I won’t be able to say any other smart thing tonight. He pulls my head to his chest. We just sit for a while like that.

I cry, and then I stop. Everything is blotched. Nothing exists but us. I try my best to stop thinking about everything wrong with the world and focus on the good that surrounds me right here in this moment, but even when I do that, I just think about him dying. Us dying.

I notice he hasn’t stopped looking forward since we got here, so with his arm around me I pull away. I look where he’s looking. And then I see the billboard in spotlights.

I look back to him. He says nothing. His jaw is gritted, and his body around me is tense, though. I know that he’s lost in thought about now. I bury my head in the crook of his neck. Issa Kilman-West. He goes by Logan now. His fans know him as Logan.

But his best friends know him as “fake.”

It wasn’t just Leslie and I growing up. It wasn’t just Leslie and I till fairly recently, actually. That hurt for awhile. I’m lying. It still hurts now.

But I’d never let Leslie or Issa know that, because I can’t. I have one person now. And we have Olivia. But that’s different.

No matter how many of my childhood and teen or young adult memories are tainted with a human being I loved and love no longer, I have Leslie now, and that’s enough.

He really is in a lot of memories, though… just us three.

We got our first bad scrapes the same day together when we were ten and found a scooter. We slowly learned together that we lived in a bad place with bad families watching sitcoms, and Disney channel. We realized how different things were there. They were really different.

Issa and I were there every day Leslie got bullied — it got out he had kissed a boy, and we stood up for him. We tried. We were both scrawny and stupid and self-conscious, but we stood up for him. We loved him, and supported him. We were there when that boy broke his heart. Leslie and I helped Issa through addiction, and they shared taking me in when I couldn’t stay with my mom and the string of boyfriends I had to call dad, anymore. There will never be another person like Issa to me. Or to either of us.

But one day, he looked in the mirror and decided he just had friends. He didn’t want to be bad anymore. I didn’t think he was bad. Then.

But he hated the scrapes on his face and chains on his neck. So he left. And along with whether or not I thought he was bad, everything else changed too.

It was an unspoken thing, but back then, him and Issa were closer than us. It has to be harder on him. I hold him closer. He doesn’t react.

“I don’t think you’re bad,” I say into his chest, wondering if he can even hear me. “I’m sorry.”

My apology is on Issa’s behalf. He never said sorry, so I say it all the time.

And so we’re in silence again. Sometimes crying, sometimes not. And then I hear it. A gunshot.

A ricochet to the sidewalk. Loud. Booming. Terrifying and horrible, I realize that no one upstairs could hear us over Drake, and no one around here is up. One of us is going to die. One of us is going to die.

I hope it’s me.

It was stupid of us to come out here. It was stupid to think we had the privilege of being safe on a sidewalk. I reach for the gun, but my hands are shaking, and I was too scared some five hours ago to realize I don’t even know how to use it. But I can try. Or I can give it to him. Or I can just collapse into a ball and ready myself for whatever Hell I’m going to.

He pulls me up immediately, placing me behind him as he takes the glock from me and leans on the wall. That’s as much as I can describe. Everything after that is nothing. It’s too loud and too fast, and I want to cry too much, but I can’t. I can’t even breathe. I think Olivia comes. And someone else, maybe… does it matter? But the next thing I know I’m holding my best friend in my arms backwards, and he’s alive, but his blood makes my camisole red.

Olivia’s face is an inch from mine when I look up. She isn’t smiling anymore. She’s covered in blood. Her mascara is dripping off her cheeks, and she presses her cold hand to my forehead. She’s saying something, but I can’t hear her. I can’t even tell if there’s a ringing in my ears or not. I can’t hear anything. I can just see… God I can see, everything.

She uses both her hands to comb my hair behind my ears, and she motions for me to stand up. But I can’t. So whatever male figure is behind her puts his phone away, picks Leslie up, and takes his shirt off. He starts ripping it into little pieces, focusing on one area close to his left shoulder but not quite.

Oh. He’s trying to stop blood circulation. Because my best friend was shot. And they don’t want him to die. Leslie and I watched Grey’s Anatomy together. I know that. Most of the time there are two patients in every episode, and one of them dies. I can’t feel my body anymore. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

The red-headed boy with my gun in his back pocket looks to me, then to Olivia, and he says something I can’t hear. I think he asked for help. I think his name is Darryl. Olivia leaves my side. I would crawl over, too, if I wanted to see what my bloodied up in pain or unconscious best friend looks like. But I don’t. So I sit, and I stare blankly in his hoodie.

I can’t swallow anymore. Leslie isn’t a kid. He’s twenty-four. He failed Spanish four years in a row and barely graduated. But he isn’t stupid. He tried in school. I watched him for fourteen years. Try.

He had freckles growing up, and his hair was corn yellow. He gets sunburnt and not tanned. He falls in love too easily. He’s never satisfied with the music he makes. Clothes don’t make him happy. The fame didn’t change him. He’s not a bad person. He’s not a bad person.

Bad people get shot. Bad people get shot by bad people, and they die. Usually. Most of the time.

But Leslie isn’t a bad person. Leslie isn’t a bad person. He’s my soulmate. He’s my best friend. But Leslie just got shot.

They won’t use his name in the articles. They’ll use “Wraith,” and call him a mumble rapper with a few hit songs, and they’ll say, “died young.” They might even call him a druggie. Or a thug. They won’t talk about how he lights up when he smiles, or how he wants to save kids from killing themselves the way he wanted to growing up. They won’t talk about me. Or Issa. They’ll ask us for one sentence, and then in a year, everyone will forget, but the people who actually loved him will remember.

I watch them take him in the ambulance. Part of me is furious they didn’t ask me to go with him, but I couldn’t. I have a feeling they’re sending another one for me or something. I don’t think I was hurt. If someone was rating me physically, I’d probably be a ten.

But sitting on the cold cement, leaning on a brick wall, I feel anything but fine. I don’t even think I have a feeling. I’m not crying, I’m not screaming, I’m not angry, I’m not sad. I’m not thinking about my bleeding friend. I can’t remember what happened. I realize I’m probably in shock. Olivia and the redhead boy drive away in the same direction as the ambulance, and they leave me there.

Why am I alone? Why did they leave me here?

I don’t care. I would put myself in a ball right now, with my head in my knees, but I can’t use my body. So I just sit. I hope I die here.

I feel tires screech against the road. Almost annoyed, I look to the left and see black Vans and black pants. They’re ripped, but skinny fit and almost formal. I look up a bit. A black tee shirt, and black hair. Black eyes. Issa.

There’s the man I hate most in the world, right in front of me, but all at once I don’t want to cuss him out. I don’t hate him. He looks a lot cleaner now… but he looks a lot more broken. A line of tears falls down his steady face. Guess he knows. I look up at him, and my eyes say everything I can’t.

“What are you doing here?”

Anyone else in the world would check to make sure I’m okay or ask me a million questions that I can’t hear… or apologize. Try to fix things. I haven’t seen him since we were twenty-one.

But without saying anything, he picks me up and pulls me to his chest. He’s 6’0’. I almost reach his neck.

That’s what best friends do. They know what you need more than yourself.

He feels like home. He smells like he did when we were ten, and I thought I got married and then got divorced to Jack from school in the same day, and when I was sixteen and had to move out, and suddenly I’m not angry at him. Not even just not surface angry, but deep in my soul, in my heart, in my being, I’m not angry at him. I’m not hurt by him. I even hope he doesn’t feel guilty. He wanted to fix himself, and I understand that. For the first time, I realized he probably missed us as much as we unspokenly missed him. He loves us.

If Leslie dies, he’ll die angry at Issa. That’s so much weight to carry. I hold him tighter, using my body. I wish I could tell him that Leslie still loved him. Deep down I still loved him too. I can’t say I was ever really, really mad… and then I repeat that. If Leslie dies. If Leslie dies. If Leslie dies if Leslie dies if Leslie dies if Leslie dies if Leslie dies.

Immediately I miss not having any emotions. I can feel the heat build up in my stomach, and tears start hitting his shirt before I even know I’m crying. Then I’m not crying, I’m sobbing. Wailing. Holding him as tight as I can, I’m happy I can’t hear myself. All I can do is scream and cry and put all my body weight into him, so he supports me up. If he got shot, Leslie and I would be right there, too. If he ever called us, we’d be there. He almost lost both of us.

I have never cried so deeply in my life. I can’t stop, I can’t breathe, I can’t feel the tears forming. I can feel my ugly crying noises shake my body, and I can feel his tears hit the top of my head, too. Even through the fake blue. I pound his chest with my knuckles.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair.

I struggle for air. I think I hear Issa say he’s sorry. I run my hands through his dreads.

It’s okay.”

I open my eyes, and all I see is darkness. And all I feel is cold and soaked. I promise, I think to myself, and if I could speak, I would say it — I promise the world will rue this day. I promise I’m going to do everything in my power and use every ounce of influence I have to make everybody know that everybody is worthy of life. I’ll fight for it. I will die for it.

The world is cold but not this cold. Something has to change. Snot runs down from my nose.

I purse my lips together. Issa and Leslie and I. We’re gonna change this world.

They won’t use his name in the articles. But I’ll use it in mine.

Nobody deserves to die like that.

 

Softball Setback

 

The year after everything happened at my old school…

 

“Hailey, are you ready for your first day of school? You can’t be late on your first day at a new school,” says my mom in her overexcited voice.

It is my first day of middle school. Everyone says middle school is where you mature and become more responsible. I don’t want to go to middle school. At this middle school I am going to, everyone knows each other from elementary school, so it will be much harder for me to make friends. I had to leave all my friends and my home for this school, well at least the people I thought were my friends.

As I walk onto the bus, everyone stares. I lose my small sliver of confidence and walk to my seat with my head down. Everyone knows each other and fills the bus with their laughter. A group of kids (I think they are eighth graders) steps onto the bus. All of a sudden, the laughter turns into dead silence. Even I tremble a little, and I don’t know the kids. The kids who just arrived on the bus kick the other kids in the back out of their seats. I guess that is their spot. At least I know where to sit now. We arrive safely at school, and I sigh in relief.

Dingggg. Everyone rushes to get to their classes. Everyone knows where to go, and I feel so lost. Sometimes I feel like that in life. Everyone has a path they want to take or a dream they want to follow, and I don’t know what I want. I just stand there not knowing where to go and look confused.

A girl with dark brown hair in braids approaches me. “Hey, you look lost. Do you know where to go?”

I want to say that obviously if I look lost I don’t know where to go, but instead I just smile and show her my schedule.

“You need to go to room 205 which is right down that hallway. Also, my name is Julia.” As I walk with her, she tells me about school and my feeling of loneliness slowly fades. “So I will see you at lunch.”

“Yeah sure,” I reply as I slowly walk to my classes.

Each class is like the other, all strange and embarrassing. I get mean glares from the kids, and the teacher always calls me out for some reason.

“Hey, Hailey, over here.” I see Julia sitting at a table with some other girls, and she is waving at me to come over to the table. “Hailey, these are my friends Alex, Ashley, and Sarah,” Julia says as she points to each one of them.

Alex seems like she has something so important to say and says, “Hey, I saw a flier for school softball team tryouts. We should all try out. Hailey are you going to do it?”

Without time to answer, Sarah replies, “You definitely should. You don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t. Because that would be weird.”

“Ummmm.” I sprint out of the cafeteria and run. I call my parents and tell them I don’t feel well (that is true, just not in the way they think). My Dad picks me up. I probably just ruined the only friendships I had. To make myself even more sad (not on purpose) I sit in my bed and look at my yearbook from my old school. I flip to the page where it says sports teams. There is a photo of the wildcats softball team, and I am in it. I have my arms around two girls (Emma and Katie) who used to be my friends. Why did I have to be mean to my friends. Why why why, I think to myself.

 

***

Wooh, wooh, wooh go wildcats!” Everyone cheers (mostly very intense parents) as the game is about to start.

“O-M-G I am so nervous,” I whisper to Katie as our coaches are talking.

“It is the championships, so we have to try our hardest.”

The game goes by quick, and we play well. The score is tied 5-5. It is the last inning, and we are up to bat. There are already two outs. Emma walks up to the plate. One strike… two strikes… three strikes, YOU’RE OUT. The other team is up to bat, and they score. The final score is 5-6.

“Why did you have to do that. You just ruined our chance. It’s all your fault,” I yell at Emma.

Katie jumps in, “It’s just a game. You always overreact about these things. You are so mean.”

SMACK!!! I didn’t even know I was capable of hitting someone so hard. Everyone rushes over around Katie, “Are you okay? What happened?”

 

***

“Hailey, are you feeling better? Hailey, Hailey, are you awake?”

“Oh sorry, Mom. I was just thinking, and I guess I got carried away.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I am fine,” I reply. “Wait, Mom, I have been thinking about last year and everything that happened.” I end up telling my mom everything that has happened in these past few days and how I have been feeling.

“Sometimes you just need someone to talk to. I am glad you told me,” she softly and kindly replies.

The next day at lunch, I am confused about where to sit because of the whole incident, but Julia and her friends Alex, Ashley, and Sarah kindly invite me over to sit with them.

“Are you okay?” they all ask in sync.

“Yeah I am. Well, umm, actually there is something I would like to tell you guys.”

“What? You can tell us anything,” Sarah says, eager to know.

“So pretty much I got in a fight with two girls on the softball team, and I know it sounds crazy and it is not an excuse.”

“Wow, I was not expecting that,” Julia says quietly and nervously.

“Thanks for being honest at least,” Sarah adds in with a bit of a sarcastic tone.

I probably ruined my whole school year just from the first few days, but at least I have nothing to hide. I thought that I wouldn’t have to tell everyone here about my incident at my old school, but I did. I learned that you can’t hide or change who you were, but you can always improve who you are.

 

Morty’s

There were many documented experiences of people who survived the voyage from Germany and other war-affected countries to America, but this is one that truly stood out. This is the story of a six-year-old boy named Yanek Levine, who journeyed to America by boat at the age of 10…

 

It all started the day Mother insisted that we wore bands with a star on our arms and pins on our school uniforms. Mother told me that it meant that I was extra special and not to ever take it off. My three best friends whose fathers were often picking up their tailored suits at my father’s shop no longer talked to me. While I was inside reading a book with my papa, my friends Louis, Leon, and Noah were with their fathers on the street corner, monitoring our neighborhood where everybody wore an arm band. Except for them.

In the coming weeks, even more stiff soldiers with red armbands began lining our streets. Every time we passed them, Papa squeezed my hand extra tight, and I did the same to him because I thought it was a game. When I went to Papa’s tailor shop with him, the same soldiers walked in to pick up their uniforms, but Papa did not seem to take any money like he usually did with other customers, and he didn’t smile either.

The tension really started picking up when Papa and Mama were making latkes for our neighbor’s Bar Mitzvah. As I was getting ready for bed, we received a knock on our door from our neighbor, Henrike. He muttered something in Hebrew to my father. Immediately afterward, Father pulled his yarmulke off of his head and clutched it in his fist, close to his heart. I slowly stepped back into my room, and all that I could hear was the wailing sounds of the sirens and the piercing sounds of bombs cascading through the sky and falling around us. Moments later, stern German words from angry Nazi soldiers invaded my home. I wondered if they were the same Nazis that watched our every move. As I was hiding in the closet of my room, the voices became louder and louder. I could see the tip of a rifle poking my belongings. From the kitchen I could hear my mother screaming my father’s name in Polish —

“Wake up! Wake up!”

Then a bang suddenly silenced her too.

 

When there were no more polished boots shuffling around my flat, I climbed out of the broken window and onto the street where the smell of fire filled the air and ash trickled down from the sky. Giant trucks drove past me loaded with frightened people anxiously wondering where they were headed. I knew my mother told me never to take the armband off, but I felt the need to. I ran past Papa’s tailor shop, but found that it had been destroyed. I stood motionless, staring at what was left of his humble business, until I heard loud men screaming in German and dogs barking rabidly. I ran and ran until I reached the Baltic Sea, which was several miles away from my home. I sat near the edge of the ocean and from my pocket I pulled out a latke that my mama had given me before I went to my room. I began to eat it. With every bite, I thought of her more, and my heart felt heavy with memories. In the haze and confusion of the night, I fell asleep.

I was abruptly woken up by the sound of a man yelling from a boat. I quickly got up and almost ran in the opposite direction because I thought the soldiers were coming after me, but the man threw a blanket in my direction, so I sensed he was nice. I was still a little uneasy, so I slowly walked over to him. All of a sudden out of nowhere a little kid appeared from behind him. He was speaking German. I couldn’t really hear what they were saying, but I grabbed the blanket as the father reached his hand out toward me and pulled me onto the boat. On the boat, I studied the little boy and noticed that he looked about my age and had blonde hair and blue eyes unlike me. My curly brown hair fell just above my green eyes. The boy, Abe, motioned me downstairs to the bottom of the boat where other Jewish families were quietly huddled together. We arrived at nearby location where we picked up another woman. The lady grabbed Abe and gave him a kiss. His eyes lit up, and I could sense she was his mom. I saw their warm exchange and felt a sense of jealousy because I yearned for the safety of my mom’s arms. The kind man docked the boat in front of a small stone house. He aided everyone get off the boat. We all walked up a pathway where the mom took everyone else into a bunker and told Abe to bring me inside their home. Abe initially just looked at me but did not respond.

The mom became firm and said again in German, “Take him in the house now!”

Once we arrived in the house, they set me up in Abe’s room with him.

That night as we ate dinner around the table, the mom in a soft voice said, “You are one of us now too.”

As the dad looked over, he stopped eating his mashed potatoes and rustled my hair and smiled.

After one year of finally settling into my new life, news got out that the Nazis were starting to invade nearby towns. Fearing that we were in danger, we got back onto the boat with the other families who had been staying in the bunker. As we set sail, the water became choppy, and ships started coming our way. One ship came too close and overturned our small boat. Before we knew it, we were tied up to a post on the larger German ship. The ship quickly docked and brought us to a camp that I now know was constructed to work us to death. We were separated by men, women, and children. My curly hair fell at my feet as my hair was shaved off. They took my clothes and gave me an oversized prisoner’s uniform, which had blue and white stripes on it. I was beaten every time I stepped out of line or did not finish my work details. I was given broth and hard bread to eat which made it very hard to function since it was my only meal for the entire day. What scarred me the most though was watching the other prisoners get tortured to death especially, Abe.

This monotonous pattern of my day to day life lasted nearly three years. On May 8, 1945, the guards had woken us up early and shuffled us out of the camps as far as they could. All of a sudden, they brought us to a halt and forced us to kneel down, and they started executing random prisoners, but in the midst of all of this chaos planes flew from overhead, and shots were fired not at us this time but at the guards. We all looked at each other trembling in both fear and jubilation. Moments later, the area was surrounded by French soldiers who took us to a displaced persons camp in Austria.

The conditions were far better than what I had experienced in the Dachau, concentration camp, north of Berlin but were still rather challenging. For example, we were provided clothes and food, but it was difficult to recuperate. Many suffered from malnutrition and other diseases that they acquired at their camps, and nearly everyone was suffering from posttraumatic stress. One of the French soldiers named Abrial who oversaw the camp took a special interest in me and helped me find distant family in America.

During the war, only 16,000 individuals were allowed into the America. However, after the war, under the Displaced Persons Act of 1948, I along with 205,000 DP’s and 17,000 orphans were permitted entry into the United States. I was brought before a board in Hamburg, Germany where I was screened to make sure that I was suitable for entering the country. I suppose I passed the interview because a few weeks later I boarded a C-4 Troopship headed toward America. The voyage was estimated to take ten days. The mood on the ship was bittersweet. Many were aware that they were leaving their country where they were raised as well as a very dark past. Yet we looked forward to starting a new life.

On the tenth day we arrived in America, I was greeted by my aunt and all of my distant relatives. The only time they had seen me was in pictures before the war had begun. As I looked deep into her eyes I could see my mother’s reflection, and I knew that I was going to be okay.

My new life in Pennsylvania was exactly what I needed to recuperate. I was able to lean on the sewing skills that my papa had taught me as a young child back in Poland. Sewing helped me block out the bad memories of the war and brought me closer to Papa. Sewing indirectly saved my life at Dachau too because the soldiers’ uniforms often needed mending. After graduating high school in Pennsylvania, I met the love of my life, Linda. We moved to New York City where I opened up my own tailor shop which I called Morty’s in honor of my father. Soon after Linda and I settled into our new life together, we had our first child — a boy, whom we named Abe. Abe Levine’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and kind heart will forever connect me to the Abe Müller that helped me persevere through one of the hardest times of my life.

 

Too Many Mistakes Made

“Hey,” I said on the phone. “Can I come over today?”

“You really should not. I’m sick as hell. I think I’m coming down with the flu, and I don’t want to infect you,” said my boyfriend on the other line of the phone as he quickly hung up.

 

That was completely weird. He usually wouldn’t hang up the phone like that but whatever. I took my wallet and my car keys. I drove to Walmart and bought some over-the-counter medicine for the flu. I drove to Ryan’s house. His house front door would always be open, I was used to just walking in as if it was my own house.

 

I looked for Ryan all over the first floor. I couldn’t find him. I went upstairs to his room. He was probably in bed since he was sick. I entered, and I couldn’t believe what I saw. Yes, he was cheating. I just couldn’t believe he was screwing my cousin. I just laughed at the whole situation. They separated and looked at me in a way you could tell they were really scared for their lives. I did not go crazy or anything.

 

I just pulled my thumb up and said, “So much for being sick.”

 

I left the house and got into my car. Instantly as I got in the car, I slammed my face into the steering wheel and screamed out. I drove off to Kiara’s house. I found myself in the basement my best friend had made into her room. I threw myself into her bed.

 

“Oh no, trouble in paradise. What happened between you and Ryan?” asked Kiara. You could tell in her voice she was so over me and Ryan’s bullshit. She sounded so sarcastic and annoyed.

“Nothing too serious, I just found him having sex with Lilly,” I answered sarcastically.

“Oh shit,” exclaimed Kiara in surprise. “But I thought she was your cousin.”

“Well, you thought right! Hell yeah she is my cousin, but she didn’t think of that before getting into bed with my now ex-boyfriend,” I said very angrily.

 

I kept quiet after. The silence in the room was so intense you could hear a needle falling to the floor but, I liked it that way. I don’t know how to feel or if I should feel anything at all. Am I crazy for not feeling hurt? I just feel empty inside. I should be mad and crying. It is the normal thing to feel in a moment like this one, but I don’t feel anything at all.

 

“Listen. It’s okay. Your cousin didn’t take much from you,” said Kiara as she was trying to seem calm, but her body language snitched on her. Anybody could tell she was worried, as her hands started to fidget, and she looked frightened.

“I’m good, don’t worry,” I said so calm that it was concerning due to what happened.

 

I just wondered why would he do that to me. If he wanted out, he could have said so. It’s like Lilly had half of me, and she was not even half of me. I mean, she totally is the opposite of my personality. She knew he was my boyfriend. She fucking knew, but she couldn’t keep her legs closed. Even your own family betrays you. I tried to keep calm and not cry, but I couldn’t. I ended up crying. I tried to be strong. I just couldn’t. In this moment, I felt so exposed. I usually wouldn’t cry in front of anybody. I didn’t want to be looked as weak, but goddammit I deserved this cry. Kiara looked at me, frozen. She didn’t know what to do. She won’t be the type of person that would be good to comfort you, but she will always be there, even if it meant only her presence.

 

“Calm down,” I said. “I’ll get over this. He is not the only guy in the world.”

 

I spent the rest of the day with Kiara. After just getting cheated on, I could still crack jokes with my best friend. I didn’t want to be alone, but I would have to leave at any moment. As I got home, I went right away to sleep, just to avoid thinking.

 

The next day I went to school. I wasn’t really excited to show up to school and see Ryan’s face. I made my way through the school, and to be honest, I was trying to avoid Ryan. I found Kiara, and I felt relieved.

 

“Can you make it less obvious that you are trying to avoid somebody?” asked Kiara as she laughed at me.

“Good morning to you too, asshole,” I said to my best friend.

 

Our other friends came, and we just stood there talking, waiting for first period to start. I plugged my headphones in, since I really didn’t feel like talking anymore. I was really concentrated into listening to The Chainsmokers until I felt Kiara poking me to death with her elbow.

 

“Oh my god! What do you want?” I asked Kiara as I angrily took my headphones off. “You know better, when I have my headphones on that means nobody talk to me.”

 

Kiara just pointed with her forehead. I looked at the direction she pointed, just to see Ryan’s stupid self walking towards us. I just looked away and laughed. Yeah, now everything is a joke. Ignoring his presence completely, I just plugged my headphones back in. Until I felt somebody’s arm around me.

 

“Excuse me,” I said, turning around to see Ryan’s face.

“Hello, baby cakes,” he said as he soundfully kissed my cheek.

“Now you got some nerve!” I yelled, catching a lot of people’s attention. “How can you just come here, kiss me on the cheek, and call me baby cakes when yesterday you were between my cousin’s legs? And get the hell away from me before I smack you.”

“You don’t have to act up, you overreacting,” he said while removing his arms off me.

“Boy, you were having sex with my cousin, and you got the nerve to say I’m overreacting. You must be out of your goddamn mind!” After I said this, Ryan just left, which I appreciate very much.

“So much for avoiding,” said Kiara while she laughed, and I laughed with her even though I was so mad steam could come out of my ears.

 

Months went by, and I just made myself busy, focused on my school work and going out with Kiara to the volleyball court, and I also found myself talking to Ryan’s friend. I know, you don’t have to go on and on about how bad of an idea this is. Kiara is making sure of it.

 

“I’m just saying if you are stupid enough to continue with that decision, go ahead, but you are being stupid,” said Kiara for the 400th time in one hour.

“It’s not like I’m marrying the guy, I’m just having a little fun. You need to loosen up a little bit,” I said to Kiara.

“Okay, you are not marrying him, but still you are leading him on, and he is Ryan’s friend. That is just plain stupid, and just because you got cheated on, doesn’t mean you get to play with somebody else.”

“I’m playing him or leading him on,” I lied.

“Are you planning on having something serious with him?” asked Kiara while giving me a death stare.

“Chill chica, if looks could kill, and I don’t want nothing serious with him, are you crazy?” I laughed.

“Then you are so leading him on!” Kiara yelled at me. “You know how it feels to be played. Don’t do that to the guy. He is really nice, unlike Ryan. He doesn’t deserve it,” said Kiara while grabbing my phone and blocking Ryan’s friend’s number.

“You didn’t have to block Anthony! At least you could let me give the guy an explanation of why I’m not talking to him,” I complained.

“Any talking you want to do, you could do it in front of me, so I know you’re going to end this and not lead him on anymore, and by the way, Ryan is calling.” She passed my phone, but I looked at it ring until the call ended. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“Do I look like I want to talk to the bastard that cheated on me with my cousin? I don’t want to hear his lame excuses. There are a lot of girls willing to forgive, but I’m not one of them,” I said angrily.

“You see, that is one decision I support,” said Kiara.

 

We left the volleyball court since it was about to close. As soon as I got home, I unblocked Anthony and texted him.

Me: Hey there

Anthony: Hey, you finally out?

Me: Yeah, the court was about to close, so we had to go home

Anthony: Can I come over?

Me: Don’t

Anthony: Why

Me: I’m going to take a shower and then I’m heading off to sleep

Anthony: But it’s early, don’t go to sleep

Me: It’s 11 o’clock, get it together Anthony LOL, go to sleep

Anthony: Fine, TTYL.

 

After taking a shower, I can assure that I didn’t go to sleep. I ordered some pizza and watched Grey’s Anatomy. I got so lost watching the TV show, every time I said I would go to sleep, I ended up watching one more episode. It happened like 20 times, but when I was finally going to sleep, my alarm went off. I stayed up all night watching Grey’s Anatomy, and I had a geometry test today!

I rushed out of my house, regretting the decision I made last night. I should have gone to sleep!

 

I was already in a bad mood since I didn’t get to sleep, now add a geometry test to that. My stress level was as high as it would have ever been. During the test I couldn’t concentrate, every sound irritated me, and the teacher’s voice irritated me more than the usual. I couldn’t remember any formulas, so I failed this test. I know I failed because I fell asleep halfway through the test. My teacher woke me up by slamming his hand on my desk, which didn’t contribute to my humor. I got out of the classroom to find Kiara, I couldn’t find her anywhere, so I decided to text her

 

Me: Where are you?

Me: ?

Me: Answer

Kiara: I’m by the library

Me: I’m on my way there

Kiara: K.

 

I made my way through the school, and to be completely honest with you guys, I am so in love with the structure of the school. I loved the detailed spiral columns we had, and I loved the detailed white flowers in the corners of the ceiling and the beige walls! The place seems so magnificent to be a school. It gives you the vibe of an old museum. I admired the details in the building as I made my way through school to the library. As I got to the library, I could see Kiara hanging outside of the library.

 

“Can you come over here?” I yelled at Kiara. I really didn’t feel like walking anymore. My feet were killing me, my back hurt like it never did before, and the classroom tables were not the comfiest place to sleep on.

“You look like total crap,” said Kiara as soon as she got to me. “Why didn’t you sleep last night?”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I’ve known you for a long time, don’t you think I know almost every aspect of you? Now answer, why didn’t you sleep last night?” asked Kiara again.

“I stayed up watching Grey’s Anatomy,” I answered shamefully.

“Quick question, have you gotten over what happened with Ryan? You haven’t talked about it ever since it happened,” Kiara looked at me with intrigue.

 

I really couldn’t give an answer. I wasn’t over it. In fact, I was still hurting on the inside. Trying to distracting myself didn’t work. My mind would always make its way back to that damn day. I tried to forgive him. Maybe he did it because of something I lacked, but it wasn’t a good enough reason. I tried to forgive Lilly. She is my cousin, but in my eyes she is just a whore.

 

“I don’t know how I got over everything so easily,” I answered to Kiara, even though I wasn’t really over everything that had happened. I couldn’t see myself confessing. I was still hurt.

 

I quickly walked the streets in Manhattan, rushing to get home. I was excited. My mother finally came home from vacation. Well, it wasn’t a vacation. It was for three days, but they were the longest three days of my life!

As soon as I walked in, I could hear the merengue blasting in the speakers, and I could smell the Sancocho my mother was making in the kitchen. I missed my mother so much! It’s hard not having her around.

“Bendicion, Mom,” I said as I walked in the kitchen. Asking for your parents’ blessing was something Dominicans do.

“Dios te bendiga mija,” answered my mother while hugging me. “Listen, get ready. Food is almost ready, and your uncles and cousins are coming over to eat.”

When my mother said that, I just stood frozen. I was so frozen that I could actually take Princess Elsa’s part in the movie Frozen. What does she mean? My cousins are coming over? She must be kidding me! She better be! If that’s the case, it means Lilly will be here, and I don’t have the means to deal with her. I mean isn’t it ironic that she is named Lilly, when Lilly means purity, and she was screwing my boyfriend. So pure! As my mind comes back to earth, I could hear my mom calling my name like crazy.

 

“Amelia, muchacha, I’m talking to you,” said my mother very angrily. “Ese noviesito of yours is really having you acting stupid.”

“Actually, me and him are not dating anymore mom,” I said, and as soon as I said that, my mother hugged me. “I found him cheating on me.”

 

I saved the detail that he cheated on me with my cousin, I didn’t to bring any drama to the family, but if I knew that summer night was going to end up with Lilly getting with Ryan, I would never have invited her to our camping trip.

 

Rewind…

 

I decided to bring my cousin to a camping trip that my friends and I planned. I mean, she was going to be in my school next year. This would be a great opportunity for her to meet people and make friends. But she was more of a loner. She stayed by herself. As we began to light some wood on fire, my boyfriend came, late as always. He came up to me and kissed me, but I rushed him to introduce him to my cousin.

 

“So this is my cousin,” I said while I grabbed her by the arm. She looked kind of weird, but she was a shy person, so I didn’t pay much attention.

“What’s your name?” Ryan asked her, but she just kept quiet and stood frozen.

“Her name is Lilly. Excuse her, she tends to be really shy,” I said as Ryan and I walked away from her.

 

Present time…

 

I kept reliving the memory in my head. I stayed in my room. My mom didn’t bother me on going downstairs. I know she felt like I was going to break at any moment. But I wasn’t. I can’t deny that the betrayal from both parties made me feel downhearted, but I wasn’t going to let them break me.

 

I spent most of the evening hiding in my room. I knew Lilly was downstairs since I heard her voice. She really got some nerve coming here. If I was in her position, I would never show up to the girl’s house whose boyfriend I screwed.

 

Lilly’s POV…

 

I was really nervous, facing Amelia? After what I’ve done? That’s signing my own death certificate. I am hundred percent sure she is going to beat my ass. My mother insisted on me coming over since Amelia’s mom called with the chisme that Ryan cheated on her. She thought I could make her feel better. Apparently Amelia saved to herself that I was the girl she found Ryan with. Amelia didn’t come out of her room. Mother insisted on me going to her room, but I was ashamed.

 

“Go hang out with Amelia. You could really make her feel better,” said my mother.

“Quit insisting. If she hasn’t come out, that means she wants to be alone,” I quickly lied. I know I am the last person she wants to see right now.

“I’m not going to repeat myself, Lilly,” said my mother as she grabbed my arm and dragged me to my cousin’s room. She knocked the door.

My cousin said, “Come in!”

Mother doesn’t know that she is inventing a new kind of stupid right now.

“Mija, I told Lilly to come cheer you up, you know since what happened,” said my mother as she quickly pushed me into my cousin’s room. She just led me to my own death!

Amelia just looked at me like, “Really bitch?”

I am actually scared. My mother just left me alone with my murderer. I looked everywhere. I looked to the corner where a little trash can is, looked at the pink walls where she used to have some pictures of her and Ryan. She took them off. The last time I was here, before getting caught by Amelia, she had them. I looked at the ceiling. I looked at everything but her. I didn’t have the nerve to look at her or say anything.

“Why did you do it?” asked Amelia in her voice. You could hear a little bit of disappointment, but she was trying to seem calm. I didn’t have an answer, at least not a valid one.

 

Rewind…

 

My cousin insisted on bringing me here. I didn’t want to come, but if I didn’t, I would have to stay all by myself, so I decided to come along. I was pretty bored. The place was nice. The tall trees and the smell of the soil were fantastic, and the campfire was beautiful. We could see everybody around it sharing some s’mores. The only thing that sucked was the mosquitoes.

 

That’s when I saw him. The first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. Oh look at those eyes… The deep brown of his eyes made me feel completely helpless. His black, long hair pulled into a ponytail, his light skin, oh god! Every detail about him was so perfect. I tried to catch him just giving me a glance, but I saw him walking towards my cousin, and when he kissed her, my heart crushed. It exploded. My cousin approached me. He followed her. She told him I was her cousin. He asked my name, but his presence made me forget it. Why out of all the boys, I had to like the one that my cousin is dating? I can assure you I won’t be happy.

 

Present time…

 

“So, why did you do it? Why out of all the boys it had to be Ryan?” she asked.

“I am so sorry for any distress I’ve caused,” I apologized.

“Do you think you feeling sorry is going to fix anything? The damage is already done! It is hard to listen to you apologizing with a straight face,” she almost yelled at me, but I knew she didn’t want to draw any attention to what is happening in this room. If she was to beat me up, I would accept that ass whooping. I deserved it. She walked towards me. I really thought I was through, but she just walked out. I don’t know why, but I followed her to the living room.

“Why are you following me?” she yelled at me. “I don’t want you near me, don’t you get that?

“Okay, what is going on?” asked my aunt. “Don’t be yelling at your cousin like that, she haven’t done anything to you!”

“She haven’t done anything to me?” she questioned her as she turned around to look at her mother. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know that Lilly is the girl that I found Ryan with. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to be the one that brought drama into the family, but there you go. Please let it be know that my cousin is a putita.”

 

It suddenly hit me. How could I have done this? She is my cousin, and I love her more than anything. How could I let my emotions get the best of me? I should have stood by. I am truly sorry for causing any distress in her relationship. I wish we could have been more discreet, but I am not sorry for wanting him like I did. My mother rushed me out of Amelia’s house. I looked at her. In her face you could see how embarrassed she was. She couldn’t even look at me in the eyes. As soon as I got home, I locked myself in my room and closed my curtains. I laid in my bed.

 

I wasn’t really happy in my own relationship. I really wasn’t. I wouldn’t let my own boyfriend see the pictures on my phone, but I did let her boyfriend see them. It’s not like I’m saying that what we had was special, since it really wasn’t, but it was something rare. I truly regret every problem I’ve caused in his relationship. I wish we could have been more discreet. I’m not sorry for wanting him like I did. At the end of the day, I had to call him, text him, or end the night kissing his lips. Even with Amelia right beside me, he looked at me in a way that revealed every single detail between us. He will always be there for me, even if it meant risking his own relationship. Every moment we shared I felt this fake happiness, because after all, he only loved his girlfriend. He would go on about how he didn’t want to lose her and how we should end this for the better. His heart was completely hers, but looking pathetic, I asked him to stay. When she left him, it killed him. He made mistakes, and I was one of them. Even when he had his arms around me while we lay in the couch, I could tell Amelia was the only thing in his mind. None of this really matters anymore. I’m going to move one, as suprinsly as that sounds. I will move on but not completely, as I will always carry a picture of us in my phone.

 

Central Park

There was a sound, like gobs of blinking eyes. It was merely an echo-y whisper, yet it was disconcerting because there was nothing that could make that blinking sound around you, and though you had felt ocean waves hitting your feet then receding, they made no sound. You had been surrounded by a magenta foggy haze that had prevented you from seeing little more than dark purple shadows. Approximately six of these shadows were standing, stationary, people each in their own inhuman positions, in a circle silently around you, on the ground that felt like turf, but looked like concrete and in the distance, upon the horizon, a small circle shined a light lavender hue. Other than this there was nothing. You were taking out your notepad and beginning to write what you saw (you used to always write down your observations) when you were greeted to an echo of garbled speech in a language far from your own. The fog had begun to fade, and you had seen the faces of the people (no, not people, statues), around you. Their faces were wrinkled, raisin-y, gloomy faces, and their broken positions looked as if several bones in their bodies had been broken beyond repair. Despite their traumatizing appearance, they had seemed to compliment the “nothingness” that you had previously thought surrounded you. The “nothingness” had revealed itself to be something you hadn’t expected: the ground under your feet was neither turf nor concrete but wet sand (like the beaches up north — less grainy more compact), and the emptiness that had been covered by the haze was not at all empty, in fact the only thing that was what you thought was the bright (now white) sun looking down at your from its place on the horizon. Behind you had been eyes — what seemed like millions of them of all different sizes and shapes (hooded, almond, monolid, deep set, prominent, round, downturned, upturned, large, and small) — blocking your view of anything but the ocean, and they were blinking. Not all at the same time but all at different times and lengths of times. The eyes were staring nowhere in particular all of them moved in different directions and never seemed to be looking at the same spot. You can’t remember, right now, whether you stayed and watched for a while or just went straight to writing but you do remember that after you had finished writing you clicked your pen. All the eyes had stared at you. Some of them eyeing your scribbles, others your face and various parts of your body. The statues had began to move. They had started to twist and turn in impossible ways. They had not moved anywhere, just stayed in their place on the circle when the world had began to quake (as such worlds often do) and fade into a new one.

 

You were now in a basement. You did not look like yourself. Staring into a puddle formed by leaking pipes you saw your face. Your skin had a sickly yellow pallor, your eyes were sunken and a weird color blue (translucent like fog, but also dark like the deepest parts of the ocean), the bones in your face were pronounced, the bags under your eyes seemed to be the only place where your skin wasn’t tight to your skull. You were beginning to turn away and close your eyes (you were horrified by the face in the water) when the ceiling had disappeared, and whatever the basement was under just left. You were greeted by burning sunlight even though the sun only slightly bigger than the one in your last world, people from the street had looked down at you and your raggy, colorful, too big clothes as tears poured from your eyes. You had been happy to see them, and you attempted to reach them but the house reappeared. Your heart had sank, and you wanted to do nothing more than sleep and cry, but you remembered your book. This time you clicked your pen quietly, and no eyes had stared (there were no staring eyes in this world, silly). Soon you were scribbling words, and drawings that felt strange (but familiar) when a shout had sounded above you. It was a high-pitched squeal that you had never heard before, and wished you hadn’t heard at all. At the sound of it you were filled with dread, and you had longed to see the sun again. You had felt terrified for the person who squealed. Footsteps had been approaching the door that you hadn’t noticed before, the door that seemed to be the only way out. This time, the world simply faded.

 

The next time you were awakened you were close to the ground, you were in a much happier setting, the sun shone delightedly through the trees, and it had been much closer than you remember it being before. This time there was someone with you. They were silently skipping along their short legs, working hard to keep up with your pace, as they danced over foliage and avoided all the visible bugs that lurked beneath the upturned fallen brown leaves. You had slowed down your pace out of consideration for your silent partner, and she had smiled and nodded a thank you. Then, for a minute or two, you guys walked like that under the towering trees with auburn and burgundy and golden leaves, and branches that shook with every soft blow of the wind and movement of a bird. The only sounds that could have been heard were the birds and the cicadas and the trees swaying. Around you were only trees and bushes and flowers and birds one minute and the next you were in a meadow. Now you can’t remember whether you just weren’t paying attention as you walked or if the setting just changed, but it didn’t matter then. Back then you knew where you needed to be. On the picnic blanket with the girl and Apples (the posh anthropomorphic pony who often made declarations for the town of Ridinia). Upon making it there you had been greeted by a feast carried in by ants, and the girl spoke for the first time. “You’ve been awfully silent Madison.” She spoke with a midwest accent, but seemed to be going for a posh English one.

“I am sorry. I am just a bit tired, you must forgive me,” you had said in an equally horrible attempt to be posh.

“You are forgiven, but you must get some sleep or you’ll get sick,” the girl said, her warm brown eyes had seemed very concerned, before she happily turned to Apples. “Any city news Apples it is most boring here in one of my many country homes.”

“Oui, oui, mon amiem,” the pony had whinnied in a failed attempt to speak French. You had sighed and took out your book and silently began to write. (Something in you was telling you how rude it was to do so, but you only had two pages left to write after this one. Surely it would be forgiven.) “Ahem. Madison.”
“Please excuse me, I do not wish to offend you, I simply do not wish to forget this magical day,” you told them. They had looked unimpressed. “Besides I’m preparing for a job as a secretary.” The girl nodded forgivingly, and Apples had simply rolled his eyes.

“Nevertheless, I shall continue,” Apples sighed, “now, Rina is the biggest talk of the town at the moment because… ” Apples was cut off by an alarm echoing for someone to wake up. The girl sighed, and the sun disappeared.

 

You had woken up groggily to an alarm that rang an hour late. A dog had looked up at you as you rushed out of bed, and followed your normal morning routine instinctively. Two minute shower, one minute to dry off and put on clothes, three minutes to eat, five minutes to catch your favorite cartoon. Except something was wrong. You had noticed this around the third minute of your cartoon as Captain Pickles began dueling his rival Captain Coleslaw. Usually, it was around this time your mother would wake up in a tizzy upon hearing the clash of swords, but this time there was no body. Not a sound. Although you had been enthralled in the show, you had been more creeped out by the silence. A quick run around the house you found no one. Twice around, the dog following you this time, you had again found nothing. Panicked, you had sighed, sometimes she was at work at this time you remembered. It was time for you to leave anyway, so you walked outside. At first you had noticed nothing but the fact that the sun was much bigger and much closer than normal (it looked like it was in the town center, and it felt like it was baking you alive). Then you had realized no one was on the street, and your dog was right beside you. The same dog you had just left inside your house. Your hands had begun to shake, not wildly, but enough that you dropped your water bottle and it had echoed sinisterly in the empty streets. Your dog had barked, adding to the echoing and it had created a terrifying din. “Shut up, Sparky,” you had said. Sparky had not shut up. Your fear had turned to anger at this point, and you had stomped away angrily thinking about how when you find these people you’ll… you’ll… if only that dog would shut up. You had turned the corner unto what is usually the biggest street, but all there was were neatly parked cars, and neat little closed shops with clean sparkling windows showcasing neat shoes or clothes or toys in a dark room. You saw the local coffee shop had its door open and other than the sun-lit streets it had been the only well lit place. With the howls of your dog, who was still stuck on your block, ringing in your ears you had marched into the shop in attempts to demand an answer. You were greeted to an interior that was not that of the coffee shop of your childhood, but that of a room with a tiki bar with tie-dye blankets on the walls, and comfortable bean bags speckled with people lazing around a bit drunkenly.

“Sit, stay a while,” a voice, belonging to a man who had tried to lead you to a chair, had slurred. “Don’t you have something to write?” You had nodded, confused on how he knew about your book, but somehow unable to voice that confusion. You had followed him into a room connected to the bar, it was white and brightly lit with a table in the middle that looked like an interrogation table from cop movies.

“Write,” he had said as he pulled out a chair and you sat. You had complied as if hypnotized, immediately scribbling your story. You had been so focused on writing (no, documenting) you had noticed nothing else. Now you try to remember how the floor fell from beneath you, but then all you could do was fall. Still focused on your writing you hadn’t realized you were falling until you had finished the page and you had snapped out of your writing haze. The ground had been close, too close, and you were about to hit it when all had turned black.

 

You were looking up at the hill in front of you, it was green and had a few flowers, and looked like a hill from a fairy tale. You did not have the same majestic look. Your skin had had folds and flopped and stretched out the the spandex you were wearing. For some reason you had convinced yourself that this hill would give you the look you wanted. You just had to run. You had taken a step, and then another (but you had wanted to go faster), and then another one. You had started sweating at this point. Your skin flabs had collided as you used all of your energy to move up the hill, you accelerated and created new bends and warps in time and space. Your breath was short and shallow, and you had wanted to double over, but you had pushed on. The sun seemed as though you could reach it if you ran up this hill, and it beamed as though it was too. You had no book, but you hadn’t really remembered why you thought about a book but you had shrugged it off. The top of the hill had been so far, too far, no book was worth thinking about when the hill was far more important Your earbuds played a song that you can no longer remember. What you do remember are the shimmering notes, the tones that had seeped into your ears and then had circulated throughout your nervous system forcing your feet to move faster than you wanted them to. You fell, and out of nowhere a book had tumbled and landed at the bottom of the hill next to you, a pen rolled neatly on top of it. You had instinctively took the book, popped the pen and wrote furiously. The last page was soon filled with a drawing of the hill, and lovely soliloquies about your first trip up the hill, you had wanted to write more, but you ran out of space. So you had started up the hill again, this time you had felt lighter, skin still twisted and slapped and jiggled but it didn’t hold you down the same way. This time you started and continued, book in hand towards the burning sun. Sweat had dripped off you like rain off a car going way too fast on the freeway, it flew behind you, and had clouded your eyes, and drenched your short dark locks of hair, and discolored the brown spandex that attempted to stretch around you but ended up bunched in your crotch or under your armpits. The sun had seemed to be calling you, it called you Michael, you had been sure that wasn’t your name, but you had no idea what your name was so you accepted Michael. As you edged closer you could see nothing but bright, hot light reflecting off sweat, and possibly tears. Your skin had felt as though it was burning off, the fat melting and unveiling a new person. It was painful at first, but the pain had faded by the time you had made it to the top, and climbed into the sun.

 

You had been (are being?) faced with a totally new setting, you could (can?) not feel yourself or see yourself, you could (can?) only see white. Blinding white, and a frog on a white marble pedestal. You were (are?) staring at it and it was (is?) staring at you for what seemed (seems?) like hours, when it talks. “Michael here is your entrance to reality.” It blinked (blinks?).

 

And you are waking up, cloudy eyed, groggy, and a bit damp. Around you is a garden filled with beautiful marigolds, hydrangeas and roses, and trees with, green leaves, all wet with rain and a little stream with a cute wooden bridge, which is made a splotchy brown from the previous rain. Next to you is an old man who is sleeping, and his head is resting on your shoulder. You are gently placing his head on the back of the damp bench, and standing up. You are looking both ways, trying to decide whether you should follow the trail left or right, or go over the bridge. A fish is swimming close to the surface of the water, it is a goldfish that is larger than usual, and its red and gold scales are twinkling beneath the rippling surface drawing your eyes towards it as it is passing beneath the bridge. You are sighing, and then beginning to walk. Something is jingling with the motion of your feet, you are looking down as you cross the bridge, you are noticing that your shoes are red loafers with hints of gold and a scale like pattern that have little bells attached to the tops of them, and beneath your shoes the fish is swimming. Your bells have stopped tinkling, but something continues blending melodically the sound of the water and the fish has stopped swimming now. It is below you just stationary. There is no wind, but the bells tingle a high pitched, long note, and the fish moves. Everything around and within you is tingling, it feels as if tiny strings are trying to vibrate as one, like an orchestra that helps create the world around you. It has stopped now, and you are continuing to walk, taking soft, quiet steps, and looking only ahead knowing that your journey has commenced.

 

You are walking over a puddle, and you look down (first time since the bridge), your shoes are soaking through, giving them a darker color, which you can see in the puddle along with your black slacks which look newly washed and hang between the puddle and the beginning of your shoes as if unsure whether it wants to get wet or not, but knowing that it does not want to reveal the skin beneath it. Your feet are beginning to get a little cold, so you are hopping out of the puddle and down the asphalt path. The dirt of the garden path had been gone since a while back, it had turned to mud, and then to asphalt. It is still a park, and there are many trees hanging around you, pouring remnants of rain on you whenever the wind blows to hard, and rats scurry beneath the leaf covered grass and dirt on either side of you. You are continuing to walk past that, and towards a playground filled with screaming little kids running wild and tired parents. You are stopping in front of it, leaning on the fence surrounding it, and looking at the kids chase after each other. Their feet are slapping the black rubber tiles, the tiles are the same black as your pants, a deep dark black that almost looks like what nothing would look like. Like the opening to a void, you are staring at it for a minute. For that minute you are focusing only on the foam, the worn, scratched, torn foam, for a moment you are hearing nothing but the sound of slapping feet against foam, it starts out loud and reverberates with the sound of many feet, and then it slows and organizes itself eventually stopping. You are confused and looking up at the children who have started grouping themselves and talking. You are listening to the conversations, and they are typical work conversations filled with surface level scratches at how they’re doing, and what’s up with them. The kids faces are in states of weariness, over enthusiasm and calm expressionless stares. “I haven’t had my morning coffee yet, David, don’t talk to me about this.” One is mumbling in the southwest corner. You are looking towards their parents and you see nothing. You’re staring at the empty benches for a moment. Taking in the absence, and then you are blinking. You are realizing you haven’t blinked in a while, your eyes are dry and your eyelids feel somewhat scratchy as they move to meet each other. You’re find that you are experiencing the same feeling of billions of vibrating strings around you, and inside of you, this time it is more organized, but it is still too messy to make sense of the music, the reason. The kids are playing again. Their shouts and joyful expressions are back, and you are walking away, brushing off the vibrations.

 

You are thinking of nothing as you walk, and right now you can’t remember ever thinking of something. Is remembering thinking? You are stepping into a puddle, and though you can feel the dirt and water seeping into your shoes, you can’t feel anything else. No sense of disappointment at having your shoes ruined or dismay at having soaking feet. The park gates are looming ahead of you, and you are walking towards them staring blankly ahead. Your bells seem to be tinkling a lot quieter now creating a soft din that keeps you marching like a soldier. The gates are even closer, and you can see the black paint peeling and the hardly noticeable warp that causes the gates to curve away from the park at the slightest angle. As you are walking past the gates the smell of damp leaves and trees and urine, are exchanged for the smell of gasoline, sidewalk cart food, garbage, and a tiny bit of sewage surrounding you with every whiff of the slightly suffocating air. You are walking to your left over garbage and past people and tiny plots of dirt harboring garbage and trees. A store door opens and the smell of chemicals with a bit of a flowery scent wafts out with the air conditioned air. You are walking in and are greeted to rows and rows of makeup and perfume. You are walking towards the perfume section, and one bottle is catching your eye. It has a silvery glass, with bejeweled butterflies flying around it, and was topped with a shimmering blue diamond. You are picking it up and holding it, and in the mirror behind it you see your hands (which look huge compared to the tiny bottle, but somehow delicate) and your shirt, a white polo with an unbuttoned top button and an orange suit jacket.

“Are you thinking about buying that for your wife?” a woman is asking you as you are staring at yourself holding the bottle. You give her a confused look at first, and then nod. She is smiling. “Ask me if you need anything.” And then she is walking away.

You spray the perfume in front of your face and take a deep inhale. The smell is oddly bilgy, and you are beginning to cough. In the mirror in front of you, you can see a ship, a hulking beast with it’s hull turned toward you, and the water seems to dampen your face as you cough. No one in the store around you seems to notice, they are continuing to shop as you are watching the ship pass you by, the stench still lingering. You are closing your eyes, but the smell and sea spray continues. The smell is malodorous, and now you are holding your nose. It is stopping and you are standing up straight and turning the perfume bottle away from your face, pulling your finger off the top, and placing the bottle back. There is no longer a foul smell, instead an all to flowery stench is replacing it. You are staring at your shirt, and now your empty hands in the mirror as the same orchestra of tiny strings vibrates everywhere, and this time it is almost as if you can hear a melody. It is stopping, and you are turning away.

 

You are on a train, and it is night time. As the rest of the train sleeps, rocked by the motion of the train and calmed by the gentle hum of the train’s wheels on the tracks, you are staring out the window, dark brown bags attempting to pull your lids down. You are not so much resisting the urge to sleep as you are giving into your curiosity. Outside the window is not the city you had walked around in during the day, nor is it the false forest you woke up in. For a while the scenery consisted of shops in the middle of nowhere, and then suburban backyards, and now it is the forest. Trees that rock with the harsh blowing of the wind (a storm is coming) as their branches reach out for the train, and bushes that are half of your size line the tracks that weeds grow in between. The flowery stench of the perfume is almost gone, and now the only other smell is the dinner you had, the coffee and ham sandwich on rye.

“May we join you?” a woman is asking, standing over you in the doorway of your compartment. She was wearing a black coat trimmed with fur that is hanging to her black shiny boots, and behind her legs stands a small boy with deep brown eyes who is peeking shyly behind her.

“No problem,” you are saying, and she is sitting on the other side of the compartment, her son resting on her lap.

“You look tired,” she is observing in attempts to make quiet conversation.

Her fiery red nails (sharpened at the end like claws) tapped gently on the windowsill. You aren’t particularly sure what to reply, so you let the observation hang in the air between you. It seems just as well, as she is shrugging and now she is leaning back and closing her eyes. Her son was staring up at you curiously, and tugging his jacket closer around him. You are ignoring him and looking out the window, you’re seeing the reflection of the boy and his mother whose finger curls stay stationary despite the bobbing of her head. The boy is touching you, his tiny, skinny hand reaching out and patting your arm. His hands are a sticky, rubbery wet, and suddenly they are grasping your hands, and he is staring up at you. Your hands are feeling as though they are being grabbed by something fluffy and warm, and you are seeing them covered by soft winter gloves whose leathery covering were wet with snow around you a cabin with a warm fire glowing and softly crackling across the room. The torn, and tattered train cushions turn into a warm couch, and the woman is standing in front of you absent mindedly chattering, and then she is turning and staring at you neither of you blinking or talking just staring. Your hands are no longer warm now they are cold and the warm couch is simply the train cushion, the boy is sitting curled up in his mother’s lap and the soft swaying of the train car resumes. You are gripping the arm rests, and the strings are vibrating softly, almost visibly, but definitely audibly. They’re playing an interesting melody, slightly out of tune and out of order, and now they are stopping and you are resuming your ride.

You are walking down a quiet Pennsylvania street towards some house (you can’t remember if it’s yours or not). The sidewalks are small, and plants occasionally spill over from the gardens or form a sort of barrier between you the street making the sidewalks too small to walk on, so you are walking in the street lined with cars neatly parked and stationary (you’ve seen no motion anywhere around you and the air is stale and windless.) There is no noise, and you are facing the ground as you climb up the steep hill, the hot sun shining too bright for you to be able to look up, but you begin to look up now. You are seeing a girl on a bike, her face in shadows and her backlit with the glowing sun, she is not moving, her right hand holds a lollipop in her mouth, while her left is resting on the bike handle. Her left shoulder is sagging lower than her right, and her left foot stands on the ground her while her right lays on the pedal. Her bike, pink with rainbow streamers coming from dark black handles is slanted to the side and unmoving. It looks as if she is preparing to ride down the hill you are attempting to climb and she is fixing you with a harsh, hard stare. Her mouth is fixed and concentrated, her eyebrows are furrowed, her blues eyes doll-like and glassy, and her strawberry blonde hair hangs in a limp ponytail at the top of her head. You are staring at her with equal intensity, and you have stopped moving for what seems like hours but is probably just a minute, then you are walking up a hill towards the house and she is saying, “I could’ve sworn I saw you in my dream” while speeding past you on her bicycle. Now you are turning to look at her, the strings vibrating and playing a sinister song, each one looks like a small dot that makes up the world around you, a dot almost to small to see. She is leaving your line of sight and you are turning around, and continuing your way up the hill slowly but surely, and the sun keeps beating down on you.

 

You are in a house, laying on a bed the strings have not stopped playing and you are tired. They have simmered down, their sinister trills turning into a lullaby. You still see them. You can’t stop seeing them unless you close your eyes. So you are closing your eyes, you are trying to stay awake for some reason but can’t. Something is dragging you down. Something is making everything go dark. Everything is dark, and silent and your snores are filling the room.

 

And you will wake up, cloudy eyed, and groggy. Around you will be a garden filled with beautiful marigolds, hydrangeas and roses, and trees with fresh, green leaves, all wet with rain and a little stream with a cute wooden bridge, which is splotchy from the rain. Next to you will be an old man who is sleeping with his head resting on your shoulder. You will wake him and ask him where you are. He will turn and face you, his face wrinkled and serious and say nothing.

 

A Stranger Knocked at the Door

It was a normal Saturday afternoon, and Marci was making dinner. Onions were frying in the pan, there was chicken in the oven, and Oliver was playing with toy planes, casually whizzing them through the living room. All of a sudden, a stranger knocked at the door.

“Hide!” Marci told Oliver.

Oliver just continued playing with his planes as the stranger knocked again, this time with more force.

“Oliver, you need to hide. A man is at the door.”

This time, Oliver stopped his planes, picked them up, and went to the designated hiding space at the end of his closet. Marci opened the door.

“Who are you and what do you want,” Marci snapped aggressively.

The man calmly pulled out a small square photograph of a young boy, who looked about nine years old.

“I’m looking for this child. His name is Oliver Wicks. Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t, and I would appreciate it if you could leave my home now,” Marci replied.

“Ma’am, I’m just looking out for him. I’m trying to protect him.”

“I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The man flashed a smile. “That’s okay, just give me a call if you see him. I really just want what’s best for him.”

The man extended his gloved hand, revealing a long, dark scar across his arm. In his hand was a card with a phone number and a name on it. Red Sun Labs, it read. Shortly after the man left, Marci went to Oliver’s room.

“Come on, Oliver. Pack up your stuff. Time to leave again.”

Without saying a word, Oliver quickly put everything in his room into an old, battered suitcase. Marci led him out of the small cottage and into her car. The car was an ancient Ford pickup truck Marci had purchased from a used car dealership. It had more than 150,000 miles on it and could only go up to 50 miles per hour.

Right before they left, Oliver said, “Mom, you forgot to give me my medicine.”

“Oh right, sorry,” said Marci.

Marci fished into her purse and took out a bottle containing several bright red pills. She took out three and gave them to Oliver, who swallowed them. Marci put the pills back into her purse and began driving again. After a few hours of driving, Marci pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station.

Marci walked into the store and told the man at the counter, “I need the usual, new passport, new license, new house.”

“Okay, that will cost $335,” the man behind the counter said.

“What! I don’t have that kind of money. It used to be cheaper.”

“Sorry, Marci, my landlord keeps raising the lease. The prices can’t be as cheap as they used to be.”

“Come on, Marius, you owe me for what Oliver did for you two years ago.”

“Give me a break, Marci! I wouldn’t have gotten in that situation were it not for you in the first place.”

“Fine, Marius, but if anything ever happens to you in the future, don’t expect me to bring Oliver to save you. He’s not a superhero, you know.”

And with that, Marci plopped a few wrinkled up bills on the desk and walked out of the store.

As Marci got into her car, the man ran out of the store holding the money and shouted, “Hey! This is only $200! Give me the rest of the money!”

“Too bad,” Marci shouted back, and she got into the car and started driving.

As Marci was driving, Oliver asked her from the backseat, “Mom, why did Mr. Malum come to look for me?”

Confused and suddenly worried, Marci asked, “Who’s Mr. Malum?”

“He’s the man that came to the house. He was in charge of helping me with my powers at the school.”

Oh no, this is worse than I thought, Marci thought to herself.

“Mr. Malum just came for a short visit. He wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He just kept playing with his planes, as if nothing had happened. Eventually, Marci stopped the car next to a small red shack on the side of the highway. The shack looked similar to the previous one they had lived in, and the one before that, and the one before that. Marci and Oliver had never lived in the same place for more than a year. As much as Marci wanted to, she knew it was too dangerous.

 

As Marci and Oliver settled into the new house, a feeling of nervousness began to settle over Marci, as she contemplated what she would do next. She knew she would have to face more people from Red Sun Labs eventually. She couldn’t run forever. And she would also have to tell Oliver the truth at some point about what had really happened, and why they were constantly on the run. After mulling it over, Marci decided it was finally time to tell Oliver what had really happened.

“Oliver, come here. I need to tell you something,” she shouted across the house.

Oliver came to the table where his mom was sitting. “What?”

“Remember how a few years ago I came to the school you were at, and I took you to live with me?”

Oliver nodded.

“Well, when I took you from there, I was really rescuing you, because the people that were working there, like Mr. Malum, were actually trying to harm you. They were trying to use you so they could do experiments on your abilities.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, not really showing much interest.

“The reason we have been moving from place to place is because people like Mr. Malum have been trying to get you back, so they can do more experiments.”

“Can I go fly my planes now?” asked Oliver.

“Sure.”

Shortly after her discussion with Oliver, Marci heard a knock on the door. She went to open it, and her heart dropped when she saw who it was. Mr. Malum was at the door, with three other men, all holding guns. Marci tried slamming the door, but Malum held it open.

“I’m done playing games. I tried to be nice, and you didn’t listen. I need Oliver now. I know he’s with you. Your friend at the gas station told me everything.”

All of a sudden, Oliver came out from his room. He looked enraged, and his eyes were glowing bright red. Before anyone could say anything, Oliver flicked his wrist and sent all four men flying in the air, instantly dying on impact with the ground. A look of pride came across Marci’s face. Oliver had saved them. The men were gone, and she didn’t have to worry anymore. But when she turned around to look at Oliver, she saw he wasn’t there anymore. Oliver had gone back into his room and was playing with his planes, as if nothing had even happened. Marci smiled, and she and Oliver lived the rest of their lives without ever having to worry again.

 

Bob the Glob-da-Blob on Shlob

One day, a peasant of the Glob-da-Blob tribe was born on the planet Shlob. A Glob-da-Blob has multiple tentacles, and their eye is at where our stomach is. It’s really weird, but I’m not judging. His name was Bob.

The moment his parents took him home from the local hospital, they played Glob-da-Mini-Sport. Miniature basketball, as we call it. Every night instead of sleeping, they would play Glob-da-Mini-Sport. They played on a little net with a tiny ball. The teams would always be Bob and his mom against his dad. Usually he and his mother would win. They had such a good time together and when Bob would practice by himself, Bob’s parents would quietly admire Bob’s skills and could see him in the official Glob-da-Sport league.

But one horrible night, the rivals called the Rabbid Rabbits attacked. Many Glob-da-Blobs had died, and this left the planet mourning because all they wanted was the basketball court. The Glob-da-Blob’s tried to fight back multiple times, but never succeeded. Many peasants’ houses were attacked, leaving crying baby Glob-da-Blobs in several houses surrounded by fire, later to find out that Bob’s parents had both passed away. The babies who lost their parents were later sent to an orphanage, and there was this one baby Glob-da-Blob that nobody wanted. It was Bob. As the children capacity went smaller, and smaller, Bob was still there.

He was really sad and slept in the bookshelf, which actually had no books on it, so that created a lot of room for him. He didn’t care if he would bump his head. He actually wanted to because he knew his life was ruined because of his parents passing away, so he always thought, What’s the point of life? All he wanted was to have his parents back. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it and ever since then, he would always do the opposite of what others told him. He used to be such a good kid and used to have huge potential and now, now he’s just a sad little Glob-da-Blob that nobody wants to take from an orphanage.

The King and Queen had no children, and they needed some children to continue the royal family name as theirs. The King and Queen walked around, examining every child in the orphanage. They even had the dog sniff to try to find out who the best child would be. Every child was begging to be chosen. Every child, except one. Bob was just lying down in the corner, knowing he wouldn’t be chosen. This was the only orphanage on the planet, so a lot of children were there, especially because of the Rabbid Rabbits attack. The royal family turned to Bob, and they looked most interested in Bob to be their child.

“I want him,” said the king.

“Sounds good to me,” replied the queen in a posh British accent.

Bob was later dragged out and yelling, “What are you doing?!?” The head of the orphanage then announced that Bob has been chosen. What? he thought. No Way. Turns out, yes way.

Bob didn’t really like the rich life and just wanted his childhood back. Most of the time, he just laid on the ground next to his bed because he felt more comfortable sleeping with his small blanket and dusty pillow on just a little mattress. Later, the king thought that the bed was just a huge waste of money if Bob wasn’t going to sleep on it, so the king hired some people to decorate the room like his old room in his old house. Bob loved it!! After that, Bob became good again, just like he used to be. This made him much easier to take care of.

One day, the king had set a challenge for Bob. Defeat the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon to unlock your sword, found inside a chest that is inside the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon. Bob stepped up to this challenge with a small wooden sword and a soft metal shield.

The young Glob-da-Blob ran up the mountain yelling, “FOR GLORY!”

He did that just for style. The Glob-da-Blob tribe was planning to attack the Rabbid Rabbits for a long time now, and they needed a general. That general is planned to be Bob. All the other candidates have failed to attack the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon and now, Bob has been put up to the test.

Bob has now climbed up to the top of the mountain. He couldn’t see the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” shouted Bob.

Then, a giant long worm thing with no eyes and only smell, sniffed its way right in front of Bob. Bob then screamed, running around the mountain with his tentacles.

The King then was carried up the mountain by his servants and went up to Bob. The king pointed his sword at the young Glob-da-Blob and said, “Defeat this or die. If you run away from the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon, you will face death. If you lose the battle, the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon will kill you. You have one hour. I prefer you face the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon. I’m sorry I had to do this to you, but it’s the law. I will now leave you in peace.”

Bob immediately panicked!

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, what law does he mean?” said Bob, still running around the mountain.

The Gloob-dob-lob-dagon attacked Bob, and Bob defended himself with the shield. After that attack, the shield completely broke. Great, just what he needed. Bob attacked the monster with his sword, but that just broke the sword.

“This sucks! I brought all this stuff up here, and it just breaks!”

Right now, Bob was just thinking about his parents and how disappointed they would be. Then, he remembered what his father had told him when he was young. Nature is always by your side. That’s it! He needed to use the things around him to get inside the monster. There were trees and some rocks. Bob, still running around, knocked down a tree, jumped on it, and slipped right into the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon’s mouth. In he went. This was probably the best slide ever!

Bob slid down and when he got to the stomach, there was another monster to take care of. It was the defender of the Sword of Glory. Bob remembered this time to use nature as his weapon. He twisted and turned, dodging the monster’s fireballs. He then made the monster super dizzy, and the monster fell into the lava. Bob turned to the chest and took out the Sword of Glory, but at the same time, something rose from the lava pool. It was the same defender of the Sword of Glory. It wasn’t going to let Bob out easy. Bob first tried the same thing he did with it last time, but this time, the defender didn’t look around trying to find Bob. The defender ferociously attacked Bob. Bob closed his eyes and put his sword right in front of him. A few seconds later, he was wondering why he didn’t die yet. He looked down and saw a bunch of rocks. Bob should get out of here before it’s too late. He climbed his way out and stabbed the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon right in the chest.

“He did it, he really did it!” screamed every villager in town.

“We’ll see how he does next challenge,” whispered the king to the queen.

Bob sprinted down the mountain yelling, “FOR GLORY!” again. He was welcomed back with many more admirers.

“Congratulations,” said the king to Bob. “You’re the first one to ever defeat the Gloob-dob-lob-dagon. I have much respect for people like you.”

“Thanks… Dad,” replied Bob.

“Do you know how to get more respect, son?”

“No, how?”

“By defeating the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob.”

“Okay, I will do my best. Also, do I get another weapon if I defeat the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob?”

“Yes, you will get the Glorious Shield, but first, I must train you with the Glory Sword. Meet me in the Knight room at 2:00 am tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be there.”

To celebrate Bob’s return, the tribe had a large feast. Everyone from the tribe was there. Bob sat at the front chair, and he gave a promise to protect this village, until he dies. The feast was a huge success and after that, Bob just went to bed. Meanwhile, the king and queen were praying that Bob would be okay for the next challenge.

“Ahhh, so tired,” Bob said, yawning. Bob jumped out of bed looking at his clock.

“Oh shoot, it’s 1:57!!” Bob yelled. He quickly ran around the room. “Don’t panic, don’t panic, I’m panicking!”

He quickly put on his clothes and sprinted out his room. The Knight room was all the way across the planet! The planet was small, so it’s not that bad. He sprinted as fast as he could. Oh no! He forgot his sword! He had to run all the way back to his room and run back towards the Knight room. He checked his watch, and it was 1:59! He ran even faster! As he saw the entrance, the clock turned to 2:00. He ran as fast as he could and finally made it. The king was already there.

“Why are you sweating?” asked the king, slowly walking back and forth.

“I-I-I,” replied Bob, speaking out of breath.

“Why are you panting?”

“I-I r-ran he-here.”

“You shouldn’t be running. To be a general, you need to be strong, organized and responsible. You can’t arrive to the battlefield tired, can you?”

“N-no sir.”

“This is your first warning. You get three, and you can’t be a general anymore. Here, I am not your father, but your mentor. We will meet here every morning at 2:00 am. Set your alarm clock to 1:00 am. When you wake up, I want you to do 25 push ups, 25 sit ups and 25 squats. And keep this in mind. I’m watching you. Now, let’s get to practice. The first thing you want to do, is keep your sword in front of you. About half a foot away from your body. If you attack, you swing your sword to the right or left. Most likely, your opponent will defend it. The most important thing is to trust your instincts.”

“But what if my instincts go against me?”

“But what if they don’t? Just trust your instincts, and think positively.”

“Okay.” After five hours of training, Bob knew how to control the heavy Glory Sword better. He felt confident with his second challenge.

“I can do it,” said Bob to the king.

“Are you sure?” replied the king.

“100% sure.”

“Okay, get ready for the challenge this evening up on the mountain of Shlob, where you will unlock the Glorious Shield.”

As the afternoon passed, Bob would practice with his sword. He would think about what his father and king had told him. Nature is always on your side. Always strike at your opponent, and focus on the sword direction.

Later that evening, Bob went to the start of the mountain.

“You have thirty minutes from when the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob comes out. Remember the keys to winning battles,” told the king to Bob.

“One, always strike at your opponent. Two, focus on the sword direction. Three, nature is always by your side,” replied Bob in a commanding voice.

“Good, I have taught you well. Go out there and make me proud!” said the king, patting his back. As Bob climbed the mountain, he began thinking about his parents and how much he missed them.

He slowly walked up the mountain and raised his sword up high shouting, “FOR GLORY!” when he was almost there, once again. This time was also just for style. That’s his thing, ya know? Once he got to the top of the mountain, he stabbed his sword in the ground to wake the monster up. He pulled his sword out.

“Come at me monster,” shouted Bob, placing his sword in front of him. Then, a giant, slimy mix of lion and tiger came out of its den.

“I didn’t know it also had tentacles too?!” shouted Bob.

The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob’s roar was literally ten thousand times louder than a normal lion. As it roared, spit came out of it and part of it landed on Bob.

“Ehh. You wanna play spitting games, huh,” said Bob spitting at the creature. “FOR GLORY!!!” Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob just picked him up.

“Ahhhhh, let me down!!” The monster just kept on licking Bob. “Why, why, why!!”

The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob just really liked Bob, but Bob didn’t like the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob. Bob sliced the monster’s paw and got released. The creature started to cry a little. Then, the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob’s personality completely changed. It started to snarl at Bob. Both of them were circling the mountain. Bob was often trembling because he was scared this giant beast was going to attack him first. Bob just ran towards it again, but this time, he slid under the monster’s hand. The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob then growled again. Bob needed to use his size to attack the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob. He needed to sneak into the den and take out the Glorious Shield. He tried to slide under its paw again, but it didn’t work this time. He had been caught again! The king then came up the mountain with some other companions. The other “companions” turned out to be there to let the hand of the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob go.

“Son, you didn’t accomplish the mission. Thirty minutes have been up.”

“Now I die, right?”

“You’re supposed to, but lucky for you, I like you. So this’ll just count as a warning.”

“Thank you so much sir, thank you.”

“This is mercy. Do not take it for granted.”

“Yes sir!” Bob was never, ever again going to fight the monster with just a day of practice.

After several more days of training, Bob started to actually feel comfortable with the sword. No other mentor was better. That’s the same way Bob felt for his dad. The way the king is mentoring Bob, reminded him of the way his father mentored him.

“I think you’re ready, Bob,” said the king.

“You really think?” replied Bob.

“The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob should be easy for you now. No pressure though, I’m not forcing you to do it.”

“I think I can do it too,” said Bob in a cocky voice.

“Alright, this evening again. Same rules but no more mercy.”

“Yes sir. See you this afternoon.”

As Bob walked home, he kept on repeating the three keys of battle. One, always strike at your opponent. Two, focus on the sword direction. Three, nature is always by your side. One, always strike at your opponent. Two, focus on the sword direction. Three, nature is always by your side. One side of Bob was thinking, You can do it Bob, you can do it! The other side was thinking, No you can’t, you failed so badly last time! Bob couldn’t turn back though. He had to do it, for his legacy.

As he climbed up the mountain of Shlob, he shouted again, “FOR GLORY!!!” He did the same routine he did last time, and the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob came out of the cave again. Bob quickly ran around the whole mountain, chopping down all the trees as he trapped the giant Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob.

“That’ll keep you still for a while,” said Bob, panting several times.

The Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob couldn’t get out whatsoever and tried to bump out of the tree trap, but it didn’t work. Bob easily got the Glorious Shield inside the cave and then consumed its power. Bob destroyed the trees and stabbed the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob right in the chest, raising his sword in the air, with the heart of the Shlob-na-Blob-da-Glob.

“Hooray!” shouted every citizen in the tribe.

“He did it, he really did it!” shouted the queen.

Bob shouted, “FOR GLORY!” again when he ran down the mountain.

“Thank you so much, Dad. Thank you.”

He went up to the king and hugged him tight.

“You even hug like my father,” said Bob, chuckling.

“That’s because,” said the king, “I am your father.”

 

Eat: Reality or Hallucination?

 

There is a very fine line between reality and imagination, or in this case hallucination, but sometimes that line is so thin that you don’t know on which side you stand. It’s so hard to know and harder to find out. Are we losing our minds? Am I? Are you? I really think so.

 

Silently, she walked through the hallway. Her destination? The kitchen. Melody had studied hours to no end for the exam on psychology at the end of the week, and at the moment, she was hungry. So hungry that she could go to the savanna, hunt down a rhino, cook them, and finally eat them. She was so hungry that she started hallucinating back in her bedroom about a friendly dragon whose name was Phillp, helping her study about the different parts of the human brain. Yep, her occipital lobe was really active today, going hand in hand with her over caffeinated, powered imagination. What a lovely combination, hear the sarcasm. At least she hadn’t gone all Bertha Rochester. That was a plus. And now her brain was joking and comparing her with an insane fictional character from Jane Eyre. Maybe she should be happy that it wasn’t comparing her with Bellatrix Lestrange.

 

Melody stopped at the end of that thought, huffing humorlessly at herself.

 

“Yep, I’m gone crazy.” The lack of food was making her think weird. She continued down the hallway towards the kitchen. Hopefully her mother had gone to the grocery while she was in self-induced confinement, and yes, while some might think of still living with your parents as lame, Melody couldn’t bring herself to care about those people’s opinion. She didn’t have to cook for herself anymore, thank God. Last time she gave herself food poisoning, and the time before that, she had managed to somehow burn water of all things. She also didn’t have to worry about nosy and annoying roommates or not having hot water in the morning, so it was a win-win in her opinion.

 

Weirdly, the hallway looked darker than it had looked yesterday or four hours ago. In fact, the light that came through the big windows at her left looked almost gray-like. Maybe it was cloudy outside? But no, when Melody chanced a small glance out the closest window, the day was sunny, too sunny for her liking but sunny nonetheless. So why did it looked so dark in her house? Even now that she knew it wasn’t going to rain anytime soon, there was not a single change in how the hallway looked. The few pictures of herself and her parents looked out of place in there, even though those same pictures were there all her life. The light and the atmosphere made them look sad, longing.

 

“Spooky,” Melody muttered under her breath, but kept walking. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything yet? Yeah, it had to be that. She was seeing things again, no doubt.

 

The living room looked the same to her, but she noted that it had the same atmosphere of the hallway. It looked dark and gray, out of place, it had a different feel, and again she brushed it off as her lack of actual food. The kitchen was the same dark atmosphere and somewhat-gray light, but by this point she had stopped giving it any thought, so she walked straight to the fridge to see if there was anything that did not need cooking because she wasn’t in the mood of possibly dying by her own disastrous cooking, and she wasn’t about to starve to death, thank you very much.

 

“Let’s see what we have here,” she mussed to herself. “Tomatoes, lettuce, green pepper, cheese, bread… Wait, where is the ham? If there is cheese, there must be ham somewhere in here, right?… Aja!” Melody cried triumphantly when she saw the ham at the back of the fridge. A sandwich was in order.

 

Taking all the ingredients to the counter, Melody readied herself for the arduous battle of preparing edible food. Bread, lettuce, green pepper, tomato, cheese, ham, cheese again, tomato, green pepper and bread, Melody kept repeating over and over again on her mind. Maybe if she followed this mantra, she would actually made something she could eat, not that it mattered as she was so hungry that she could afford a go to the hospital to get her stomach pumped if needed. Looking down at her creation, Melody shrugged at its appearance. It was messy, but all the ingredients were alright. She checked.

 

“Well, at least it’s not alive or moving like last time.” Softly, she poked at the sandwich with a knife just to make sure it wasn’t alive. Shrugging again, she hurled the knife to the sink. “It must be fine, then.” Taking the sandwich, she reclined against the counter, a sigh of relief escaping her mouth. Finally, her stomach would stop eating itself after this.

 

Salivating, figuratively of course, she was about to happily bit into her lunch, when a weird noise came from the front door. It didn’t sound like anything she had heard before. The floor was creaking horribly, like it was under immense pressure or weight, but nothing else could be heard. Actually, everything was eerily silent, no birds chirping outside, no kids laughing or screaming after each other like before, no dogs barking, not the soft sound of the curtains moving with the wind, just silence. Nothing. Zero. Nada. Not even the sound of silence. This was unnatural silence. There was nothing in or outside the house doing a single sound. It was frightening, and while Melody was not panicking… yet, she found this lack of anything weird. She set the sandwich down in the counter at her back and silently walked to the kitchen door, which she had closed behind her, and yes, while most kitchens didn’t have wood doors separating them from the rest of the house, her mother had insisted on setting one the moment they moved to this house. Something about aesthetic and how a disastrous kitchen wasn’t good for an image, or something like that. Melody had tuned her mother out that time. She was turning the knob when the creepy, creaking sound made itself known again.

 

“Great,” Melody groaned sarcastically. “The weird, creepy, and absolutely not terrifying at all sound is back.” One look at the living room let her know that the gray-like atmosphere she had noted before had changed to a full on get-the-the-hell-outta-that-house-like-RIGHT-NOW atmosphere. If Melody wasn’t freaked before, she was for sure now. Chills ran up her spine, goosebumps up her arms, and cold sweat was going down her back and forehead. Yeah, freaked for sure. The creaking sounded once again, still coming from the front door. It was practically calling out at her.

 

“Mom?” Melody called against the better judgement she had obtained via seeing horror movies. It was a fact that you never called out to a creepy sound. It always got you killed in the movies, but Melody told herself this was reality, not a horror movie, and she kept telling her mind that when she called again. “Mom, is that you? I didn’t hear your car.” There was no answer, save for that horrible creaking of the floor. It was seriously getting on her nerves. “Seriously, if that’s you, Emily Parker, I swear to God!” She expected that by saying her mother’s name she would stop trying to scare her, but again there was no response, or at least not a human articulated response. This time instead of creaking, it was heavy breathing, something like an animal would do if they had run after their prey. “This is getting better and better.” Melody breathed out, and taking all her courage, finished walking to the front door. The creepy living room at her back did nothing to soothe her fraying nerves.

 

The sounds came from outside the door. Cautiously, Melody leaned her ear against the door, held her breath, and listened. Just listened and listened. The sounds had stopped, but that didn’t mean the fear finally creeping on her mind had. It was moving tenfold now with the sudden stillness and silence of the environment. She almost wished that the sounds were back. Almost, because the very second she was about to think that wish, someone, better yet, something, slammed against the door pushing her back a few steps. She admired, surprised. There was a small fracture in the same place on the door she had leaned her ear, and it was no small fracture. If she concentrated enough, she could see the green grass outside and the empty gray street. Whatever had been out there was gone.

 

A door on the other side of the house slammed shut. Yes, indeed whatever had been out there wasn’t out anymore. It was inside the house with her.

 

“Melody, Melody, Melody…” she heard coming from the hallway of her room, but the voice wasn’t from a monster. It was from someone she knew very well, someone that could not have been the one calling her name. It was impossible, that voice was her own.

 

“The hell is going on?” Melody, the real Melody, and not a humanless voice wandering in the back of her house, muttered while staring at the hallway directing to her bedroom. “This… This is not real, right?” she questioned herself. Her breathing was getting faster and so was her heartbeat. She was panicking, and she didn’t like that. She never panicked. Her friends called her The Ice Princess because she was always cool headed, and this voice resonating towards her must have had a logical explanation, but this could not be real. “The psychosis must have settled in… yeah, that’s it,” Melody said to herself. “Yeah, lack of sleep and too much coffee initiated a psychotic episode.” While trying to control her breathing, Melody forced herself to remember what psychosis meant.

 

Psychosis is a severe mental disorder in which thoughts and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality, and this is just a psychotic episode induced by sleep deprivation and too much caffeine in my system. Damn, Stephanie told me to have more sleep. Should have listened to her!! Melody forced this thought over and over on her mind, and the fact that she had saw the vision of Philip, the friendly dragon, not too long ago in her bedroom helped this mantra settle, but still something compelled her to follow her own voice through the hallway. Maybe it was her need to cement that this wasn’t real, maybe it was her own curiosity, or maybe it was something else, but now it didn’t matter because she was walking through the hallway, and she knew something was more than wrong. Everything felt out of place. The shadows were stronger than they were before, and it felt like they were trying to reach her and swallow her in eternal darkness. It gave her the chills.

 

“No way…” It came out loud, but Melody intended for it to only be on her mind.

 

Her body stopped abruptly. She knew she didn’t stop it. It stopped on its own, like it had a mind. She was in the middle of the hallway, looking directly in front of her to her bedroom with the door closed. She had let the door open when she had gone on the search for food that had turned to this situation, perfect for a horror movie. Could this mean that the door that had slammed close was her bedroom? It surely had a reason for happening.

 

“It… It was the wind. It had to have been the wind, that was it,” she said with a little voice that no one would have been able to hear, but apparently someone did, because a loud and evil laugh came from her left, and it sounded like her own laugh, just colder and darker.

 

Are you sure, Melody?” the same dark laugh followed, and Melody’s body turned towards it without her consent. She was pretty sure she didn’t want to see what was beside her, but the moment her brown eyes settled on it, she couldn’t look away. It was a mirror, a big ass mirror her mother had bought somewhere at some moment of her 22 years long life. However, the mirror wasn’t that interesting. What was being reflected kept her looking that way.

 

The reflection was hers, but it wasn’t at the same time. That thing wasn’t Melody Parker. That was Madness personified. Her long brown hair was cut short in the reflection and messy, like she had just woke up. The skin was paler as if she hadn’t gone outside in a long time. Instead of the purple sleeveless undershirt the real Melody was wearing, the reflection wore a long sleeve black shirt. There was a black choker around its neck, something the real Melody didn’t have. But the biggest difference between the real and the reflection were their eyes. The mirror Melody had bright, golden eyes. They looked as if they were glowing, and the pupils were pinpoint sized. There was something in those eyes that sent chills and a growing panic to Melody when she recognized it as a maniac glint. That thing was gone for sure.

 

“What are you?” she asked to her reflection, and a psychopathic smile was given to her for bothering with the question.

 

“Not what, who,” it said, still giving Melody that smile. “And to answer you question, I am you, dear Melody.” There was palpable satisfaction when the reflection said those words, as if it had been waiting for this moment all its life.

 

“That’s not possible, there is not…” she trailed off, taking a good look at the mirror. “It’s… just not possible.” It sounded insecure even to her own ears, let alone for that thing, but with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, Melody said, “This,” pointing around with her hand and then signaling to the reflection. “It’s not real.  I’m just having a psychotic episode and nothing more. All this will disappear in a moment or two and… ” The reflections laugh interrupted her, and now that she listened closely, that was not a normal laugh. Those were crackles, horrible, psychotic, and creepy crackles. Melody shuddered at the sound.

 

“How can you be so sure, Melody? For all you know, all this could be real, just like I am you, and just like we both know we are crazy.”

 

“Don’t talk like we are the same, we aren’t, and you don’t exist.” Melody took a hesitant breath. Unconsciously, she started muttering to herself, “I’m not crazy, I’m not, this is my imagination, and I’m not crazy. I know that I’m not, and that is the truth because I know and I’m not… ”

 

“Why do you lie to yourself like that? To ourselves?” Melody looked directly to those glowing gold eyes. “The truth is that you don’t know anymore. You are not sure what is real and what is not. WE ARE CRAZY, Melody, and you know it!!!”

 

“SHUT UP!!!” Melody screamed with a rage not her own. It felt like it was from someone else and Melody, the real Melody, because that reflection wasn’t real. It wasn’t, right? All this was just a psychotic episode, and it wasn’t real. And going back to the situation at hand, the real Melody raised her fist and punched the mirror in the same place that Madness’ face was with all her strength, breaking the mirror and cutting her knuckles badly.

 

Melody felt the pain go all the way up to her shoulder, and she had to grit her teeth to stop herself from screaming. This wasn’t real, so why did it hurt like hell?

 

The crackles were back and louder this time. She looked at the broken and bloodied mirror, Madness was still there, this time smiling wider than before, its eyes with a savage glint.

 

“That’s it, Melody! Punch the mirror again, the same mirror where you are seeing your talking reflection, and you say you are not crazy!!! Girl! You are INSANE!!!”

 

“This… ” Melody tried to control her breath. Was she hyperventilating? “This isn’t real, it’s not real, it’s not… ” She jumped back when something slammed against her bedroom door from the inside. She could hear creaking and heavy breathing from behind that. She swallowed nervously.

 

“Come on, Melody, why don’t you go and check your room? This is not real after all, or are you scared?” Madness asked from the mirror. “Are you scared because you know this is real?!” the reflection asked with maniacal crackling. And in that moment, Melody’s bedroom door opened, crashing hard against the wall, and a dark shadow rushed to Melody. It slammed against her body, throwing her to the floor, but surprisingly that thing went through her, like it was an illusion.

 

“What do you say now, Melody?! Real or not?! Maybe you need more convincing?” Madness commented, a screeching sound came at its words. Without bothering to look up, Melody ran out the hallway, not knowing what was following her and not wanting to find out. She ran to the kitchen, the only place that could be locked. Reality or not be damned, she was terrified and running on instinct. But still, she managed to catch Madness’ last words to her before fleeing.

 

“Run, Melody, RUN!!” Insane crackle following those words, a door being slammed, shut the reflection up.

 

Melody’s eyes were locked on the door, so she didn’t see her forgotten sandwich, the reason why she was suffering this hell now, stand up, smile horrendously at her back and reach for the knife in the sink, everything without making a sound. Melody only turned when the sandwich crackled up just like Madness did in the hallway. She turned at a speed that would make Flash proud, but it was already too late, the sandwich or Madness, whichever, had the knife and it was looking at her like if she were its food, its prey and intended to get her, not matter what.

 

Remember, you tried to eat me first, so you get what’s coming to you…” Her lunch crouched low, like a preying lion, still smiling, still with the knife, still with those hungry, black eyes that for a moment she thought were beans. And from where had that come from? The beans I mean? And why was she thinking about that in this moment from all things? Please, let’s go back to sandwich trying to kill her. “… When I eat you instead!!!” The sandwich jumped at her, somehow getting her, grabbing her hair, making her fall to the ground and biting her shoulder. Melody finally, finally, blacked out.

 

Melody woke up in the kitchen floor startled, looking around her terrified, but there wasn’t any killing sandwich attacking her, nothing psychotic or weird. Had she fainted and dreamed all that? Yeah, that had been a dream, a nightmare. Nothing more, not real. Just her imagination. Standing up, Melody gave up preparing lunch. She wasn’t hungry anymore, so she walked back to her bedroom. She didn’t look at the mirror. She was scared about what she could see there. It didn’t matter if it was her imagination. She would never see herself in a mirror ever again. Her bedroom door was closed, but she didn’t mind. She just wanted to sleep. She opened the caoba door and entered her room, just to stop suddenly at what she saw.

 

“Hello there, sweet Melody,” Madness said as it looked up from reading a book from Melody’s bookshelf, while lying on Melody’s bed, like they had always been there since the bening. Completely and absolutely real.

 

Remember to never push the line between reality or imagination. There is no turning back. Now… I am asking you. Where do you stand in this line? You can call me Madness. I am within the shadows of your mind, waiting for your answer.

 

A Stranger Knocked at the Door

It was a normal Saturday afternoon, and Marci was making dinner. Onions were frying in the pan, there was chicken in the oven, and Oliver was playing with toy planes, casually whizzing them through the living room. All of a sudden, a stranger knocked at the door.

“Hide!” Marci told Oliver.

Oliver just continued playing with his planes as the stranger knocked again, this time with more force.

“Oliver, you need to hide. A man is at the door.”

This time, Oliver stopped his planes, picked them up, and went to the designated hiding space at the end of his closet. Marci opened the door.

“Who are you and what do you want,” Marci snapped aggressively.

The man calmly pulled out a small square photograph of a young boy, who looked about nine years old.

“I’m looking for this child. His name is Oliver Wicks. Have you seen him?”

“No, I haven’t, and I would appreciate it if you could leave my home now,” Marci replied.

“Ma’am, I’m just looking out for him. I’m trying to protect him.”

“I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The man flashed a smile. “That’s okay, just give me a call if you see him. I really just want what’s best for him.”

The man extended his gloved hand, revealing a long, dark scar across his arm. In his hand was a card with a phone number and a name on it. Red Sun Labs, it read. Shortly after the man left, Marci went to Oliver’s room.

“Come on, Oliver. Pack up your stuff. Time to leave again.”

Without saying a word, Oliver quickly put everything in his room into an old, battered suitcase. Marci led him out of the small cottage and into her car. The car was an ancient Ford pickup truck Marci had purchased from a used car dealership. It had more than 150,000 miles on it and could only go up to 50 miles per hour.

Right before they left, Oliver said, “Mom, you forgot to give me my medicine.”

“Oh right, sorry,” said Marci.

Marci fished into her purse and took out a bottle containing several bright red pills. She took out three and gave them to Oliver, who swallowed them. Marci put the pills back into her purse and began driving again. After a few hours of driving, Marci pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station.

Marci walked into the store and told the man at the counter, “I need the usual, new passport, new license, new house.”

“Okay, that will cost $335,” the man behind the counter said.

“What! I don’t have that kind of money. It used to be cheaper.”

“Sorry, Marci, my landlord keeps raising the lease. The prices can’t be as cheap as they used to be.”

“Come on, Marius, you owe me for what Oliver did for you two years ago.”

“Give me a break, Marci! I wouldn’t have gotten in that situation were it not for you in the first place.”

“Fine, Marius, but if anything ever happens to you in the future, don’t expect me to bring Oliver to save you. He’s not a superhero, you know.”

And with that, Marci plopped a few wrinkled up bills on the desk and walked out of the store.

As Marci got into her car, the man ran out of the store holding the money and shouted, “Hey! This is only $200! Give me the rest of the money!”

“Too bad,” Marci shouted back, and she got into the car and started driving.

As Marci was driving, Oliver asked her from the backseat, “Mom, why did Mr. Malum come to look for me?”

Confused and suddenly worried, Marci asked, “Who’s Mr. Malum?”

“He’s the man that came to the house. He was in charge of helping me with my powers at the school.”

Oh no, this is worse than I thought, Marci thought to herself.

“Mr. Malum just came for a short visit. He wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He just kept playing with his planes, as if nothing had happened. Eventually, Marci stopped the car next to a small red shack on the side of the highway. The shack looked similar to the previous one they had lived in, and the one before that, and the one before that. Marci and Oliver had never lived in the same place for more than a year. As much as Marci wanted to, she knew it was too dangerous.

 

As Marci and Oliver settled into the new house, a feeling of nervousness began to settle over Marci, as she contemplated what she would do next. She knew she would have to face more people from Red Sun Labs eventually. She couldn’t run forever. And she would also have to tell Oliver the truth at some point about what had really happened, and why they were constantly on the run. After mulling it over, Marci decided it was finally time to tell Oliver what had really happened.

“Oliver, come here. I need to tell you something,” she shouted across the house.

Oliver came to the table where his mom was sitting. “What?”

“Remember how a few years ago I came to the school you were at, and I took you to live with me?”

Oliver nodded.

“Well, when I took you from there, I was really rescuing you, because the people that were working there, like Mr. Malum, were actually trying to harm you. They were trying to use you so they could do experiments on your abilities.”

“Oh,” Oliver said, not really showing much interest.

“The reason we have been moving from place to place is because people like Mr. Malum have been trying to get you back, so they can do more experiments.”

“Can I go fly my planes now?” asked Oliver.

“Sure.”

Shortly after her discussion with Oliver, Marci heard a knock on the door. She went to open it, and her heart dropped when she saw who it was. Mr. Malum was at the door, with three other men, all holding guns. Marci tried slamming the door, but Malum held it open.

“I’m done playing games. I tried to be nice, and you didn’t listen. I need Oliver now. I know he’s with you. Your friend at the gas station told me everything.”

All of a sudden, Oliver came out from his room. He looked enraged, and his eyes were glowing bright red. Before anyone could say anything, Oliver flicked his wrist and sent all four men flying in the air, instantly dying on impact with the ground. A look of pride came across Marci’s face. Oliver had saved them. The men were gone, and she didn’t have to worry anymore. But when she turned around to look at Oliver, she saw he wasn’t there anymore. Oliver had gone back into his room and was playing with his planes, as if nothing had even happened. Marci smiled, and she and Oliver lived the rest of their lives without ever having to worry again.

 

Mercury

 

“I see it!” said Davis. “In the distance.”

It was on the red cinnamon hill. The rocket. It glistened in the sun. Their very own rocket that had blasted the two off to Mercury. It was in beautiful condition, ready to take off. They’d had enough of Mercury. The awful heat, it was so close to the sun. Every ration of water felt like an oasis in the middle of a raging desert.

“Then to Earth. Good Earth,” Wilson remarked. “Back to society. Food, water, more than just a drop or a bite every few hours. I’m shaking just thinking about it!”

They ran on the orange sand in their astronaut boots. If they took off their boots, their feet would burn.

“I need a shower,” whined Davis. “I haven’t showered in weeks!”

“There we go, it’s the rocket.” Wilson smiled, closing his eyes. “Back home.”

But something was wrong. The rocket was destroyed. Its red top was blown off. It had scrapped metal with holes inside it. The door had fallen off.

“What?! This isn’t how we left it when we went on our mission!” Davis screamed.

“The Mercurians… ” Wilson muttered. “They did it! Of course! It all makes sense now! They destroyed our rocket and put a vision in our head to make us think everything was okay!”

“How?” asked Davis.

“Telepathy!” explained Wilson.

“Now, now,” Davis patted him on the back, “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”

“This isn’t a misunderstanding! This is real! Are you one of them?!” he accused. “You are! Aren’t you?!”

“Wilson!”

“The Mercurians!” Wilson ran off into the distance.

“The Mercurians!” It was a loud echo through the desert.

“Poor Wilson,” said Davis. “The heat must’ve driven him insane.”

 

***

 

The next day, Davis stood by the rocket on his walkie-talkie, trying to communicate with Mission Control.

“Pick up!” he yelled. “Pick up!” But he only heard static white noise.

Wilson returned with a shotgun in his hand.

“Get off my planet!” Wilson warned. “Or else… ”

“Is this a joke?” Davis laughed.

“I’ll count to three,” Wilson counted.

“Alright, alright.”

“One.”

“Stop!”

“Two,” Wilson said, staring into Davis’ eyes.

“Quit it!”

“Three!”

A blast went into the ground. It was a bullet.

“Get off my planet!” Wilson screamed.

***

 

Davis ran for hours and hours on end. The rocket and Wilson couldn’t be seen anymore.

He soon saw, in the middle of all the dunes, a cottage. As he stepped inside, it was paradise. It had a long table, filled with food of all kinds. Each plate was with a glass of water or lemonade. Shelves were filled with books and movies. Walls had beautiful paintings painted by talented artists. Music was playing in the background.

However, he was too engrossed in the trance to notice the lurking shadows crawling out of every corner behind him. Ready to attack.

 

***

 

“Hello, Wilson.” Davis stood by the rocket, which was in perfect condition, ready to fly.

“Hi, Davis.” Wilson walked up. “Are we ready to fly?”

“Yes.” Davis turned on his walkie-talkie. “The space voyage has been successful,” he reported.

And as they flew off, they sometimes turned into the very thing they feared. Their skins were sometimes green. They now had purple organs. At one point, another eye was on Wilson’s forehead, but it later disappeared. They left another lonely day on the lonely planet Mercury.

 

Controlling Fate

My heart beats extra hard as I step onto my bike. The ride to school isn’t that long, but if I take the main road instead of my usual back alleyways, I might be able to stretch the ten minute ride into fifteen. That’s five extra minutes I don’t have to spend taking my math test. Five extra minutes I don’t have to spend watching numbers dance uncontrollably across the page, twirling just out of my grasp. The adrenaline rushes through my legs as I pedal, feeling each bump in the sidewalk, each crack in the cement. I pass the park to my left. It’s hard to see, hidden behind large oak trees on the side of the road, nestled away in this residential area. My head buzzes a little. I’m finding it hard to think. The stress creeps onto the edges of my thoughts, like ivy climbing a stone tower. I try to force it back. Breathe, breathe. I put as much energy as I can into pedaling, harder, faster, stronger. My bike surges forward. For a few seconds, I coast along, flying. The moment ends too soon. I hit the breaks as I approach the stoplight, and once again feel myself sink miserably into thoughts of first period Algebra. As the road to school shrinks, my confidence fades with it. My hands tighten on the handle bars. I observe each groove, feeling their texture against my palm. In another attempt at distraction, I wiggle my toes in my shoes. I like knowing I have control over them. I can make them do what I want. I force them to pedal a bike to my fate at the hands of an Algebra test.

 

Bakery Blues

Being hardcore is well, hard. I have to party all night and sleep all day and never study to keep up my image. Do you think I want to be doing shots on the weekends? Please, I’d rather be watching the Barbie TV show with my four-year-old sister. But we all have images to keep up. Some more than others. And we all have a breaking point. Mine was earlier today.

It just smelled so good. As if they had baked happiness into those little cakes. I was coming back from my fifth party of the week, starving. Cheap beer in red solo cups doesn’t really count as food. That’s how they got me. The Cupcakery that is. One minute I was cruising down the road in my beat-up convertible, the next I was standing in front of the glass window eyeing a particularly gruesome pink cupcake.

It was perfect: red paper, vanilla cake, creamy pink frosting, and lemon curd guaranteed on the inside. I wanted it more than anything else, but we all have images to keep up. So, I did what any reasonable person would. I bought myself a friggin awesome disguise. Normally, I’d never be caught dead in that hideous, green sweater. It itched worse than the ones my mom knits. Even worse, it clashed with my new hair which was dyed blue with some cheap wash out stuff from the drugstore. It was a lot for a cupcake. But this was the cupcake. You kind of had to be there to get it.

I strolled into the Cupcakery looking like a loser who was way too obsessed with people like me. I flashed the cashier, a middle-aged woman with greasy brown hair and the face of a kindly grandmother twenty years younger, my usual charming smile. “Could I have the gourmet valentine cupcake.” I winked at her and casually leaned against the cash register. “It’s for someone special.”

The cashier stared at me for a moment before pointing to a little sign hanging in front of the display of cupcakes. “We have the right to refuse service to anyone.”

My jaw dropped. The cashier grinned and did a terrible imitation of my casual lean. “Sorry,” she said with a mockingly deep voice. “That special someone’s going to have to wait.”

“How dare you?” I jabbed my finger in her face for emphasis. “Do you know how many girls I’ve made out with because of that casual lean? Eight!” She burst into laughter. “That’s a lot for someone my age!” I sputtered. “You didn’t even do it right, you know? That is my lean!”

The cashier laughed even harder. Her face looked almost pretty if she hadn’t been laughing at me. She grabbed her sides and looked like she was about to pass out from the hilariousness of the situation. When she came to, she had tears rolling down her cheeks. “L-look, kid.” She gasped and wiped at her eyes. “I’m doing you a favor by denying you that cupcake. I mean, you’re practically bulging out of those skinny jeans.”

I glanced down at my ripped black designer skinny jeans. Had I put on weight? I glanced at the cashier and then back down at my jeans. Well, if anyone knew about weighing too much for your outfit, it was her. But I couldn’t have. I was in my prime. I once ate three family sized bags of Doritos and didn’t gain a thing. I looked back up at the cashier, who undoubtedly could see my whole train of thought. She shrugged at me. “Don’t worry, kid. It happens to the best of us. I used to be a size zero but come my seventeenth birthday, my metabolism just couldn’t keep up.”

A choking sound emitted from my throat. “Bu-but I turned seventeen a month ago.” I was beginning to feel faint. Images of myself, fat and alone, flashed through my mind. I was too popular to be lonely. I was too cool to be fat. I had an image to keep up!

The cashier nodded at me in mock sadness. “Looks like you already need to get some bigger jeans to fit your thighs.”

I couldn’t withhold a gasp. Who did this woman think she was? “No!” I yelled, slamming my hand down on the counter. “Give me the cupcake!”

The cashier sighed. “Well, I tried to warn you.” She pressed a few buttons on her register. “That’ll be $10.66.”

There was that choking sound again. I desperately emptied the pockets of my ripped black designer skinny jeans. They could only hold a tiny bit of cash. I dumped the bills on the counter. “I only have five dollars.”

The cashier sighed. And pushed the money back at me. “Well, I guess after all of that, you don’t have enough for that gourmet cupcake. Now move aside, I have other customers to attend to.”

I glanced behind me to see a huge line of people that in my hunger-induced daze, I hadn’t noticed. I was losing it. I was losing my cupcake. But I was hardcore. I don’t lose things.

Am I proud that I stole the cupcake from the Cupcakery? Yes. I think I did a pretty good job for it being my first major crime. Am I proud that the cashier managed to tackle me and sit on me long enough for the police to show up? Perhaps not. But look at me now, in the jail cell, casually leaning against the wall. I’m hardcore like that.

 

Three Minutes

Three minutes before school ended, the only noises to be heard were the ticking of the clock (that ran two hours too late), the tapping of pencils (like that Britney Spears music video), and the sporadic, panicked scratching of pens on paper (pop quizzes are never fun). If you were to do a pan of the room, expressions would range from concentration to boredom, to faces of pure confusion. In one corner of the room, the class hamster slept, stress-free and content (unbeknownst to it, a respiratory infection was starting to take its life). In another corner, a student’s A+ essay was threatening to fall off the not-so sticky tack, and next to it a fly buzzed lazily in circles. In the janitor’s closet next to this particular classroom, a rat squeaked and scurried in its trap (it was one of those cage ones you see in Disney’s Cinderella and nowhere else), while the janitor whistled an out of tune hymn. The smell of mold and ammonia was somewhat toxic, but the janitor never wore a mask since masks were for pansies and liberals. A mistreated, rotting newspaper in the center of the floor was crawled over by a roach. A roach that, if followed, would lead you to a hole in the wall smaller than you’d expect a roach of its ungodly size to be able to crawl through. A whole that leads to a tunnel which leads to the boys bathroom. In the boys bathroom, there are several inappropriate drawings on the wall, and people who are supposed to be in class, and now, the roach slinks past them into a crevice where it lives as the school bell rings, and the boys exit to go hang out at the local McDonald’s.

 

Stand By Me: Part One

             

Vicki

Little Miss Misunderstood

 

Chapter One

Vicki opened her vibrant dark brown eyes and saw black. It was as if she hadn’t opened her eyes at all. She checked with her smooth hands to make sure her eyes really were open. The sensation of nothing was thrilling yet horrifying when only seeing black with no ending.

Suddenly, seeing no end to the darkness, she let out a high-pitched, teeth-curling screech as she spied a swift tunnel stirring in the night. As she stared and shifted around her unfamiliar bedroom, a faint gold outline read 1:27. But as she moved around her room, there was no light again. Just the swirling tunnel ahead of her. The fearsome tunnel shone dark purple, with a thousand fireflies lighting the way for Vicki. Truth is, the current of mystery could carry her down. The bright purple edged her on towards it as if whispering, Do it, or suffer the never ending darkness from now and forever! She got up onto her knees and dove in.

While staying airborne, thoughts crashed into each other one by one. She was running against the currents of sand on a desert peak, now climbing up a steep cliff. Soon, she was leaping through the jungle or swimming in the deepest ocean. All thrilling, making her imagination set sail. But while coming to her last stop of motions, she face-planted into a big sea monster and felt a huge bruise form on her head. She stared down, barely able to see her hands, and touched her forehead lightly. “Ouch!” she cried out. She slipped over to one of her drawers to find a flashlight.

As it turned out, Victoria had climbed up her bunk bed ladder, running through her piles of neatly stacked stuffed animals, swung on the boards of her bed, and slid on her stomach through the stuffed animals that she had just knocked over, and bumped her head into her beanbag.

Vicki squirmed repeatedly on her beanbag, scared of the thought of going to school in the morning. Victoria or “Vicki” was adopted by her parents. Vicki smiled, imagining the many times when her mom would tell her how they had chosen her. When your mom gives birth to you, they are stuck with you. But if you are adopted, they chose you. Vicki liked to think that the word “chose” had a better ring to it than being stuck with something. Victoria tried to remember the comfortable feeling when she sat down in her mother’s lap as the story rang with truth out of her mom’s mouth. This story was the one thought, the one inspiration, that she had once been wanted.

Vicki’s dad knew she was different. Everyone knew that she was different. Her dad was just the one to say it to her face. Finally, he was fed up and left. No one really knows what happened to him after he left the house. The car was left there. His phone was left there. And most sadly, so was his family.

Ever since preschool, Vicki was homeschooled. Ever since preschool, everywhere she went, people knew that Vicki Saunders was different.

***

Vicki went to her first day of preschool very happy. New friends, new teachers, and new experiences awaited. That is if the teacher hadn’t greeted her the way she had…

“Now, Vicki. Say pleases and thank-yous! Make a good first impression. I will pick you up at three,” Mrs. Saunders said, straightening Victoria’s collar.

Vicki stared at the hands on the clock for a moment. “In seven hours, you mean.”

“Yes… wait… where have you learned to read a clock?” Vicki smiled mischievously at her.

“At the library.” Victoria smiled innocently.

“Well, okay, you little mathematician! Go ahead, and have a fun day. Blend in, but stand out, okay?”

“But isn’t that physically impossible? Not mentally but physically?” Mrs. Saunders ignored her. Victoria skipped in. Vicki’s eyes went big when she saw what the class was doing. The girls were dressing curly-haired Barbies up in bright pink. The boys were crashing race cars into each other, chipping the cheap paint. She skipped over to the boys, on the path to the teacher’s desk where she sat.

“You know,” she piped, “it would be better to buy metal race cars with real paint, instead of plastic cars. Besides, the result is atrocious with what you are doing to those cars!” The boys complained, dumbfounded that a girl was talking to a boy, especially with such big words. “Maybe hold the car like this instead.” She took the car and found a thicker part of the car. “There!”

“Ewww!! A girl touched something of a boy’s! Awww!” the girls moaned. “The new girl now has boy cooties!” Vicki rolled her eyes at the immaturity of the other children.

“You know,” she said to the closest girl before reaching the desk, “this building really needs some earthquake resistant tools. Like that bookshelf really needs that heaviest stuff on it. I would recommend talking to the boss! And look, please just hear me out.” The girl gave her a bored look. “I haven’t seen any cross braces or a mass damper here. Now, mass dampers and cross braces are expensive, but you need to start somewhere!” The girl gave her another rude look. “I am done with my advice, okay! Geesh!” She continued past the impudent girl and to the teacher’s desk.

Her desk had a huge, blue sheet of paper wrapped around it reading, “Mrs. Morton.” She had a tight brown bun wrapped around the top of her head. Her desk had different apples scattered everywhere and friendly notes scribbled down on colors. Black was Vicki’s favorite color. She liked the darkness. It was the stars, actually, that made her feel like she had friends. When every one of them sparkled and winked down at her, she felt at home with the darkness and light scattered here and there.

She thought of herself as a star. The darkness was the majority of the world. The normal people. But the stars were special. The stars were unique with different interests and hobbies. It wasn’t bad to be a star…

She continued to the teacher’s desk and cleared her throat. The teacher was apparently hard of hearing or needed new glasses, neither good, because she didn’t hear or see the little preschooler. Victoria cleared her threat again, holding the paper out to her new teacher.

“Hi, my name is Victoria Saunders. I love to write, read, engineer, garden, and research new biography and history matters found from ancient or biblical times. I also love to research the most recent illnesses so that I can stay healthy! I live at 1253, Morton Drive, 90773. I am four years old and know my mom’s, dad’s, brother’s, and the police’s phone numbers. Would you like me to recite them?” Victoria asked. Instead, she received another dumbfounded look of the smarts. “You know, Mrs. Morton, you are the third person to give me that look today… what’s it mean?”

Mrs. Morton said nothing and took hold of Vicki’s neatly written biography of herself. Vicki sat down by a cubby of cold, crinkly, old mats and dug her nose into her most recent book series, Disaster.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Saunders, Vicki’s mom, peeked her nose into the brightly decorated room. She had just witnessessed her daughter pointing out how to improve the quality of toy cars. So much for fitting in… she thought. Vicki’s mom hesitantly spied her daughter reading her book in the corner. She felt envious of the other girls and boys getting along and playing with each other. “Normal” was not a word known by Mrs. Saunders.

Mrs. Saunders sighed and decided to let Vicki travel through her day on her own. Right as she left the door, Mrs. Morton gave Vicki back her paper. It had a 100% on it. “Have you ever tried fifth grade?” she asked.

Vicki smiled gleefully. My first test! A 100%! What a way to start the — But she wasn’t able to finish her thought because she didn’t see any other girls or boys get a good grade or even a grade at all, now that she thought of it.

She leaned over to the closest girl and asked, “What did you get?” Vicki held her paper up proudly to the girl.

“The normal kids didn’t do it, ya dodo. Normal kids play Barbies!” She held her pink dressed Barbie with bright blonde hair up proudly. Then, she added, “Just like normal kids don’t read.” Vicki looked at her quizzically. “Now, can you please help me put Barbie’s skirt on her? She looks bad without it.” She pointed to the book. Vicki was on the verge of tears. The girl tried so hard to get the Barbie into the skirt that it ripped, like Vicki’s heart.

Soon enough, recess or “outside time” occurred, and Vicki grabbed her book. Mrs. Morton eyed her warily. As the class lined up into a mob, Vicki stood quietly waiting for the teacher to lead the class outside. The fact that a preschooler would rather read a book than go run around was hard to imagine.

As the class headed out the doorway, Vicki trailed behind, admiring the author that wrote her thick book. She longed to have friends like the girls in her book. She longed to be normal and to be wanted.

Outside, the girls played a game called, “Girls chase the boys,” and Vicki again rolled her eyes at their immaturity. She read her book. She loved to read because when she read, it was as if she was a character, diving into the disasters and bravely fighting crime.

Soon, recess was over, and Vicki got up to leave, but a big group of girls surrounded her in a chant. “Vicki the fifth grader! Vicki the fifth grader! The new girl is an overachiever — what a weirdo.” Then, they started again until it was too hard to bear. Then, Vicki did the one thing that she knew she could and would do best. She ran, book tight against her chest. Mrs. Morton ran after her. Now, Mrs. Morton, not being the most fit, more like stumbled quickly after her.

Vicki was very small for the age of four. Mrs. Morton chased after her, and right when Vicki was about to leave campus, she saw her teacher, sweat dripping down her forehead and hands out in ambush. Young Vicki instead rounded a corner so that she wouldn’t be running right in the open. She squeezed past a garbage bin and hid there. Mrs Morton, seeing no Vicki, counted to five. “If you don’t come out right now, you get a time-out.” Now, normally that would have worked, but Vicki, being no ordinary child and knowing that adults just said that and didn’t mean it if they couldn’t see you, stayed hidden, giggling like mad.

Mrs. Morton left, assuming that Vicki had found a way back to the classroom. Vicki stayed there for a while until she got hungry. She then got up and hurried to the lunch tables where her class was. “I won! No one could find me!”

All the little girls went up in a mad chorus: “Well you never said to,” “I secretly knew where you were!” “You can’t trick me,” “Ya, me definitely know!” “You are just sayin’ that!”

On and on and on it went until Mrs. Morton yelled, “Enough!” and everyone sat down angrily. Vicki, by herself, sat at a lonely table farthest from any insults able to be thrown at her.

It was clear that the other children had their groups. There was one fivesome braiding hair. The others with knotted hair picked at their nails, and the boys all just kind of blobbed together playing “ruff” or “tackle.” Then, there was Vicki. Poor Vicki! She wasn’t a girly girl. She didn’t like to get all rough and play sports. She didn’t like to play tackle. She was just different. Just different… she liked to write, study, and she even learned to read the newspaper at a very young age. She even explained some topics, including science and biology, to her brother a month ago when deciding on which middle school he should attend.

She enjoyed being as smart as the teacher. She didn’t know it at this young age, but she shouldn’t know things that would get you into a private middle school on an academic scholarship. It worried her neighbors. It worried her mother. But most of all, it worried her father.

After they finished lunch and the mumble of Vicki’s unusual attraction to reading and medicine were discussed by all, Mrs. Morton led the children back to the door and into the classroom. Vicki trailed behind, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself.

Now, this entire day that Vicki has been in preschool has been a fragment of Vicki’s recap of what happened many years ago. And yet, it felt like yesterday. This was another unusual fact about her: her memory. It is one thing to remember only the treacherous times of childhood, but to remember anything and everything…

After lunch, the class laid down on the moldy, flat mats. Vicki stood there stuttering, “Do we have to lay down?” Mrs. Morton nodded impatiently. “Really?!”

Yes, you must, Miss Victoria,” the teacher drawled.

“Victoria or Vicki is fine. I don’t like being called “Miss.” It sounds too proper. Besides I am not a teacher.”

Mrs. Morton cleared her throat angrily. “Vicki, enough of being a smart aleck! I have had enough of you being an overachiever!”

“But… but… ” Vicki looked on the verge of tears. “I read about an illness!” She whined, “I don’t want to get it. You get it by sharing breathing areas! We could also get influenza!” Then, she piped in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, “More commonly known as the flu!”

“Fine,” said the teacher, grudgingly. “But you must at least sit on it. You don’t have to lie down. Okay?” Vicki stumbled over to the mat and scrunched her nose of the putrid smell and germs that the mat carried. She sat with her back straight and nothing but her shorts and legs touching the mat. “I will now read you a story. A little girl — ”

“Why not boys? Why do the stories always have to be girls?” a boy named Leo piped,  annoyingly.

“I wasn’t the one to write this book!” the teacher said. “Anyway… a girl hopped down the road and found a place to build her house. She got her hammer out and went to work. Cluck cluck cluck went the hammer against the wood.”

She flipped the first page. “What sound did the hammer make?” Blank faces stared up at her. Vicki knew the answer but thought the book so stupid it wasn’t worth her voice. The teacher skipped the question and went on to the next page. “She got some paint. Swoosh swoosh swoosh went the brush against the fresh wood. What sound did the paint brush make?” She waited a couple moments. “Anyone?”

She sighed and continued, “Then the little girl found more wood and built the roof. Clunk clunk clunk the hammer went. What sound did the hammer make?” She looked directly at Vicki. “Not even you, Victoria?

Vicki sighed. “First of all, this is a waste of my time. This book is so babyish! I miss my mystery novels. I have a question. When do we start our literature and book reports? Probably never at this rate… ” She took a deep breath and continued, “And besides! A hammer doesn’t even make that sound! It makes more like a boom, boom, boom!”

“Are you done yet?” Tamara, the leader of the sassy girls, said impatiently. Out of all of the girls, she was the most mature, which was saying something, because none of them were mature. She wore her hair in long braids that went to her lower back. She also had a bright pink headband. Her shirt said, “Not sassy just have some sass.” “Besides, Vicki,” she teased when she said Vicki’s name, “no one wants you here. You are too smart for your own good.”

The teacher continued, “Then they lived happily ever after!” Ugh! What about the hardships?

But one of the girls thought of hardships… “Wait,” Lily said, a girl not much better than Tamara. “What about the prince. A prince must take her to the castle!” All of the girls started to giggle.

“Ummm… ” the teacher groped. “Nevermind. Let me just get this over with.” The teacher quickly read the rest of the story, “Then, a deer came and kissed the girl on the cheek.”

“No deer!” Vicki shrieked. “Deers carry ticks. Ticks carry Lyme disease. If you have Lyme disease too long… ” Eyes glared at Vicki, signaling her enough.

That was Vicki’s breaking point. She was tired of little stories filled with nonsense and questions that no one knew the answers to. She wanted to be rid of the teasing and the putrid smelling mats. She was done with all the old Barbie dolls overflowing in the bin. She was done. She wanted to go home to where she was loved by her whole family well, at least she thought she was.

Vicki hid behind the trash can for a couple hours until the sun started to set. She knew it was just moments till her mom would pick her up, so she crouched behind a bush. Her long jeans got muddy. Her hands poked with seeds and whatever else fell from the sky. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her eyes were puffy from crying. She had no idea how long she was there and got the idea that her teacher, Mrs. Morton, and the sassy girl, Tamara, wouldn’t be looking for her. They were probably glad she was missing. Seconds passed, then minutes, until she heard her mom call for her. “Vicki, are you there? I heard about what happened today. I won’t make you go to school ever again until college if you want… ”

“Ever?” A tiny voice that belonged to Vicki asked, behind the bushes.

“Ever. Until you want to, of course.”

Vicki got out from the bushes and took her hand. Her mom had a worried expression on her face. When they got home, Vicki realized that she had let her mom down. I didn’t fit in! she thought. I failed my mom! What is wrong with me? She ripped different facts about medicine and biology out of her journal She cursed how foolish she was to have written a big biography about herself. “All I wanted was for people to like me!” she moaned and growled at her bedroom.

She didn’t talk during dinner about her improvements she made on her hypothesis about volcanoes and the magma plume. She also didn’t share how her horrible day at school went. Her father looked scared of her the entire time. She cried before going to bed. She moaned in her restless sleep. She heard her mom go to bed late that night, probably trying to figure out what to do with their overachieving daughter. Vicki hated herself for who she was.

While sleeping, she felt a cool breeze brush on her. She woke up with her window open. My mom probably wanted me to have some fresh air, she thought. That morning, she woke up, still in her bad mood. She got out of bed and poured her Lucky Charms. Every bag, Vicki wished for the prize inside. This prize just isn’t made for abnormal people. She wept even more for the strange girl she was becoming. “I can’t stop my brain!” she murmured repeatedly to herself. None of it made a difference.

She knew that she would never, ever, ever want to go back to preschool. Or what she called, the lazy game. Vicki deserved better. A place where talent can be seen. A place where she isn’t blowing the other kids’ minds with her speech and smarts. She realized this as she awoke, staring at the white ceiling. That was when she noticed the empiness beside her…

After finishing her unsuccessful hunt for a prize in her cereal, her mom walked to the doorway, tears streaked repeatedly down her cheeks.

“What is it, Mother?”

Her mom shook her head, long, dark hair with blonde tips swaying.

Her dad was gone.

 

Up and Back Again

       

Dedicated to Izzy, Sophia, Sammie, and Rachel Barclay who helped me along my wonderful and winding journey of writing

Twelve-year-old Andrea opened her eyes groggily and looked at her bedside clock. 8:15! Andrea screamed in her head. She was supposed to be at school, Harker Middle, fifteen minutes ago. She quickly got changed into her blue and tan uniform, then swept her light brown hair back into a ponytail. Andrea grabbed her backpack and shoved her binder inside, then looked around her blue painted room at her bed, dresser, cabinets, and desk to see if there was anything else she needed. Andrea quickly grabbed her pencil case, then sprinted downstairs.

“Mom! Dad!” Andrea yelled. “I’m late! You guys didn’t wake me up.” No one answered. “Hello?” Andrea said again as she approached the table. A note was there.

Dearest Andrea,

I’m sorry we had to leave without telling you. Your mother hit the floor, and the doctors do not yet know what happened. This was at 5:00. I hope you are fine. I’m letting you skip school today. I just left the hospital to write this note. Now, I must hurry back. Don’t you worry, Andrea. Your mother will be fine. She’s as strong as you. I will be back at 9:00 to tell you the news.

Be strong,

Dad

Andrea sucked in a breath and dropped her backpack. She read over the note again, not believing her eyes. She picked up the note and squeezed it so hard that it crumpled under her hands. Then, Andrea threw the note back onto the table and imagined her mom having a heart attack or a stroke — or worse.

Andrea felt lightheaded and gripped a wooden chair. She looked around the room, at the wooden table in the middle of the room, the stove and fridge in the front, and some cabinets in the corner. They started to blur. She shook her head and walked into the next room to take a seat on the comfy, tan couches. Andrea put her feet on a dark oak coffee table in front of her and turned on the TV. Just forty more minutes until Dad comes home, Andrea told herself. Only forty minutes until I hear about Mom.

Time slipped away as Andrea half-heartedly watched her favorite movie, Wonder. Finally, she heard the door rattle.

“Dad!” Andrea shouted. Her dad burst into the room panting and brushing New York snow off of his coat.

“Dad! Dad! What happened?” Andrea asked, tugging on his sleeve.

“The doctors said that they haven’t seen anything like it. They said it couldn’t have been of natural causes, which is scary. I don’t know what it would be of. Anyways, I was not awake to see what happened. All I know is that no one entered this house all night.”

“Really?” Andrea said, worried. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know, Andrea. I don’t know,” her dad said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Andrea hugged him.

“We have to head back to the hospital now. Put your coat, boots, and gloves on.”

Andrea nodded, a tear slipping down her face.

In the car, Andrea twiddled her thumbs and bit her lip. Mom… I wish I knew if you were okay. Please be okay. Please let her be okay.

Her dad, Mr. Wilson, gripped the steering wheel hard, turning his knuckles white. He drove into the driveway of the hospital and parked.

Soon, Andrea and her dad were in the waiting room.

“Mr. Wilson?” a voice called. Andrea’s dad stood up and walked into a room where a blonde lady was calling. Andrea followed. The lady shut the door behind them and motioned for them to sit down into comfy, blue chairs.

Sitting in one herself behind a wood desk, the lady spoke.

“Hello, Mr. Wilson. I’m Victoria. As the doctors have informed you, this was not from a natural cause. We looked over your wife and saw that something happened around her head. There was some type of dispositioning of her brain cells, and right now, it’s going to be very hard to fix this. I am very sorry. As you can probably figure out, her brain has stopped working. Therefore, the doctors put her in hospice. She will make it a few hours.” Andrea couldn’t imagine living without her mom. She burst into tears and buried her face in her father’s shoulder. Mr. Wilson let tears fall freely down his face. Victoria left the room, and Andrea wailed and squeezed her father.

Andrea and her father knelt down before Andrea’s mother and said their hearts out. Andrea told her mom about all the good times they’d had together — about how much she loved her. Her mother couldn’t hear them or anything, but Andrea spoke anyway, with tears soaking her neck. Mr. Wilson whispered in Mrs. Wilson’s ear for a long time.

Andrea was there holding Mrs. Wilson’s hand as her mother moved on to a better place. The next few months were rough. Mr. Wilson was not the same. He was never as happy as before. He didn’t laugh or smile like he used to.

Andrea and her dad lived differently. Andrea started to cook, do the laundry, and help out around the house. Her father was helpful also, but not as joyful as usual.

Finally, on Andrea’s thirteenth birthday, the doctors had a present for her. Andrea and her father drove to the hospital. They were taken into a room with many images on the projector and spewing across a table.

“I’m Victoria. You might remember me,” the familiar lady stated. “After your mother’s death, the doctors found something surprising. And it wasn’t in her brain. A long time ago, your mother tore her arm. When a doctor gave her surgery, a very bad virus was inserted in her. Well, it wasn’t very bad at the time. That morning when she lost consciousness, a virus trigger was released into the house that never should have been. That means,” Victoria paused, “I think it was someone who was either with the doctor at the time, or it was the doctor himself. I do not know why they would pick that time though to set off such a deadly trigger. And, how could they release it into your house?”

Andrea and Mr. Wilson shook their heads in disgust.

“What’s a virus trigger?” Andrea asked.

“Well, we’re not sure, but it might be an invisible gas or something that makes the virus become harmful. But the question still remains — why? And how?”

“We don’t know. We really don’t know.”

Mr. Wilson got up to leave, but Andrea stayed sitting in the chair. “Who was it? Who was it?” she asked.

“We don’t know yet, which is embarrassing on our part because we have no record of your mom’s surgery. Maybe it was lost, or worse, destroyed by the doctor because he didn’t want anyone to see.”

“Don’t you know about the surgery though? Like… when was it? Can’t you ask the doctors?”

“Andrea! It’s time to go,” Mr. Wilson leapt in. He grabbed Andrea’s arm and pulled her out of the room.

“Dad!” Andrea said in the hallway. “I want to know what happened! I bet she knows some information — what if we can even figure out what happened ourselves?”

Andrea’s dad shook his head, and they walked out of the waiting room.

“Now, Andrea, these doctors are very experienced. They know much better than we.”

Andrea mumbled under her breath as her dad led her out of the building, into the car, and all the way back home.

Andrea went back to school in the next month. The doctors were still figuring out what had happened, and Andrea was asking as many questions as she could. So much that her dad at one point left her in the waiting room. (He soon noted that that wasn’t such a great idea.)

Andrea walked into the school building crowded with kids. She was looking for one person — Harper. Harper was her only friend that wouldn’t tease her about her horrible grades.

Finally, Andrea found her in an upstairs hallway and told her about her mom. Harper gasped as they walked into their homeroom.

“Andrea! That’s horrible! I don’t know what I’d do if that happened to me,” Harper exclaimed.

“It’s okay. It’s really not a big deal,” Andrea lied straight to her friend’s face. Harper raised her eyebrow knowing that it was a huge deal but didn’t say anything.

Andrea and Harper sat down at their desks next to each other.

“Oh no,” Andrea whispered as her teacher, Ms. Addison, walked over.

“Andrea, I’m very, very sorry. I heard from your father. I’ll excuse you from all your missing work, okay? But I need you to work hard,” Ms. Addison bent down and whispered to Andrea, “Because of your grades, all right?” Ms. Addison gave Andrea a knowing look, then walked back to the front of the class to teach. Andrea shook her head looking down, knowing that she had F’s in every class except for art. Painting was the only thing she ever cared about. Harper understood, because she liked art just the same. However, Harper was also very smart and got A’s all the time. Andrea’s only ‘A’ was in art.

“‘A’ for Art!” Andrea used to say to her parents when they received her report card. Of course, they were never very happy.

Andrea shoved the subject of her parents away and finally heard her teacher dismiss them for first period.

“Finally,” Andrea muttered under her breath, making Harper elbow her. “What? I hate school. I just can’t wait for art!”

“Andrea, you need to get better grades! Your par — ” Harper caught herself and took a sharp breath. Andrea sighed and shrugged.

“I guess,” she said, walking quicker to math.

The rest of the day flew by in a breeze, Andrea not paying attention to math, science, or history. Finally, it was time for art. Andrea burst into the art room with Harper and filled her lungs with the familiar smell of paint and wood.

“Oh! Andrea! I totally forgot to tell you. We have a new art teacher. Meet Mrs. Grace. Mrs. Grace, this is Andrea,” Harper explained. Andrea stood horror-struck. A new teacher?! But she loved Miss Alia! She plastered a fake smile on her face and shook hands with Mrs. Grace.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Grace! Very nice. What happened to Miss Alia?”

“Oh. Well. She moved on to a better job that was more important than her students.” Mrs. Grace rolled her eyes. Andrea stood with a disgusted look on her face. She went to her seat and quietly sat down.

That day at art was awkward and quiet. No one talked or laughed like they used to.

Finally, it was the end of class, and Andrea was walking out the door.

“Andrea! Can I come hang out tonight?” Harper asked.

“Harper, remember? My mom? My dad can’t handle us right now,” Andrea said. Suddenly, she heard Mrs. Grace swivel around in her chair to face her.

“Mrs. Grace?” Andrea asked, turning around to face her teacher.

“Andrea — are you? Andrea Wilson?” Mrs. Grace declared. Andrea nodded. Just then, the classroom walkie-talkie on the teacher’s desk called Andrea’s name to go home.

“Sorry Mrs. Grace, but I gotta go,” Andrea said, eager to get away from her new art teacher.

“Andrea, wait!” Mrs. Grace said, getting up from her seat. But Andrea had already strolled out of the doorway and down the hall.

Andrea left school with a straight face. A new teacher, bad grades, more homework — could it get any worse? She walked down the road, seeing her small house in the distance.

That night at home, she was greeted with a surprise.

“Andrea, dear! Want to come watch TV with me?” her father asked. Andrea walked over to the couch, surprised that her father was in such a good mood because personally, she wasn’t. She sat down on the couch and started looking at the big football players thundering across the field. They were almost to the end zone. The player finally made it and threw the football on the ground with celebration.

“TOUCHDOWN!!!” Andrea’s father screamed. He scrambled to his feet and gave Andrea a high-five. She half-heartedly high-fived him back.

“Andrea, dear? Why the long face?” He asked, knowingly.

“How — how are you so happy right now?!” Andrea asked, losing it. “Nothing is going right today! Nothing ever goes right! How come all of a sudden you are happy?”

“Do you want to know? It’s because I realized that there is no point in getting sad anymore. What happened will not change. Like, don’t cry over spilt milk. It already happened. So you fix it. And since we cannot fix her death, the best way to mend our hurt is to smile and say, what has happened has happened, and I might as well be happy.”

Andrea stood dumbfounded at her father’s words.

Impressive coming from him, she thought. Then she smiled, and slowly, it made sense. He was right. No matter what happened, it was no use getting mad over.

As her father smiled back, Andrea forgot about her mother. About school. About all her worries. Andrea let her father wrap her in a big bear hug.

However, the next morning Andrea woke up from a nightmare about her mom. She sighed and got dressed for school. As Andrea walked down the stairs to make her breakfast, she already smelled the scent of waffles wafting from the kitchen. She looked over the railing and saw her father flipping waffles on the waffle iron. Andrea laughed to herself, knowing that she usually had to wake her dad up in the morning because he always slept in.

Mr. Wilson motioned for Andrea to hurry and come down the stairs. Andrea did and saw a big plate of strawberry and syrup covered waffles waiting for her. She grinned and gave her dad a big hug.

After eating her scrumptious breakfast, she kissed her dad goodbye and walked to school. Andrea entered the building to find Harper waiting for her there.

“Hi, Harper.” Andrea smiled.

“Andrea! Mrs. Grace wants to talk to you,” Harper replied. Andrea frowned and crossed her arms.

She walked up the stairs to the art room. She no longer enjoyed the wood and paint smell.
“Ah! Andrea. Harper told you right?” Mrs. Grace said, pacing around the room.

“Yeah,” Andrea said, standing by the door.

“Come sit, come sit,” Mrs. Grace commanded, pulling out a chair from one of the art tables. She moved it in front of her, and Andrea sat down, uncomfortable. Mrs. Grace hesitated, then kept pacing the room.

“Why did you want me?” Andrea asked, getting impatient. Mrs. Grace finally pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Andrea.

“Andrea, don’t get too worked up, but, I know something about your mother.”

Andrea’s eyes widened, and she gripped the sides of her chair.

“What?” she whispered.

“I was the doctor’s assistant,” Mrs. Grace said. Andrea’s face started to twist into anger.

“Now, before you get all mad, let me explain. That doctor, Doctor Richard, gave me the

file on your mom’s surgery along with a note.” Mrs. Grace took an unsealed envelope out of her pocket and handed it to Andrea. Andrea’s hands trembled as she took it. Suddenly, they trembled in anger.

“Why didn’t you report him?! How could you keep quiet?!” Andrea yelled. Mrs. Grace shook her head. Andrea glared at Mrs. Grace, then looked up at the clock.

“It’s first period. See you,” Andrea turned to walk out of the room. Mrs. Grace pushed her seat back and got up.

“Read the note!” Mrs. Grace yelled after Andrea.

Andrea sat down at study hall, fingering the note. This class, third period, was the only one she did not have with Harper. Finally, Andrea gathered up the courage to open the envelope. She raised the flap and reached inside — she felt a small piece of paper in the envelope and pulled it out. She unfolded it and read:

Andrea,

I am terribly sorry. I have lost the surgery file. If you are mad, I don’t blame you. But here, I have the note from Doctor Richard. Please understand.

There was a second note in the envelope too — the note that Doctor Richard wrote. Andrea hesitated to look at it. This note would change reality. She looked around the room at everyone studying quietly. Then, she unfolded the other note:

Lynna Grace,

This is for your eyes only. When Zaria Wilson tore her arm, I did surgery on her. You are my most trusted friend. This is a secret between you me, and if you ever see the Wilsons, them too. I am quitting my job as a doctor. It is no use anymore. But anyway, I was operating on Zaria when I found a virus in her arm through her bloodwork. It was deadly. I knew she would die soon, so I did the only thing I could. I tried to remove it, but I couldn’t. Instead, I damaged the virus so that it would only grow back on a certain day and kill her. By now, I’m sure that it has grown back, but I am long gone in a different part of the country. I pray for her family.

Your friend,

Dakota Richard

Andrea read the note twice and stood up in her chair. The teacher looked at her.

“Are you okay?! You look awfully pale,” the teacher commented.

“I — I’m not feeling so well,” Andrea replied.

“Why don’t you go lie down in the office, hon,” the teacher said, worried. Andrea nodded, packed up her stuff, and headed out of the classroom and down to the office.

The office called her dad, and he came and picked her up.

In the car, Andrea burst into tears from all this pressure about her mom. Her dad comforted her and said they would talk at home. Finally, they arrived at the house and sat at the dinner table.

“So, dear Andrea, what is bothering you?” Mr. Wilson asked. Andrea didn’t need to talk. She just handed the note to her father. Mr. Wilson read the note over, his face getting more and more ghost-like at every word. Finally, he finished reading and looked up at Andrea, his mouth in a tight, white line. He just looked at the paper, then at Andrea, then back at the paper again. Finally, after a lot of looking back and forth, Mr. Wilson pushed his chair back and stood up. He motioned for Andrea to follow him. They both got into the car and drove to the hospital in silence. Finally, they arrived and walked to the waiting room.

“Mr. Wilson? Andrea?” the familiar voice of Victoria called. Andrea and her father walked into Victoria’s office.

“So, what is this emergency meeting about?” Victoria asked.

“It’s about this,” Andrea said, handing the envelope to Victoria. “Mrs. Grace is my art teacher at school now.”

Victoria opened the envelope, took out the letter, and read silently. Her eyes grew wide, and she looked up at Mr. Wilson and Andrea. Andrea nodded. Victoria was lost for words, but she waved at them to leave. She had all the information she needed, and Andrea was finally feeling accomplished.

The next day, Victoria scheduled another appointment with Andrea and Mr. Wilson. The group of three sat together in Victoria’s office.

“Mr. Wilson, we’ve found the location of Dakota Richard. He’s in Rhode Island. We’ve been trying to contact him to pay you guys for not telling us anything. He’s paying a lot of money — some for this hospital and some for you.” Victoria looked really annoyed at Dr. Richard.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. He did a good deed for Zaria. Without him, Zaria would have died way before this. Please. We don’t want his money,” Mr. Wilson stated. Victoria looked like she wanted to say something, but she kept quiet.

“All right then,” Victoria said. “I guess now we don’t have any more to do with this. Thank you so much for all your help.” She got up and tucked her chair in behind her desk. She dismissed Andrea and her father.

Andrea skipped out of the hospital, content.

The next week at school, Andrea came home and jumped into her father’s arms.

“Father! Father! I aced my math test!” And Mr. Wilson smiled so big that his mouth hurt.

So, that’s how it was for the the Wilsons. Happy. Andrea went on to high school, having been on the Honor Roll twice.

Andrea and her father lived in that same house for the rest of their lives, no longer grieving over Mrs. Wilson, but thinking that she would be more happy if they were happy. Those were the words the Wilsons lived by.

Happy plus a Sad does not equal another Happy. But Andrea, dear, if we are happy, then your mother will be, too.

 

Epilogue

Andrea relaxed in the backseat of her dad’s white van, wanting to know how long it would be until they got to the beach. The sun shined brightly up above — it was almost noon. She looked over to her father, bouncing around to the music while driving. She smiled, knowing that everything was all right now. Then, she looked to the passenger’s seat where her grandma sat with perfect posture. Andrea’s grandma was an uptight woman, always yapping about something. Her grey-streaked hair was neatly pulled back into a bun. Andrea never saw a time where her grandma was not wearing a sweater, like a turtleneck, bell sleeve, or even a choker sweater. She was always wearing something like that!

“How much longer, Daddy?” Andrea asked for the fifth time.

“Not too much longer, dear,” Mr. Wilson answered back.

“You said that last time,” Andrea groaned, slouching down, but with a small smile on her face.

“Now, Andrea! You sit up like a lady! That’s how your Grampa Joe hurt his back,” Grandma stated. Andrea rolled her eyes with a smirk and sat up straight.

“Now, what do you say?” Grandma asked.

“Yes, Grandma,” Andrea strained.

“Good. And look! What a way to kill the time! We’ve arrived.”

Mr. Wilson pulled over into a busy parking lot.

“We’re here, we’re here,” he sang to himself, turning off the music. The family got out of the car and stepped onto the sandy road.

“What a lovely day!” Andrea’s dad stated, making Grandma glare at him.

“Now, now, you know the sun’s UV rays could hurt you. Put on some sunscreen!”

“We’ve already put on two layers like you told us to,” Andrea laughed. Grandma grumbled under her breath, adding another layer of sunscreen herself, even though her skin was already ghostly white.

“Andrea! Be careful getting that basket out of the trunk! You’ve probably already strained your back enough for a week! Don’t let me see you slouching one more time today, young lady or I’ll — ” Grandma stopped herself and looked around. She had announced this loudly, like she wanted everyone in the parking lot to stare at her. She again went back to grumbling, and the onlookers went back to their own business.

Finally, after a lot of Grandma’s comments, Andrea, Mr. Wilson, and Grandma made it down onto the sandy beach. Andrea immediately raced for the water, collecting seashells that the waves brought in. Mr. Wilson and Grandma set up a beach towel and the umbrella. Grandma stayed under the umbrella reading a book called Safety in the Cruel World. Mr. Wilson sat watching Andrea running around chasing seagulls. He had tried to get Grandma out of the Safety Zone before, but it didn’t work.

Finally, he called Andrea to come eat lunch with them. They all sat together on the red and white checkered mat, under the blue umbrella. The blue umbrella was under the scorching sun, and the scorching sun was under the white angels. Among the white angels was Andrea’s mother, looking down and smiling at the small family eating, Grandma not even reading her book.

 

The Overlord

The town was in complete and utter chaos. Monsters pillaged and wrecked everything in their path. Innocent villagers panicked and fled, and not all of them got away. The air was filled with screams of pure terror.

In other words, it was a good day for me.

I am Overlord Kane, and I have no delusions about my morals. With a name like that, what would you expect? I understand that I’m evil, and I embrace it. My goal is to overthrow King Basilius and take the kingdom for myself. I am the big bad, the evil emperor, the bête noire, the VILLAIN. Ah, it’s good to be bad.

So, what is an Overlord? It’s just a title given to the most prized demonic servant of Azrael, god of death, master of the Inferno, fourth horseman of the apocalypse, damn His name forever. Of course, it comes with some nice benefits. I get the three Unholy Treasures: the Dragon Sword, the Demon Armor, and the Crown of Azrael. I also get to destroy any heroes that get in my way. Do they defeat me? Sure, sometimes, but evil always comes back.

Anyway, the attack was almost over. As much as I like watching my minions destroy everything in their path, I can’t take over a kingdom that’s burned down. They had already broken into the mayor’s house and kidnapped his daughter, so I had what I came for. “Fireball!” I exclaimed, launching a burst of flames into the sky. It exploded, signalling the retreat, and I led my army back to Fort Gehennom.

A few hours later, I was sitting in my throne room when my trusted lieutenant Draco came in.

“How did the attack go, my lord?” Draco asked, blowing a puff of smoke. (He’s half dragon and has the flame breath to go with it. The other half is… I want to say dark elf, but even I don’t really know.)

“As well as always. We’ve got plenty of hostages, so I trust the dark elves can take care of them?” I asked.

“They’re requesting some hot irons and a copy of The Eye of Xenon,” said Draco.

“I’ll get it down to them. Any prisoners of note, aside from the girl?” I asked.

“The town bartender, a catfolk. He’s knocked out at the moment,” said Draco.

“We’ve got a catatonic cat o’ tonic on our hands,” I said.

“Otherwise, ah… nothing. I’m just not used to being out of the action. I hope a new hero comes in soon, so we can start fresh,” said Draco.

“We’ll take the usual protocol from here. You deal with the prisoners, and I’ll take care of the minions. It’s pizza night, and we just had an influx of trolls, so I need as many chefs as we can get,” I said. Draco flew away, and I emerged onto the balcony, looking down upon my subjects.

I took a second to scan the crowd. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s the diversity of my minions. Most villages just have the usual mix of humans, dwarves, elves, halflings, and gnomes, but I have a little of everything. Goblins and kobolds were the most numerous by far. Then, there were the orcs and trolls, my shock troops. (If you can’t tell an orc apart from a troll, slap it. An orc will punch you across the room, a troll will regenerate and then punch you across the room.) Dark elves emerged from the prison chamber, their necromancers bringing an assortment of undead with them. Even the occasional dragon was flying in from above.

“Welcome back, everyone! What did I miss?”

Cheers erupted from the minions below the balcony. The uninitiated often think that I mistreat my minions, but the first rule of villainy is pragmatism. Treat your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valley, as they say.

“We have captured the mayor’s daughter! That’s another village driven under the greatest heel of all!” I said. There were more cheers, and a few chuckles from the more comedically versed. “I prepared for this, of course. To celebrate our victory, live music will be provided at dinner!”

Suddenly, a goblin ran up to me, out of breath.

“What is it, Jerry?” I asked, mildly irritated.

“Your evilness, the mathematicians have news! As of tomorrow, the odds will be in favor of the arrival of… a hero!”

The crowd fell silent. No one really knew how to react. None of my minions ever know how to react when news like this is announced. All sorts of folks are against me, but not every one of them is a true hero.

I, on the other hand, was most pleased. “Excellent! We’d better start preparing! Jerry, tell Cal the performance will have to be postponed a few hours. Everyone else, initiate the usual operations! If you’re unsure of what to do, there’s some goblins in the east wing who can help!” I stepped down from the balcony.

Draco was already in my throne room. “The dark elves have the prisoners under control. What happened out there?”

“The math team says a hero is supposed to show up tomorrow,” I said. A smile spread across Draco’s scaly face. I walked over to the file cabinet.

“Let’s see here… Do I have it under G for gambling or H for hero? Ah, here it is,” I said, pulling out a sheet of paper with an assortment of charts on it. “The current stakes are four thousand gold pieces. So, what’s your bet? Warrior? Mage? I’m going with warrior.”

“Paladin. It’s a long shot, but I’ve got a good feeling about it,” said Draco.

“We have a deal. Anything else?” I asked.

“The battle plan, my lord. You’ll be off fighting the hero, so I have to command the troops,” said Draco.

“Ah, of course. My tacticians have a new plan specifically tailored to armies with heroes among them. They’ve sent it down to your room for review,” I said.

“I’ll check that out, then. Good luck, my lord,” said Draco, flying out the window.

“And the same for you,” I replied. I pulled a hidden lever, causing the throne to move back and reveal the staircase underneath. Walking down to bed, I grinned at how neatly everything was falling into place. Then, as per the second rule of villainy, I let out an evil laugh.

 

Eight in the Evening

He walked in with the lights hot on his face. He strode through the sea of chanting, churning people at almost a skip, eyes rapidly flipping back and forth in the apprehensive version of the steady, slow moving gaze that panned the audience with cool confidence. The subtle discrepancy was unnoticeable. Yet it did not matter who knew, save one person: the person he employed his frenetic technique to locate. The Hornet.

The Grand Champion, also known as the Hornet, was unbeaten. The number eight, having fallen from second slowly and showing no signs of slowing his age-precipitated decline, had challenged the Hornet as a final flail before his career dipped below ten, went into free fall, and spiraled into the vaguely terrifying world of retirement.

The number eight continued his stride, trying a few jabs followed by a powerful cross. That cross used to be his most powerful weapon. But during the smack, as it was widely accepted to be called, the vitality behind the swing was drained. Nothing in the physical punch was wrong, but the audience didn’t seem to care, letting loose a great roar because of his quick training. As the ropes grew bigger, approaching too quickly for the number eight’s taste, he felt the desperate need for the boost of the audience’s cheer once more. He let loose a grand flurry of punches, danced back and forth while the cheer swelled, and drove it to a crescendo with an aggressive uppercut. While it probably lacked in technique, the uppercut had no rival for showmanship. Here was the ring, and now was the time where his natural instincts of fear must be forcibly silenced. He nodded to his trainer, who smiled and opened a gap between the ropes. Number Eight leapt with a huff onto the side of the ring and immediately dove through the ropes with effortless ease, landing in a leopard-like position. The man, with boxer trunks of a leopard glancing predatorily over long tendrils of grass, held the crowd in the palm of his hand. He sprang to his feet and pulled his muscles taut by stretching his arms in a long, nearly complete oval ending below his waist. He roared.

The crowd went wild.

They loved the design. They loved the passion. They loved the persona. They loved the effort. They loved the performance. They would be disappointed to learn how much Number Eight’s shoulder hurt from the leopard pose. It was then that Number Eight saw Number One, The Hornet, known only by his family as Walter Frederickson, hiding in the dark of the tunnel preceding the long walk out to the ring. The Hornet cracked his knuckles unsteadily and blinked hard.

He stared him down, knowing the only chance against the twenty-three-year-old champion was to psych him out, so that he would doubt his superior abilities. Perhaps if he could get the Hornet to crawl wounded back into his hive, his seemingly magical powers would follow.

“The battlefield is where you make it,” his wife had said to him once. It is not always the ring.

Well, it will be his brain this fine evening, thought the man. Early victories will be key to this match. I simply need to make him forget that he could beat me by running away and exhausting my strength through avoidance.

“A victory before the game is as early as they come.” That one was from his first trainer, and it was good advice. Leaping upon the Hornet’s brief hesitation to prepare himself before the match, Number Eight motioned to him with a stuck-out and trembling lower lip to come to the ring. It was a perfect gesture. The crowd roared with laughter, and the Hornet reddened visibly at the barb. But that was not the best part. Number Eight allowed a cruel, crooked bending of the end of his lip in a scarily jagged smile. The Hornet’s eyes widened and then narrowed as he realized it too.

Coming out after that insult would be to do exactly what had been ordered, overtly revealing weakness. Hesitating would confirm the insult that he was scared to come out of the tunnel. Number Eight had been plotting this opening for weeks, and if age came packaged with one thing to desire, it was knowledge. The Hornet took the only acceptable course and charged out with his shoulders thrown back. A slight tremor shook his frame, but while it originated near the peaks of his broad shoulders, it never made it past the compact abdomen. The Hornet, in a somewhat desperate attempt to mimic the showmanship displayed by his adversary, tossed his robe into the audience with a grandiose air, revealing the well-defined muscles hidden underneath. He arrived at his corner hastily, the crowd providing ample applause as befitted the national champion, yet none compared to the raucous cheers issued to the man who now donned a ferocious, black mouthguard decorated with sharp teeth. A simple, black mouthguard was handed to the man in the black and yellow boxing trunks.

Walter Frederickson had a small, chiseled face that might have been a half-moon if it were not so ovalish. He also sported a short crop of auburn hair that was just long enough to give the hairdresser enough hope to aggressively attempt to smooth it back. The Hornet was a strange case, a strange type for a boxer. His short form and subsequently minimal reach, and that his body was just lithe enough that one might have considered him a weight class down from heavyweight, made him quite an unlikely prospect for a boxing champion. He had not been scouted particularly early. He came out of nowhere, relatively, his first major match being against the number twenty-seven in the country. It was an easy victory. So easy that he shot up to challenging twenty, then nineteen. Nineteen, in fact, was a knockout later in the rounds. After that it was fourteen, a very easy victory, and then fending off a few challenges of his own. Sixteenth in the country was nothing to sniff at, but it took a hard-fought, nailbiter victory in the Olympics to really be taken seriously. He took home gold in the light heavyweight after going the whole match just trading blows with some upstart Australian boxer. It came down to the wire, but the Hornet, as he was now known, had won his twentieth professional match right after that victory, challenging the number ten. The Hornet never got too ahead of himself, though. Someone on the internet eventually realized he had only ever challenged someone four places above his own rank, and he earned a reputation for his dogged and modest attitude.

He was also known for his unique fighting style. As previously mentioned, his was not the body type that most naturally befitted a boxer. He had molded his entire style around one thing: reflexes. He had catlike reflexes, could practically anticipate a blow before the thought formed in his opponent’s mind. Based off of that one skill, his coaches had built a machine. It was all in the variety of attack, really. No one could ever land a blow on Walter Frederickson, and whenever they overstepped their bounds, Walter Frederickson would be in and out of their defenses leaving only a cripple. They folded after a strong series of punches, never too long and never was the attack pressed, but just a select few jabs and perhaps a cross. Then, he resumed his stance as if nothing had happened.This was why he was knighted the Hornet.

Number Eight hoped beyond hope that the weeks of rigorous training would pay off. And he needed them to. Boxing was the only thing he knew how to do in life, it being necessary in that craft to dedicate the entirety of one’s time to the endeavor. People do not wonder nearly often enough about the life of an athlete not as successful as Michael Jordan or Arnold Palmer post-career, thought he. And the boxers have the worst of it, perhaps behind football. Retirement is early, so you dither about, unsure of what to do with your money and refusing to allow yourself to take a nostalgic and longing glance into the past, until those years are wasted and you find yourself in the dangerous lands of a midlife crisis. Then your money is gone, your relationship is ruined, and you settle for a mediocrity that is not only depressing in its essence, but also jarringly melancholy as a juxtaposition to your former status. Number Eight’s head spun. He had taken the mental journey into the future that can be as dangerous as a foray into the past. Number Eight also then realized he had been holding his face in a rigid sort of mocking smile for some time. He disguised a brief massaging of his face in the similar but more quotidien gesture of stroking the stubble that was the beginning of a beard that Number Eight sternly refused to allow to come into being.

Walter Frederickson pranced about in his corner, looking a bit nervous, and very childlike as a result. The announcer began the spiel so familiar to boxing fans, announcing the contestants with zest that demanded some sort of accentuation, which ended up scattered arbitrarily.

“And in the BLUE corner, weighing in at TWO hundred and SEVEN pounds, COMING from New YORK, winner of twenty- matches, FIFTEEN by knockout and famous for his FEROCIOUS attack, HEAVYWEIGHT champion of THE world, The HORRRRRRRNET!” The crowd erupted into cacophonous cheers and the energy behind the words. The words were of less importance.

“And IN the red corner, weighing in at two HUNDRED and thirty-two POUNDS, coming ALL THE WAY from AR-I-ZONA, former NUMBER two in the WORLD for Heavyweight…”

The stadium spun violently and Number Eight forcibly stopped the whirlpool that might suck him into the depths of memory.

“…Winner of forty matches…”

He was pulled down into the fathoms of nostalgia to his twenty-first win. That one had been his twenty-first straight. He had felt very proud of it. Then his streak had been abruptly broken by a loss. Out of the four matches following that tenth loss, he had lost two. It was a grand disillusionment for Number Eight. Even though he grew higher and higher in the ranks, nobody believed he would top the lists anymore. And he didn’t.

“…With thirteen by KNOCKOUT and a paltry eight losses…”

But he looked to the side to see his wife, Linda. She was cheering wildly, and when she saw him looking at her for support, she adjusted her expression to flow confidence into him like a tributary. She had always been supportive of his career. He always came home to Linda smiling, a messy bun flopping as she set about making dinner. She held her own job as well, and it was a nice one. She had a Ph.D from Princeton, and had studied for a long while to earn it. As a result, she taught at the University of Phoenix. Number Eight and Linda would relax after a long day, have dinner while discussing the events of that day. Sometimes they would watch a movie. Sometimes they would play a board game. After that, they would go to bed in a beautiful bedroom. It was decorated with polished wood that appeared to be holding up the ceiling. It gave the room a homey ambience.

Linda, thirty-three, and Number Eight, thirty-four, had wanted children for a long time. The duo had learned a few weeks ago of the existence of a baby girl. Linda wanted Melinda. Number Eight disagreed. They would both laugh after each playful altercation. There was no visible bump yet.

Number Eight and Linda were equal breadwinners, at this point. Linda had wanted a job, wanted to do something with her Ph.D. When Number Eight met Linda, he had just lost two out of the last four matches. She took a job at the University of Phoenix soon after.

Walter Frederickson turned to look at the crowd. His glance was intercepted by the coach. Walter looked at the coach hopefully. He received a steely acknowledgement.

“…MI-chael Ca-RU-so!”

Number Eight came to the middle with Walter Frederickson. The referee recited the timeworn list of precepts. “I want a good, clean fight…” Number Eight stared at Walter Fredrickson. Walter Frederickson blinked hard. Then he began blinking very quickly, very copiously. His muscles rippled. His skin looked smooth and young. He blinked again. He checked the audience for any sign of recognition. A nice portion of people cheered. A handful crowed at how few cheered. The heavyweight champion bit his lip. Number Eight smacked the gloves of Walter Frederickson, and the latter’s gloves held firm. Walter Frederickson seemed to find some resolve. Number Eight felt a twang of fear.

Michael Caruso turned back to Linda and Melinda. He beamed at them and dropped his arms.

“Fight!”

 

The (Rather Unfair) Life of a Housefly

             

SPIDER’S ISLAND

MONDAY

Spider snot! Stupid spider snot! Excuse my language. I am so sorry. Let me introduce myself before I explain why I launched into a fury so hard it could break walls. My name is Fly. Yes, just Fly. I am, as you could tell on the cover of my — cough cough — best-selling book — cough cough — , I am a housefly. I live in a small crack in the wall of a big house. The big house isn’t mine. It belongs to some humans. Disgusting animals who fart every five seconds and laugh at the planet Uranus. HAHAHAHA. Sorry, I just got the joke.

Anyways, time for an explanation. I’m angry because my mom’s stupid boyfriend Derek (who’s a spider, by the way) booked us a “family” trip to Spider’s Island. Okay, I bet there are tons of things racing around your minds right now. You’re probably thinking he’s doing it to be nice. He knows I hate spiders. My mom is too wowed by him to care. He said he knows a lot of people there, including a spider that has a son who is the leader of a posse. He also showed us pictures, and every picture has about a million spiders in it. Not exaggerating. I’ve heard rumors about Spider’s Island from Sticky (who’s a stick insect) that they wrap their prey in webs and devour them in one gulp. My mom told me to pack all my stuff at once because the flight is tomorrow. So, I’m here in my room with an empty suitcase on one side and all my bottled acid on the other side. I’m probably going to stuff all of it in my suitcase tomorrow. Anyways, I’m going to bed.

 

TUESDAY MORNING

Day of the flight… 

Hello? You still there? This is Professor Fly, and I’m about to board the flight to the dreaded Spider’s Island. I had to sneak my diary into the suitcase because Derek said I was getting “too old.” Nothing’s too old for Professor Fly, investigator of the unknown. I’ll fill you in later when I’m on the flight.

Okay, I’m on. It’s just me, Fly, not Professor Fly. He’ll come back when we’re on Spider’s Island. Anyways, we’re on the plane. It’s been about two hours since I’ve been on. The chairs don’t recline, and there’s no snack service. It’s seven hours of this torture. I’ve noticed that the air’s gotten much grayer. There’s also a lot of spiders on the seats. Derek’s already asleep, and Mom is looking through the images again. Okay, I’ll come back when we’re there.

Okay, hi. We arrived in Spider’s Island. The sky is still gray, and there’s a lot of tall, rocky mountains. We arrived at the den that we were staying in. We’re sharing rooms with one of Derek’s thug friends, the guy who has the son in a posse. When we arrived, the son was talking to a bunch of his friends.

“Oi, Dale, where’s your dad?” Derek asked.

“Don’t know. Guess he went out to gamble,” Dale replied. Derek and Mom went to find him. As soon as they left, Dale and the others all stared at me.

“So it’s true, eh? There’s a fly in Spider’s Island,” Dale sneered. All of his posse laughed evilly.

“Okay, fly. You think you can just walk around this place like it’s all yours? This is our island,” Dale said.

“P — please. I don’t have any hassle with you or your island. I want to get out of here as much as you want me out,” I replied. Dale grabbed me by the wing.

“Stay out of our way, or you’re in for a punishment,” he muttered.

He hung me on a branch that was sticking out of the cave. Then, he and his friends went away. Yep, that was how my morning started. I decided that since I was going to be staying here for a week, I should probably know my way around. I went outside the cave and slipped through a small crack in the mountain. I was horrified! In the center, there were hundreds and hundreds of spiders, who were gambling, making webs, stealing food, and drooling all over everything.

I bent my head low and pretended I wasn’t there. I was so small that they probably wouldn’t see me even if I went right in front of them. I spotted Dale, and my rage bubbled up. I really didn’t like that kid. I saw him walk over to a shop and while the owner wasn’t looking, he stole a whole bottle of spider whiskey. Did he drink? I didn’t really think about it much.

Dale and I were already on the say-something-bad-and-you’ll-instantly-regret-it scale. As I walked past, I noticed something else that was strange. Something smelled delicious! I mean, this is Spider’s Island. The only thing I thought they ate were bugs covered in webs. I followed the scent, and it led to a small market where a spider with a beard was selling some pies.

“Three, please!” I said. I gave him some spider cash I stole from Derek’s bag. He gave me some pies, and I stuffed them all in my mouth.

Chomp — “These are delicious! What’s in these?” I asked.

“Oh, just fly meat,” he replied. I stopped chewing at once.

“W — what?” I asked.

“Fly meat,” he replied. I spat everything out and ran over to the sea.

“EW EW EW EW EW EW,” I yelled out. This place was crazy! I couldn’t stay here anymore!

Eventually, I entered the cave. Mom was sleeping deeply, and Dale and Derek were out doing who knows what. I entered my bed, and just as I was about to fall asleep…

CHOMP!

I jumped out of my bed. Something just bit me! I grabbed my covers and pulled them off. Inside of my bed was a snake! It hissed and leaned in for another bite. I grabbed my pillow, but it bit right through it. I ran over to the door and grabbed a branch. I threw it at the snake, but the snake devoured it in one gulp. What? Not even Professor Fly had ever encountered a snake like this. Speaking of Prof. F, he could have really been of use. The snake jumped out of the bed like a piece of rogue spaghetti. I jumped out of the way, and it hit the wall. It turned its head in a full 180 degrees towards me.

“HISSSSSS!”

I took that as a warning. I flew into the bathroom at once. Big mistake. The bathroom was super tiny with no space to dodge the snake. Speaking of the devil, it bit its way through the door and into the bathroom. I grabbed the shower handle and turned it on. As soon as a drop of water touched the snake, it fled out of the cave in a nanosecond. I wiped the sweat off my forehead. As I flew out of the bathroom, I found Dale asleep and Derek looking at me as if he wanted to crush me in his fist and do it three times for fun.

“CAN YOU EXPLAIN WHY THE CAVE IS A MESS!” he yelled out. I wanted to yell that Dale did it right at his stupid, ugly, and hairy face, but I had no proof and even if I did, Dale was still asleep, all innocent.

“Listen, Fly. You’re on very thin ice here, and if you keep going on like this, you won’t like me by the end of this holiday,” he whispered. I mean, it wasn’t like he had won best man of the year, but I think he meant that he was probably going to turn worse than he already was. He gave me another look, then went to bed and stuffed all his bags on my bed. I sighed and lay down on the floor. I was so tired, nothing could have woken me up.

 

WEDNESDAY 5:00 (IN THE MORNING)

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!!!

That was the sound of the alarm that woke me up. I thought that since we were on holiday, we wouldn’t have to wake up early, but that wasn’t the case.

“WAKE UP!” Derek yelled.

Dale got out of bed and accidentally-on-purpose kicked me. “Oops, sorry.” He smirked, and he, Derek, and Dale’s dad walked outside with Mom. I sighed and walked outside.

Millions of spiders were running to the mountain market. Weird. It seemed like they all woke up at the exact same time as us. Dale and his gang were hauling ten bags of bottles. Was that the spider whiskey? I snuck behind a bush and followed them to the mountain market. When he arrived, he set up a table and filled the spider whiskey with… bugs?! He was spiking the spider whiskey!

“Spider whiskey! Get your 20 spider dollars spider whiskey!” he yelled out. A bunch of spiders walked over and got a glass. As they drank it, their eyes became wider.

“BUGS! MORE BUGS!” they yelled, slamming cash on Dale’s table. He saw me and smirked. Oh no. I backed away slowly. Then, I remembered I could fly, so I did. This place was a nightmare, and I hadn’t seen anything yet. Just keep reading. I figured I might as well find a spot that no spider went to to be my private thinking spot. I found a nice area next to a pond and some trees. I started pondering the things that went wrong in the trip.

  1. Dale. Dale makes it up to the top of my list, no contest.
  2. Derek. Derek knows this place like the back of his hand. Not useful for me.
  3. The market. The center of the island, every spider went there, and they sold the most disgusting things.
  4. Snakes. On the bright side, I knew their weakness!

 

I had to decide my plan carefully if I was going to survive this island. Luckily, someone was already ready for the job, and his name was Agent Fly.

Hey, everybody. It’s Agent Fly. I was asked to make a plan to survive, so let’s hit the facts. Dale and his gang always head to the spider market to sell their spider whiskey at 5:00. Then, they go steal other people’s belongings. As long as I stay away from the market between 5:00 and 1:00, I’ll be fine. Derek isn’t a problem. He just goes to gamble with his friends all day. He returns at 9:00, and I have to be in bed by then. For snakes, I’ll just keep a glass of water next to me at all times. Just follow this plan, and you’ll be fine. Agent Fly, out!

Phew, thanks AF. With my new plan written out in front of me, I knew where to go at what time. I grabbed the paper and flew out. It was about 12:00, so I had an hour before Dale would come out of the shop and torment me. One thing AF and I couldn’t figure out was why every spider was outside at 9:00. Maybe this place was really organized, but I still thought it was kind of strange. They all woke up at the same time, did whatever they wanted, stayed up at the same time, and then went to bed. I decided that Agent Fly would go out, and Prof. Fly would stay back and analyze the results.

Okay, what’s up. Agent Fly here. I’m outside right now. It’s 8:59, and I can see some spiders leaving the market. I can spot Derek, Dale, and that dude who sold the fly meat. A secret agent always comes on time. I’ll wait here for a minute and tell you what happened.

Oh My Gosh! Agent Fly back again. I saw the craziest thing! It was precisely 9:00, and every spider was lined up, chanting. I felt the island shake, and then it started to rise! It didn’t take a genius to figure this out. Spider’s Island is a giant spider! It growled, and all the spiders bowed down. Derek walked in front and whispered something in (I guess) its ear. The spider growled again, and every spider backed away quickly. Then, Dale walked in front holding his spiked spider whiskey. The spider growled again, and he smiled. Every spider, besides Derek, looked frightened. Then, the spider went back down, and every spider crawled back to their caves. I have to report to Professor Fly!

Hi, Professor Fly reporting. I found out the spider was a giant spiked sea spider. Also, I translated the growls:

Growl one: WELCOME! DEREK, GIVE ME YOUR REPORT.

Growl two: YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING?!

Growl three: GOOD JOB, DALE. KEEP WORKING ON YOUR PART.

I don’t know what he was talking about. It all sounds strange. I’m sure it all fits together, but to what? Why was he asking about a report? Why did he congratulate Dale, and why did he complain about Derek not doing anything? Everything just didn’t make sense! Well, I’ll report to Fly now.

Okay, I just got news from AF and Prof. Fly that Spider’s Island is a giant spider! How am I supposed to stay here for a week? I’m so scared. Hold on, Derek and Dale just came back. I’m pretending to go to sleep. See you tomorrow, guys!

 

THURSDAY 5:00

You guessed it, the morning.

I was so tired from last night’s investigation that when I got up, I immediately went back to sleep. Derek shouted at me, and we all went outside to the usual routine. I — I mean — AF, Prof. Fly, and I had decided to call the plan Operation Expose. We had to find out more and leak the secrets of this place. I was a lot more careful when I went outside, knowing that I was hovering above a giant spider. Anyways, I’m going to let Prof. Fly take the floor for now.

Hey there! Okay, so our next big plan is to find out what the spider was talking about. I have a few guesses, but I can’t be precisely accurate until I find some concrete evidence. Since I haven’t really found anything yet, I’ll just end my words here.

Okay, Fly back here. I kinda have some explaining to do. Prof. Fly ran into Derek this afternoon.

He said, “Stop doing your stupid games, Fly.”

You might be confused. Well, Prof. Fly, Agent Fly, and others that might come in after aren’t relatives, twins, brothers, friends, or any of that. They’re just… me, the weirdo Fly with a bunch of secret identities because he’s not happy about who he is. Even if you do wanna walk away now, stay for this next bit. It’s the one everyone’s been waiting for.

 

7:00 (AT NIGHT)

My mom walked towards me. She explained the biggest reason she wanted to come to Spider’s Island was to see… my dad. I looked up. What? My dad had never been a subject at my house. Derek seemed to hate him and said he was an unemployed loser who died by trying to fly in a paper airplane. My mom just kept quiet. I got up and followed her.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure everybody knew we weren’t going to literally see him. You guessed it, we went to the cemetery. We stood in front of his grave.

“Derek lied. He wasn’t unemployed, or a loser, or died by a paper airplane accident. He was a hero of war,” she said. I kept looking at his grave.

 

Frank Fly

2018-2018

Died from the great revolution and was swatted by a human. He was a great hero and will always be remembered for his actions.

 

I felt a tear trickling down my face. My dad. A hero of war. Everyone had made fun of me for the story that Derek had told everyone.

“He was also a hero to our family. His grave was put on Spider’s Island because nobody remembered him for what he did,” my mom replied.

I stared into my reflection in the water. For a second, I saw myself as my dad. A uniform, badges, waiting to enter battle. He had done it all for us. The family. No matter how weird everyone may think I am, me, Prof. Fly and Agent Fly are going to solve Operation Expose. Not for the fame or to rub it into Derek’s face, but for my dad and my family. I raced off to my hideout. Then, I spotted Dale, and he spotted me. I didn’t run away. I didn’t hide. I flew right towards him. Let me just say, this is one of my favorite parts…

“Well, well, well. Loser Fly has come to spread his disease,” Dale smirked. I stepped in front of him.

“How do you think the Federal Insect Prison will react when they find out you’re illegally spiking spider whiskey without a license? And last time I checked, selling spider whiskey without a license and being younger than 30 is five years of prison,” I told him.

“Aww, and where’s your proof?” Dale asked, mocking me. “I’ve been spiking and selling since I was four.”

I brought out a key chain. “This happens to be a recorder, Dale. Let’s see, four years, that’s about eight years in prison,” I said, clicking the button and skipped ahead. I’ve been spiking and selling since I was four.  “There’s my proof. You just unleashed a powerful demon, and that demon can send you to prison or a lot of places that are even worse. So, what’s it gonna be, Dale?”

He looked like he wanted to punch me, but then he and his posse walked away. I almost felt like breakdancing right there. I did it! I never stood up to anybody before. (Well, unless you count the school bully Bane, the Desert Scarab, but if you’ve read The (Rather Unfair) Life of a Housefly: Story Swap, then you’ll probably know that it didn’t end well.) I realized I should have used my brains instead of my imaginary muscles and probably saved myself a lot of pain.

Suddenly, as I flew towards the cave, the island shook. I knew what it meant. Gigantic spider freak island was rising up. It stared me straight in the eyes. It growled, but I’m pretty sure it meant: “YOU’LL PAY!”

I stared at it. I didn’t move. I wasn’t going to try and fight it. Then, I held up an air horn. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

Millions of sergeants from the FIP or Area 62 (Area 51 for Insects) flew towards the spider. They shot thousands and thousands of darts until it fell to the ground.

“Thanks for the tip, kid,” one agent said.

“Don’t forget my price,” I mentioned. He gave me a shiny badge. Agent Fly was officially in business with his own agent tag! Then, I ran into Derek. He looked even angrier than the spider.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” he yelled.

To be continued…

 

A Day in the Life

        

Chapter One

Scritch… Scratch… Scribble… The sound of graphite scraping across a sheet of plain paper filled my head. I zeroed in on the story I was writing, for that was all that was important. Ms. Carter’s lecture of something or other slithered in one ear and out the other. I crouched down over the paper, letting my writing spill out over the page…

“Chase!”

The voice pierced through my wall of words, and I jerked my head up. The entire class was staring in my direction, and Ms. Carter was looking at me expectantly. I shuffled my work so that my math notebook covered the sheet of paper with the short story.

“Um… what was the question again?” I asked nervously.

“Weren’t you listening?” piped up Jake.

Ms. Carter shot him a reprimanding look but turned back to face me. “Fifty-seven divided by three. We were working on Katherine’s problem, remember?”

“It’s Kate!” shouted Kate, defensively.

Shooting Kate a sympathetic look, Ms. Carter said, “Okay, sorry. Chase, we were working on Kath — err, Kate’s problem — ”

“Nineteen,” I blurted.

“Huh?” Ms Carter asked. A genuine look of surprise fell upon her face — she didn’t think I could do it. I could tell. A couple other kids, too, stared at me in shock.

“The answer. Uh — fifty-seven divided by three. It’s nineteen.”

A wide grin slowly settled on Ms. Carter’s face. “Yes, that is correct. Now, who can tell me where nineteen fits into… ”

Her words morphed into senseless babble, and I became enveloped in my story again. Thankfully, Ms. Carter ignored me for the long rest of the period, and I had jotted down ten pages of my messy handwriting by the time the bell rang.

Our bell was the old-fashioned ring, and by seventh grade, it had become a primal instinct to jump up as soon as you heard it. That’s exactly what happened, and the second the sound fell upon our ears, the class jumped up and ran out the room. But since I was a neat freak, I took five minutes to get ready because I had to put my writing in the folder, put the folder in my bag, and swing the bag over my shoulder.

I was just walking out when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Ms. Carter said, “I’m going to let you doodle in class, just… try to pay attention, okay?” I nodded and continued my jog to the door.

Once outside, I had to run down two floors and turn a couple corners to get to ELA and was late once again. The door was open; the class was already inside. I sighed. The teacher, Mr. Williams, handed me a small slip of paper as I walked in. As soon as I had settled down in my usual seat, I briefly glanced at it at it. In a bold print it read:

It Is Your Duty To Be On Time! This Is A Warning — Next Time You Will Get Detention!

This was a new system Mr. Williams had put into play. I vaguely remembered him going over it last class. I sighed again and stuffed the slip deep in my bag where it would never be seen again.

“Who can tell me what a noun is?” I looked up to see Mr. Williams pretending to look around the room but actually looking directly at me.

I bit my lip to keep from retorting. Everyone knew what a noun was! We had covered it in fourth grade! He must be doing this to make me look like an idiot. Well, I would prove him wrong. My anger seemed to drown out the rest of the world as I answered.

“A per — ” I started, but Jake, sitting right across from me, interrupted saying, “A person, place, or thing, Mr. Williams.”

Confused, I looked at Jake, then back to Mr. Williams. “I asked Jake,” he explained, seeming annoyed. Jake smirked at me and then went back to explaining what a noun was. I gritted my teeth and reached in my bag for the writing folder, pulled my current story out, and started writing. I wasn’t that far into the story when someone spoke. “So… what did you get as your answer?”

I whipped my head around to find Emma, a classmate, staring at me expectantly. Her smooth, lush brown hair was swept over her shoulder, and her a picture is worth 100 words shirt blew in the gentle breeze that came from Mr. Williams huge, black fan that he kept in the corner.

“Umm… it’s… er… ” I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Emma bit her lip. “Your answer. For, you know, the question… ?”

I breathed slowly. “I dunno,” I started. “What… what did you get?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and swept her hair back over her shoulder. “C’mon, Chase. Didn’t you hear him? He said list five examples of a noun. What are your five examples?”

Right then, Mr. Williams walked by our table. I quickly copied everyone else at the table and flipped open my ELA notebook. He leaned over, eying everybody’s work, and whether he noticed that the writing on the open page was from last month or not, he said nothing. Relief clouded my thoughts.

Suddenly, Mr. Williams turned back, his red beard and hair seeming especially menacing. He spoke in a disappointed tone. “Chase… I strongly advise you to see me after school for extra help.” He then continued his slow walk by the tables.

Next to me, Emma’s eyes widened. “Damn. What d’you think you did?”

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

Ant that wasn’t a lie. I was actually doing decently in his class, with a 90 average — which was more than I could say about my other subjects. Maybe, he had seen my work, or lack thereof. Or he just disliked me.

For the rest of the period, I just sat still and tried to listen to what Mr. Williams was saying. But it was hard — I just wanted to write, to zoom out from the rest of the world, and to focus on the worlds that I created.

That was all I wanted to do.

This time, I was prepared for the bell. The boy on my other side, John, had so much work sprawled out on the table that I put my own supplies away early and acted like John’s work was actually mine. Then when the bell did rang, I was ready and leaped out of my seat and bolted out of the room, ahead of everybody else.

Our homeroom was another three floors up, so I didn’t take my time. Once I was about halfway there, another kid, Mason, caught up with me and elbowed me in the ribs gently. “Yo, what’s up? What was that about?”

“What do ya mean? From the warning slip Williams handed me, or Jake the Jerk, or the extra help that I was ‘encouraged to go to?’” I asked sarcastically.

Mason choked on air. “Dude — an after-school extra help? Damn. Are you failing or somethin’?”

“Nope. I’m cruisin’ with, like, a ninety average. He just hates me,” I said, sighing.

There was a creak as Mason pushed open one of the large double doors that separated the stairwell from the hall.

“So… what’s up with your crush?” Mason asked excitedly.

“Not again, Mason.”

“No — Emma is legit your crush! You can’t hide it!”

“No. I refuse to admit something that’s not true!”

“Seriously, Chase; don’t try to hide it. I bet — I bet she knows it!”

I sighed and gave in. “Don’t you dare tell her.”

“Whatever. I swear, though, the second you let me, it’ll be in the newspaper.”

“Oh, sure — your private newspaper.”

Our conversation was brought to a halt when we reached our homeroom. Our science teacher, Mr. Lee, was standing outside the door to our class, talking to one of his students. Mason and I were first to line up behind Mr. Lee, but the 28 other members of our class soon walked up behind us.

Mr. Lee motioned for us to walk in without a glance. We did so. Then it occured to me to ask Mason for the extra help. He was an honors kid and probably knew what to do.

“Hey — about that detention… ?”

Mason, currently in the middle of throwing some books into his locker, looked at me. “Skip it.”

This caught me off guard. “Wait — skip it?”

“Dude, yeah. He was probably, like, joking or something,” Mason replied.

I slowly shook my head. “No… I don’t think so. I think he meant it… ”

Mason shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll go bash some stormtroopers on my own then.”

“Face it, dude — we both know you can’t even survive that game on your own.”

“I’ll try,” Mason insisted, shoving some books into his old Flash backpack. “And if I succeed, then I have the bragging rights.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “Nah. I’ll skip it. You’re probably right anyway, he just despises me.”

He was probably right. My best guess was that Mr Williams would just going to lecture me about being responsible and doing my work — and boy, had I heard that lecture too many times.

The bell rang again, bringing me back to my senses. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and followed the rest of the class out of the classroom, down three floors, and to the entrance of the school.

As I was being pushed out by the rush of students struggling to get out the main door, I saw Mr. Williams walking and caught his eye for a split second. He gave me a disappointed look. I turned away, but a feeling that seemed like guilt seemed to weigh me down.

“So, explain to me again — how do you become a hero in Battlefront?” Mason asked, coming up next to me.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Do you seriously still not know? Even, like, my sister knows!”

It went on like this until Mason and I had arrived at my house, when we waved, vowed revenge in Battlefront, and I spent a while fidgeting with my keys and unlocking the door. Once I succeeded, I walked inside slowly.

“Chase? You there?” a voice — my mom — called.

I kicked off my shoes and threw my backpack on the floor.

“Yeah, I’m home.”

 

The Rebirth Cycle

It started again, the rebirth cycle. Once a month, I change into another person. Different age, different height, different me. Now, I am a girl, Maria, sixteen years old and living in Ohio. My high school is called something like New Ohio High School. I’m scared. Whatever happens, love or friendships, after a month, it’ll all go away. What did I do to deserve this? Anyway, I’m tired of this cycle. It has ruined my life in every way. I have to go and start this new life of mine.

On the way to school, I try to avoid everyone. I look down and never look up at anyone. I pull my hoodie over my head and sit down silent and invisible. Feeling invisible felt good, no friendships and no love ruining my life.

“Hey, are you new?” asks someone over my shoulder. The voice sounds sarcastic and scratchy. I turn around, and all I see is a body full of glitter. The earrings, clothes, and lip gloss are all covered in glitter. I lay my head back in the fold my arms are in. I sit there, not moving until she asks me again in an angry voice. I lift my head, trying my best to keep my anger down and not let my anger get my magic out of control. The lights go out, and the teacher locks the door, assuming this was some lockdown. But I know it was my powers that turned off the lights. After my anger fled away, the lights started to flicker back on. I look up, acting surprised, so that no one assumes it was me.

We all go back to our seats. Ms. Johnson points to the board and starts to gabble about science and chemistry. I look back because I felt something hit my head. I hear snorts and giggles from Ms. Glitter Girl. I look behind me and see lined paper crumpled up in a perfect, round ball. I open it up and there, written in pretty, pink cursive is, “Don’t think I don’t know it was you who made these lights go pitch black. Have a bad day. Sincerely, The Best.” I rip it up and throw it into the trash can.

This boy walks over to her. I notice his beautiful, short, curly black hair. His brown eyes matched his precious smile. I look down at my hands, fidgeting on my desk, as I overhear his sweet angel voice say, “Why would you do that? I know what you wrote. You don’t even know her!” I quickly turn my head, trying to hide my smile, as the girl gives me this ugly face and rolls her eyes at me. The boy whispers something so quiet that I can’t hear. When he finishes, he looks at me. I wanted that moment to last forever, the moment that our eyes met. He smiled. I smiled back. It felt special and unique. There are so many words I can put into this moment.

Ring! Ring! I stand up, and so does everyone else. I grab my stuff as I quickly run to my locker. I shove all of my chemistry books into it before they fall out. I have to get home before anyone sees me. I go outside and hide behind the thin pole at the far corner of the school. I open my backpack and whisper into it, “Bring me home.”

As I start to fade, I overhear his voice again saying, “You dropped your — ” He stops and stares at me as I start to fade more. I close my eyes and hope that he will forget about this by tomorrow.

As the next day begins, I want to forget him. I hope he will forget me too. I look down and pull my hoodie over my head. I go to my classes and glance at the normies on the way. I can’t help but stop and stare at him one more time. I try to avoid any questions from anybody that comes my way. I go into class, put my bag down, and look around. Everyone is staring at me and the boy’s empty seat. I’m scared and shocked, but I don’t let it show. Halfway into class, he comes rushing in and stares at me, not talking. I stare back into his dreamy eyes. In every class from that day onward, I can’t help but daydream about some unrealistic fantasy. Days and classes go by, and I miss him for some odd reason. I think about him all the time.

Science class: glass shattering and terrible smells spreading around the room. Students screaming in laughter, girls checking their nails and me. I am doing the task written on the board, my blue goggles tightly strapped onto me, and my oversized white lab coat with my name printed over the top left pocket.

“Ms. Nervig, please report to the principal’s office now.” I hear the cutting beep at the end of the message, the light click of a button. Everyone stares at me, and I hear “Ooh’s” around the lab. My teacher looks at me as if I have done something brutal. I drop my things, throw the thin, blue gloves into the trash bin, and walk out of class. The cold air from the hallway glides past me in a rush. I have questions flying in my mind like paper airplanes. Why am I going to the principal’s office? I stop, everything stops moving, and one question shoots me hard, Have they found out?

I don’t even have to question it. I already know what it meant. Have they found out my secret? The secret that my family has kept for years, that nobody else knows, and that nobody else should ever know, Have they found out? I take a deep breath and push the heavy glass door out of my way.

I see Ms. Lynch setting up boxes and boxes of tissues all around her desk. I am startled, and everything begins to slow down. She looks at me. She isn’t mad or upset with me. She is sad for me. I sit down with my legs crossed and my hands tied. She looks up at me and offers a box of tissues. I kindly decline. She looks up at the ceiling, wipes her tears, looks down at me, and says, “Ms. Nervig, your uncle. Your uncle has um… Has uh… ” I can see in her voice and eyes that this is hard for her.

I hold her hand and say, “What is it?”

She looks up at me and whispers, “Your uncle passed away.”

My mouth drops, and I take a tissue box. Tears go pouring down, and sooner or later, the ground will be flooded with my dreadful tears. I kindly say, “Thank you for the information, Ms. Lynch. I have to get back to class.” I stand up to leave. I clench my fists and yell. The lights on the ceiling flicker, and the ground moves slightly. I wipe my tears as I run out of school and to my house. The tree of my mother was weeping, and the house was darker and smaller. It was silent, and the echo was spreading more. I begin to sulk and cry. The tears were weak.

I am Andhera, Andhera Hacke. I am at the park four blocks away with an old, dusty notebook laying flat on my ripped, black jeans. My thick, dyed black hair is in a tight, squished bun, and my leather jacket gleamed from the sun’s heat. I am lost, scared, alone. There’s a pigeon under the bench munching on my leftovers. Life is filled with different things and animals that people don’t see. The pigeon’s eyes are so precious and glowy. When its feet start to lift up and its light, delicate wings start to flap, the beak is so sharp yet so small. The wings spread wider and wider, and the eyes stare over the skyline as it soars like a sharp feather. I look back down at my father’s book that was left over. I put the diary in my black, ripped bag and pull down my hair to let the breeze flow through it. I tiptoed further into the forest to the abandoned cottage I saw on the way to school. I put on my gloves before I hurt anything or anyone.

Bump! I look up and see a reflection of me, eyes of a stressful past, holding a s’mores frappuccino that is half empty.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I hear her say. She’s annoyed, and she pushes me to the side and walks ahead. I suddenly realize that I always back down, that I am always worrying about what I say. It was the same when I was in a car crash at the age of six.

I was in the backseat holding my old, sticky stuffed animal. We were on a bridge alone. My mother was in the front seat yelling at me. I could replay those moments on a loop. I had therapy for ten years, and I still struggle with PTSD. That was the last day I saw any family member of mine, and the last words that my mother spoke were, “You are a disgrace to everyone! As soon as we get there, I will — ” Then, we tipped and fell.

“Hey! I didn’t bump into you! You went into my path, bitch!” She slowly turns around, throws off her bag, looks over at me, and says, “What did you just say?” with an evil eye.

I immediately regret what I just said. That wasn’t me at all! I shake my head and quietly say, “Nothing, sorry.” I try to back away, but she turns me around and smiles. I’m confused. I didn’t expect this. As she smiles and shakes my hand, I shake hers back.

I walk back to the bench after school, and I see that pigeon again. I forget to put on my protection gloves and without realizing, I reach out my hands. I bend down and pet the pigeon’s feather wings, and suddenly its eyes turn white and then black and then it falls down. I put my two fingers against its precious neck, and I can’t feel a pulse. I put on my gloves, open my diary, and write, “Accidental Death #563, pigeon dead by touch of wing, time of death: 5:18 p.m. under bench.” I draw a small heart in the corner, lock it back up, and put it in my bag. I put the pigeon in a dark, red, lacy box and dig a hole underneath the tree. I say, “I’m sorry,” as tears pour down my face. I feel so guilty about how my first day in this new place went. I just bounced right back.

***

I tremble further and further into the tunnel underneath the forest. Andhera is crouching and holding tightly onto her bag. Her combat boots are loose, and they make the leaves rustle. “Are you sure about this?” I can see that Andhera immediately regrets this, and she is too afraid to move another step forward.

I sit down in the tunnel and look at her. I say, “Yes, I am completely sure, and we aren’t backing out now.” Andhera looks up, down, left, and right. Then, she looks at me with guilt. I roll my eyes, trying to avoid making eye contact with her puppy eyes as I yell, “Don’t make me regret doing this for us. We have come all this way to finally face this man! Since the day you made me think that you were a stalker, I knew that you could help me and that I could help you to find out who the heck cursed us! So, yes! I am sure about this and whatever you say I will — Andhera?” I can see that she wants to say something, but her mouth is open with no sound coming out. I move closer to her and whisper, “What is it?” She shakes her head and says nothing like it was… nothing. I knew that there was something. She pulls out a piece of paper from her bag, ripped, burned, and with thick ink written all over it. I turn around. The rustling of the leaves stops and everything stays still, pure silence. Tears pour down her face, and suddenly the tunnel is a flood filled with her tears. I read the paper out loud since she handed it to me. It is rusty and old, and it smells like blood.

I say in a low, deep voice, “Dear Andhera, my sweet daughter. I have fought and lost for you. Your mother said that I shouldn’t come home again because of my dangerous uncontrollable powers. I put this note in my old bag because I knew that one day you would be at Southside Racket Forest, looking for me. I gave you this power because I knew that one day you would want to find me. I have to go darling. I love you.”

I realize that we’re at the end of the tunnel. I stand up, and Andhera comes after me. We look at the sign pole, and there are arrows and signs everywhere with names of places. We look high up on the pole, and it says in thick black marker, “You are now at Southside Racket Forest.” We look at each other and then back down at the letter. We can blindly see a small cottage behind all the oak trees and a bloody sign saying, “Welcome to Hacke’s studio.” Andhera runs forward, and I grab her hand.

I tell her honestly, “Your father could be the murderer of mine. Your father gave you this terrible curse, your father made people forget about me after a month, your father — ”

She lets go and screams, “But what if he is actually a good person. That’s what I wanna know!” She lets go as she runs to the cottage. I am now standing here, still afraid for Andhera. I have no hope for her father. I slowly creep behind the cottage, looking through the back broken glass pane window. I see an elderly man hiding next to the door, waiting for an arrival. He looks nothing like Andhera, and he is sliced open on the neck, the blood still dripping, and the bone sliced in half as if it was broken. A knife on the floor, clean as a window wiper. I can hear Andhera screaming. I get out my bow and arrow and drop everything else as I run in. I see another elderly man holding Andhera by the throat with a gun to her head. I can see Andhera struggling to get loose. I try to calm him down, but I am afraid to move to close to the gun. Unfortunately, I am too late. I hear a gunshot, and Andhera’s heart stops beating while my heart turns cold. The only person I understand is gone. I go down to the floor and pull the bow and arrow out of her bag.

I stand back up and scream, “Back off, bitch! Now you live in my world!” Then, he punches me in the face, and the world blacks out. The sounds of an open breeze and the feel of a warm buzzing head on scratchy wooden floors. My eyes are frozen cold and shut closed; the sight of pitch black and the feeling of being unable to move. The voice yelling help and the warm soft feeling of a hand holding mine. And the empty silence of no one coming. And the silent cries of a loved one…

 

Solitude

        

Part One: My Secret

 

Chapter One

I am different than the others. It is just the way I am. I’m used to the insults, the bullies, and the segregation. But, there is one thing keeping me going: the fact that I am unique. My name is Tor, and I am a lion. With wings. I know, I know. It’s weird, but I was just born that way. Even though I cannot fly yet, my wings are very helpful.

They help with keeping my temperature in check, fending off enemies, and jumping higher. In a way, I am grateful for my wings, but part of me just wants to be… normal.

***

“He did not!” she says. I laugh first, and then all the others join me. Cerla is our comedian. She knows how and when to tell jokes. I have a small gang of five friends: Cerla, Tou, Yero, Talika, and me. They are the only ones who admire my wings, although they don’t have any. I really do not want to lose them. I feel the wind blowing in my shallow mane as we make our way home.

“Oh, yes he did,” says Talika. “He just walked up to him, smacked him in the face, claws unsheathed, and before you know it, he gets reported to Taren.”

We all drop our jaws involuntarily. Talika and Cerla bring us daily news. We are used to surprises, so we always expect something new. They’ve always been the first ones to know everything that occurs within the pride. We walk in unison on the dusty, red sanded trail leading to our pride. It is early evening, and we should have dinner ready for us in a few hours. When we arrive, we are greeted by a loud roar from my father, the leader of our pride.

He trots over to us and growls, “You are late, my son.”

“Late for what?” I say, sounding childish.

“You are late for… your mother’s… funeral.”

His words sting me, and my soul collapses to the ground. I shut my eyes and let the tears flow silently. She is gone. Lost forever. It becomes hard to breathe as I walk to her den. I spend the rest of the day there. At daybreak, I am the only one awake. I still feel sad about my mother. But now, on top of that, I feel angry about something. I decide to go hunting and spot a herd of zebras down by the river. I trot toward them until I get into earshot. I stay as low as possible in the tall grass. I slowly crawl through the grass. I keep my wings hidden so that I do not reveal my location to my prey. But my wings are too large, and I startle the herd. I growl at myself, and I feel embarrassed. I return to the pride. I lie in my den for hours before I decide that it is time. Time to fly.

I find a nice, flat area and spread my wings. They are longer and larger than my body, nose to tail tip. I flap them in synchrony, and I lift off the ground. Judging by my results, I will be able to fly. I flap them more times, and I hover off the ground. I am naturally able to move around. I begin to increase my altitude.

“Uhh… Tor? What are you doing up there?” The voice belongs to Talika.

“Uh — I can explain,” I say.

“No explanation needed,” she says, softly.

Her grace distracts me, and I fall out of the sky and land on my back. “Ow,” I say, blandly.

She walks over to me. “You okay?” she asks, genuinely.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply. I get up and shake off the dirt. “How did you know I was out here?” I ask her.

“I — felt it,” she says. Her fur blows in the breeze. No, wind. It grows stronger. And stronger.

“Oh no,” I say. “Not this again.”

***

“Tor, my son, Talika, thank you for reporting this. Both of you head for the shelter. I will take it from here.”

We immediately follow my father’s instructions. We sprint across our territory to the shelter. I look behind us and see a large storm cloud and a funnel descending toward the ground. We finally reach the shelter. Once inside, we cuddle up next to each other.

“Do you think this one could be the worst one so far?” Talika asks, with genuine fear.

“Possibly,” I reply.

The column of death still rages on. I am even more afraid now, and I can feel Talika shaking. She closes her eyes. I consider doing the same, but I choose not to. I hear a terrifying noise. Two trees have fallen in front of the shelter’s entrance. How convenient, I think. I can still hear howling winds above us. I can feel my heart sinking as I remember how my mother died. About a quarter season ago, a weaker storm hit us. A warning went out, but my mother and a few other lionesses were out hunting. They heard the tornado and came running back to assist us. But, they arrived too late. They were at least a mile away when they noticed the storm. They had arrived just when the storm hit. The other lionesses escaped danger with minor injuries, but my mother… got… impaled by a piece of sharp rock. We managed to keep her alive for a while, but the wound soon got infected, and even though we had adequate resources to save her, she had told my father these exact words, “Stop. Stop wasting your resources on me. I won’t get much better than I already am. Just let go. Let go.” That was two days ago.

***

So much damage has been done. Everywhere we look, there are toppled trees and torn up land, but what is most horrifying to us are the dead lions and lionesses everywhere. We trot around our territory, and we find something terrifying.

“Oh no. Please no. Father. Wake up. WAKE UP!!!

My father had been impaled, just like my mother, only he won’t walk away from this one. I realize my wailing is useless, and I pull myself together. I look beside me and see Talika. Staring. At my father’s body. No. There is a lioness behind him. Talika’s mother. I watch her as she sheds a single tear and walks away slowly. I cough, noticing all the dust around. But, another frightening thing strikes me. We are the only ones left. Our friends, our family, it’s all gone now. I summon all the power in my voice and let out a single roar. It lasts about half a minute, and I take a breath and roar again. This time, Talika joins me. We only have each other now. Only each other.

 

Chapter Two

“We’ll be fine, Talika,” I say, trying and failing to see any bright side to this.

We are in my old den, as it was the least damaged one. Talika has been crying for a while now. I have been providing her with food, what little water is around, and another thing. Love. I am thinking about confessing my feelings to her, but this is definitely not the right time. I have had a small (that’s a lie) crush on her for the past three cycles. I have been very confused about why I had these feelings. At first, I just wanted us to be friends. Anyway…

“How can you be sure about that, Tor?” she says.

“I’m not.” And I mean it. I don’t know what will happen to us.

“Tor, you’re always so honest,” she whispers to me. “And kind. And brave.” I must admit, I was not expecting her to say that. “I love you, Tor.” Now, I’m really confused.

“I… I… ” I consider all things I could say. I could confess right now or wait for a better moment. I make my decision immediately. “That gives my something to think about,” I say.

***

We’ve been staying in this place for twelve cycles. We’ve been feeding off the dead carcass of a buffalo, which has kept and is keeping us fed. I have also been having peculiar outbursts of anger. I try to keep them to myself, but sometimes I can’t contain it, and I leave the den for a destructive walk. Seriously, you should see the paths of destruction I make on these walks; I have very few paths to walk along and destroy now. Anyway, now I’ve voluntarily taken on the role of scouting for a better place to stay. We cannot venture out in the open very often; there are creatures that could easily have us for dinner. I look around the barren landscape, still scattered with lion remains. I shudder at the sight and decide to focus elsewhere. I venture further away from our “den” and find nothing. I sprint back to the den, everything around me becoming a blur of nature. I eventually reach it and shake my head at Talika. Her response surprises me, “That’s fine!”

***

Everything seems to be spinning now. I feel dizzy all the time, but Talika doesn’t, which I find strange. I don’t tell her, but I have had sleepless nights since the day of destruction. I keep waking up at night and roaring at the heavens, cursing at them for causing us so much pain.

***

I feel so alone. I have the power of flight… sort of… but I am hesitant to use it.

***

We have stayed in the same place for — well — I kind of lost track of how long, but I know that it is time to get moving. We eventually have to escape this dark, moist, cold place. I have had plenty of time to practice basic flying, though.

 

Part Two: Flight

 

Chapter Three

“Okay, okay. Don’t worry. I’ve got this!” I yell down to her. “I can do this!” As soon as I jinx it, a flock of vultures head my way, and I freeze in place as the images become larger and larger. “Oh, sh — ” I say, or start to say, as they come crashing into me. I fall to the ground and finish what I was going to say. “… it,” I finish unnecessarily. I see her triumphant face lingering over me.

“You were saying?” she says, before helping me up.

Our relationship became somewhat competitive since we started, well, you know. I feel like a huge burden that I have been carrying for a long time has finally been lifted. The burden being our feelings for each other. I shake the dust and dirt from my pelt as soon as I rise.

We decided that we would become nomadic for a while, moving from place to place. Sometimes we see vast open plains with scarcely any trees, and sometimes we see plant life everywhere. I don’t even think we’ve been to the same place twice.

 

Realities

           

Protologue

EARTH 65

DIMENSION THREE

LOCATION: NOWHERE

It wasn’t long. My friends finally defeated Crugo using the Particle Accelerator on Earth One in Dimension Two. I hope that the rest of the team is alright. The minute I came to this place, it was in a flash of red. After that, it was just darkness. Where I am is a mystery. All I know is that this place is wonderful, and what I’ve been through is a great part of my life. Here’s the story.

 

Chapter One: Beginning of the End

EARTH ONE

DIMENSION THREE

LOCATION: WALL STREET

It all started when I was eleven. Some wizards and witches came and blew a hole into the atmosphere, and magic came out and spread everywhere like a virus until three weeks later it stopped. My name is Kelvin, and the world was under Savage’s command. We were slaves doing the trash that he could’ve done. You see, the world has changed. Many things can happen… in a lightspeed, a flash, slow, or even go through mirrors and earths?

Yes, earths. We aren’t the only world that exists with its own solar system. There are many worlds. Some can even travel to them by breaking the speed of light and the dimensional barrier, creating a wormhole called a breach. Those are called breachers. Breachers create breaches that can travel through time and space. That’s where most of our problems came from. They had a breacher named Geo. He recently died to spare our lives. He was a good hero. So yeah, why did he spare our lives? Well, no one knows why. He told us to run. I know he was serious, so we ran. Being on the run makes me feel like an outlaw. It’s terrible. There’s really nothing to do but run. The best thing to do is to trust yourself. There is no one you can trust when the world is fighting for power.

Twenty years later…

I’ve gotten used to this world. Newcomers come to us every night. What do I mean by “we?” Well, a few years back, I met up with my former survivors. We split up the minute we were running. Figured it was for the best. Josh and Jade went north. I went east. Kelly and Norah went south. We met up where we all split up.

“I know this might be weird but… I found this cool place in the east side. There’s this cave full of materials. I think other survivors were here before us.”

So we all decided that we should check it out. We gathered our stuff that we gathered over 30 years ago and went off.

A few minutes later…

“Here it is.”

We entered the cave. It wasn’t light out, so I used sticks and created a mini torch. At the end of the cave, there was a small box. A journal was found and also some materials to build a min five-person spaceship. The journal was all burned though, but there was a name left…

“Alex Lucas?”

“Who’s Alex Lucas?”

We went on to build the spaceship and went off. Thinking about the mysterious person named Alex Lucas was interesting. There were definitely more survivors out there. We just needed to find them.

 

Chapter Two: Location: Dead Zone

We reached the Dead Zone. This place was radioactive and also contained a beast named The Reaper Leviathan. One page was saved in the journal. It said that the Reaper Leviathan carries a stone. There’s also a small picture of the stone.

“Hey, that’s one of the stones! See… ”

The moment I went into the escape pod to get off earth, I found a page on the sidewalk showing all the stones. This was one of them. All of them grant power of any kind but only have a limited number of uses.

Location: Earth One Dimension Four

“It’s almost out of juice!” yelled Josh.

“What?!” I answered.

“Yeah, it’s about to die on us. We better get moving fast before we get stuck here,” answered Josh.

“Okay, let’s go everyone.”

It had been four years since we found the first stone. We found an archaeologist that also managed to escape earth. Later, he helped us learn how to use it… but the “The Core” found him and grabbed him off the dead side of the moon, and we never saw him again. Well, we’d been using this stone for four years, and now it’s about to die on us. This could be the end…

“Need any help?”

“Uhh… ”

In my head, I was like, Who are you… ?

“Name’s Bart. I’m one of you.”

“One of… us?”

“Yeah, one of you guys. A metagene,” said Bart.

“Metagene… ?”

“Here… ” Bart handed a piece of paper to Josh.

“Metagene… a person with special abilities created by mixing different genes together,” I read out loud.

“Wait wait. Hold up… you’re saying that we didn’t get our powers from the Particle Accelerator?”

“Afraid so… ” answered Bart.

“You’ve got your powers from magic,” said Bart.

A few years later…

The door creaked.

“So… this is Star Labs.”

“OH GOD!” screamed Josh.

“What? What?”

“Is… is… that a body?”

“Oh god… it is… ”

Both Josh and Kelvin threw up.

“Aww no… c’mon. Why here?”

“So, how do your powers work again?” asked Jade.

“So, my vibe comes from energy, and it kinda relates to age as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it uses energy, so if I’m old, my energy would go lower, and if I run out of energy, I’ll run out of vibe.”

“Basically in short, I need energy for my vibe powers.”

“Would you guys hurry up and stop talking?”

“Alright, Jade.”

We were sent on a recon mission to find some news. Some said that the Triceratops recently found a new stone and were currently mining it out. They were right. They weren’t even close to getting it. The sensor said the stone was 567 meters deep. Only we had the tech to drill it down. We were heading back to headquarters until Josh sneezed so loud.

“Shhh.”

“Sorry… I had a runny nose.”

“HEY! GET THEM!” yelled a Triceraton miner.

“RUN!”

We ran through the caves like mad men, dodging every single laser they fired at us. With the help of Jade’s sonic chi bouncing every corner into bits, everything turned into dust. We were gasping every turn we took, running for our lives, feeling the wind getting colder and colder as we slowly got closer to the light. You know those movie scenes when the main characters are in a chase scene and they are so close until they get trapped. Well, that was what happened but… plot twist!

“Hey, Josh. A hand?”

“Right.” Josh teleported everyone out.

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Josh helped us teleport out of that situation, and after that, we ran, ran as fast as we could. We didn’t want to be part of that any longer. We reported back to HQ, and we were sent out to get that stone. Bart stayed back so he could be “tested” and “researched,” so we knew more about his powers. We packed up and went back.

“So Josh, are you… and Jade… ”

“Woah, woah, hold up… me and Jade are just friends,” said Josh.

“Ahh!” yelled Jade.

“Jade!” yelled Josh.

Josh grabbed hold of Jade’s hands, with the help of Kelvin.

“Hold on!”

“Okay… ”

Both Josh and Kelvin lifted Jade up to safety. Josh and Jade hugged.

“Just friends, huh?”

“Yeah, okay. You got me.”

After the accident, we headed out with more focus than ever. Jade kept an eye out, just in case she fell again.

 

Chapter Three: Moments later…

We spotted the mining sight we barely escaped before. I felt the shiver sliding down my spine. Even the look of the place gave me the creeps. I hated that place. Not because we nearly died. It was because… my brother was there. Crugo, he was obsessed with power. The Triceratons offered him that if he would kill me and our parents. He couldn’t do it, so they pushed him aside and killed my parents. I guess I was lucky. They took him from me and used him as a slave.

“We’re here,” said Jade.

“Alright, here’s the plan.”

“You guys got it?”

“Yeah,” both Jade and Josh said at the same time.

“JINX!”

“DOUBLE JINX!”

“TRIP — ”

“Alright, alright. You guys are acting like teenagers.”

“Okay fine… stop being a party pooper.”

“Let’s just go.”

We entered the mine, and the first thing we saw was a big, bright light. It was the crystal. We ran to the spot and found out that they had finished digging it out.

“Let’s go… ”

We went on with the plan, fighting and blasting every Triceraton out of our way. I was so angry that I nearly smashed the crystal itself! We grabbed the stone and went off.

“Hand it over,” said a mysterious person.

“Crugo.”

“Yes, brother. Hand the stone over, and we can end this peacefully. Or we could do it the hard way.”

“I vote for the hard way.”

“No… ” said Josh.

“What?!”

“Here… ”

Before Josh handed over the stone, he teleported a cyclops in front of us.

“Woah!”

“Adiós,” said Josh.

Josh teleported us out of there.

“Thanks.”

“Again, what are you guys gonna do without me?” said Josh.

“Uhh, we’ll be fine… ” said Jade.

No you won’t,” said Josh.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Jade. She chuckled.

“Hey Kelv, are you still mad that we were playing around, or it is it because of that Crugo guy?”

Kelvin dozed off.

“Kelv!”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah, it was the guy… ” I answered.

“So, who was he?” asked Josh.

“His name is Crugo. He was my brother, until he became obsessed with power. The Triceratons offered him loads of power if he showed them his loyalty by killing my parents and me. He couldn’t do it, so they did it. I managed to hide, and they never found me during that accident. I saw them take him. He was treated like a slave until he finally got brainwashed by a witch of some sort from Earth Three in Dimension Seven. He was never the same man that I knew.”

“Woah. Tough story, dude,” said Josh.

“Yeah, are you sure you can face him?” asked Jade.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

We carried on with the mission. We got back to HQ and delivered the stone for research. Our specialties from Earth Three in Dimension Seven are wizards and witches. They are experts of these stones because they were the ones who created these stones. They sent them off to different dimensions and earths, so no one could use them for evil. Remember the first stone that was almost dry dead? Well, they recovered it, and now it’s full back in power. Still, Parallax wants it because of its immense power.

“So, what is it?”

“It’s one of the stones,” said one of the witches.

“It’s not just one of them. It’s the first one!” said another.

“There were numbers for these?” I questioned.

“Yeah, meet Alpha One,” said a wizard.

“Wait, hold up. There’s more than one Alpha?” said Josh.

“Yeah, one alpha for each cube. Also, we need all eighteen stones. We’ve only got two. We still need to move on.”

“Speaking of stones, I have an idea of where the rest are,” said Bart.

“So… where?”

“I found this map when I was being tested with my powers. I was breaching through different Dimensions and Realms, and I found this on a dead moon,” said Josh.

“So what? This is a map of all the stones?”

“Yeah,” said Josh.

“How do you know?”

“Look, see this. It’s written by Alex Lucas. The same person who wrote about the stones,” said Josh.

“This guy, Alex Lucas. Who is he?”

“You want to know?” said a wizard.

“Yeah, maybe he could help us.”

 

Chapter Four: Alex

A long, long time ago, about a century, we wizards and witches learned a magical spell that grants powers of the imaginable. For the greater good, we used the power to banish the evil that corrupted our world, for the power was too strong that it could easily corrupt anyone who wanted more. So, we gathered and used all of our might to form the great, mystic power into eighteen stones and kept it away in the three cubes. We gave each of the cubes to three trustworthy people. One of which is Alex Lucas. He was a great man. Until one night, the evil who once struck upon us had returned. Monstruct. He led an army into Alex’s house and invaded his property. Alex managed to escape, but he left an important message saying that he fled to Earth Seven for safety. The message was sealed away in a hidden room only we could find. He said the only way to keep the cube safe was to not follow him. The message was the last thing that belongs to him. As a memory. We managed to banish Monstruct to another realm, hoping that he wouldn’t survive for more than a few months. The realm that we banished him to was the realm of Jotunheim, the land of the giants. Giants were fierce and unstoppable. Only the great gods and goddesses can deal with them.

Moments later…

We were sent on another recon mission to find the third stone. On our way there, we came across this weird spacecraft of some sort. We went to check it out, but then we got invaded.

“Step away from the spacecraft. This is the Triceratons. Step away from the space — hey, it’s those guys from before. Get them!”

Yeah, we were seen. This turned from a good and strategic recon mission to a got-to-get-out-of-here-before-we-get-blasted mission. I felt the wind in my hair blowing as the lasers came flying by, I knew this was going to end well. We ran and ran for a hiding place. Every path we took ended up with a scar or a burn. Every path except one. It was where the spacecraft was. By the look of it, it looked like it had pads that sucked up energy. So we went over and behind it. It worked. The lasers just got sucked up, but they wouldn’t give up.

“Hey, Jade. A hand?”

Jade threw a mini shock cannon. All the Triceratons flew back like some WWE wrestler slammed on the ground knocking everyone out. Then, Bart came out of nowhere and scared the life out of me.

“Jesus Christ, would you please stop doing that?”

“I’ll work on my entrances later, but now you got to go,” said Bart.

“Not without this.”

“What is that?” asked Bart.

“This is what they’re after, apparently.”

“Then let’s go,” said Bart.

We all got vibed out of that situation and immediately reported back to HQ. We brought the spacecraft back to them. You know what they all did. They all looked at it like it was a new popular kid’s TV show from the 1800s.

“Uhm, so any clue what this is and why the Triceratons are after it?”

“Okay, yeah. Right,” said a witch.

“Okay, let’s do some testing,” said a wizard.

“Wait, shouldn’t we take the guy out first.”

“Right,” said a witch.

When we took the cockpit off, we were all surprised for who we found. It was Alex Lucas. He survived the long years since his departure. He was in a state where his body was dissolved, but his mind said he was alive. So the wizards used a spell to move his brain to a body that was made of robotics. Thanks to the wizards and witches, Alex could now tell everything we needed to know to find the rest of the stones. Now you know that we have the data to find the stones. We’re not going to go through all of that. Instead, we’re going to skip a few years or so.

A few years later…

Okay, we’ve gotten all of the stones. On one of our trips, we stumbled across Crugo again. He told us that he got Josh, and if we didn’t hand the stones over, he was going to die. If you didn’t know, Josh was captured, and we thought he died already. We also met two new wizards named Kell and Norah. They’d been useful ever since. We followed Crugo’s plans. Crugo said we would meet at a certain coordinate on a certain date with all the stones. Today was the day. We landed on the dead side of the moon. We had all of the stones in a container. Crugo and his army slowly showed their faces. Then, we saw Josh all beaten like he’d spilled his guts out. Jade was terrified. I mean, her closest friend was nearly dead and was just lying there around 10-15 feet away from us. This was about to get messy. I could tell from the looks of Crugo’s face that there was going to be a 95% chance of punching and kicking ass.

 

Chapter Five: The End of Beginnings

We marched to Crugo, and we both handed the things we promised. We got Josh back, and they got the stones. I was regretting every moment I walked up to Crugo and handed all the stones to him. Once we turned back on each other, I got hit in my waist by a laser.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you!” I yelled in pain.

“Of course not. Why just leave without any fun?” said Crugo.

In a blink of a second, the whole dead side of the moon was brightened with flashing lights as we all used our powers to knock each and every Triceraton down. Then, there was a loud…

“ENOUGH!” yelled a mysterious being.

When we turned our heads facing towards the sky, we saw Parallax, but this was different. His face was all peeled and dissolved. When he miraculously peeled his face off, what we saw was unimaginable. It was Monstruct. He has been planning this all along. Turns out, he was not dead after all.

“Monstruct, how did you survive Jotunheim?” said Norah.

“Well my dear, I happen to use some magic to deal with those stupid giants. You know that gods and goddesses aren’t the only ones who can deal with them. A bit of some Asgardian magic did the job,” said Monstruct.

“Wait, you’re telling me that Asgardians helped you defeat those giants?” said Kelly.

“Yeah, the way I tricked them to help me was telling them that the only way to stop those frost giants is to start a war. You know how Asgardians love wars?” said Monstruct. “Oh, I happen to have brought some frost giants with me as souvenirs. I got lonely on my way back here.”

Then, a portal opened behind him filling the air with a cold breeze, and at least 500, maybe more, frost giants came out.

“It was easy to bargain with them to help me destroy you,” said Monstruct.

Looking back at this in my head, there was an 85% chance of us dying. We all started to fight the frost giants as much as we could. They kept coming and coming. Luckily, we had some magic people on our team. Norah and Kelly and the rest of the wizards and witches held back the frost giants while Josh, Jade, and I beat down the Triceratons to try to get the stones back. Yeah, I know that we should’ve not given them the stones, but we were trying to get Josh back, and also to stop Jade from crying all the time. It was worth it, maybe. At least we got to kick butt and use more of our powers. When we were fighting our way through, I spotted a person behind a rock. I went over there and guess what, he was a survivor from earth. His name was Leo.

“I know what they are planning to do with the stones,” said Leo.

“Uhm, using them for power and maybe killing us all?”

“No, Crugo, your brother… ” said Leo.

“Wait, how did you know he was my brother?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter right now. So Crugo is planning to absorb all of the stones’ power and give it to himself and him alone. With Monstruct by his side, they both can rule the entire multiverse, and maybe destroy half of it,” said Leo.

“Well, I guess we should get moving.”

“We?” asked Leo.

“Yeah, we. Do you know how to use a laser gun?”

“I can try… ” said Leo.

“Okay, here.”

I handed him the laser gun that I grabbed just in case, and from the look of things, I think he knew how to use it perfectly. For some reason, my waist kept hurting whenever I ran. I checked under my shirt, and the part where I got shot at was slowly chipping off. This was bad. We were in mid fight with all of these frost giants and Triceratons and magic going on. I couldn’t risk telling everyone. Although it hurt really bad, I kept on going. Leo ran out of ammo, so I killed this Triceraton and gave Leo another gun to use. This repeated many times until I found this laser gun that ran on magic. Since the whole world was covered by magic because of the accident the wizards and witches caused, everywhere was magic. Norah and Kelly summoned cyclopes and other giants to help us. The ground started to shake with every step the giants and cyclopes took while crackling the moon in half.

As I tried to keep in pace with my team, I saw Josh about to die again. I couldn’t let that happen, and plus I was like half dead, so I ran in front of the gun that the Triceraton was pointed at Josh with. In the moment that he pulled the trigger, I was disintegrated, and I left my team without their leader. This gave Josh the anger to give a walloping punch to a Triceraton in the guts.

***

“Kelvin!” I yelled.

I was in rage when I saw Kelvin die in front of me. I couldn’t hold back my tears. Everyone was in shock. The Triceraton that killed him, I gave him what he deserved, a punch in the guts. I couldn’t stand this anymore. I ran through, teleporting every Triceraton into a molten lava volcano. Almost half of the Triceratons we were fighting were gone. The rest of the team got rid of them. Now it was time to get to Crugo and defeat him and finally go home. We entered Monstruct’s ship and what we saw was a big, bright light. We saw Crugo transfering all the stones’ powers into him.

“Crugo, NO!”

“What?! Why? I want more power. Why should I listen to you?” said Crugo.

“Because your brother, Kelvin, saved my life, and in doing so, lost his.”

“He’s a fool. Save you and kill himself. He should have just let you die, but anyways, thanks Leo, for bringing them here,” said Crugo.

“What? Leo you, you traitor.”

“I was really never on your side. He promised me power if I brought you guys here and especially Kelvin,” said Leo.

“Oh about that, there’s only one thing you’re missing, Leo. I guess you won’t being having any power except death,” said Crugo.

As we saw a big flash of light, Leo was turned into dust. We now saw what the stones’ true powers were. After that, Crugo also killed Monstruct saying that only one can rule the multiverse. Crugo flew off and started to go after earth. That’s where our next plan went in phase. You see, Kelvin knew Leo was a mole from the minute Leo said Crugo is Kelvin’s brother because only we knew. So late at night, Kelvin gathered all of us except for Leo and made Plan A and Plan B. Plan A was to act all innocent and pretend to not know Leo was the mole. Plan B was to use the Particle Accelerator to teleport Crugo all the way to the realm of Niflheim which is the coldest realm out of all nine. It would be too cold for Crugo to survive since the stones grant him power, not vulnerability. Crugo is still “human,” not a god.

So, we traveled to earth, and we went back to Star Labs and prepared the Particle Accelerator. We found Crugo’s location by tracking loads of energy signatures, and it all led to Hudson Bay all the way in Canada. Apparently, Crugo wanted to take over Canada first. So we pinpointed his location, and we used our satellite and launched the Particle Accelerator. The energy from the accelerator transferred to the satellite with the help of Norah and Kelly’s magic, and we finally teleported Crugo to Niflheim. We all cheered happily. The world was saved, and the multiverse could rest easily.

Chapter Six: Family

All was good after we defeated Crugo, but we were missing somebody. Kelvin was our leader, our friend, and is part of our family. We might not have grown up in the same house or went to the same schools, but we all knew him as a brother. We all respected him. We went to his funeral to repay him for saving everyone’s life, including mine. He may have not joined us in the final battle, but he was a part of it. Without him, this all could have ended really bad.

Goblins and giants, elves or Triceratons, we all knew him. This world has changed because of magic. Magic has changed all of us. Now we all befriended giants, elves, dragons, and even some frost giants. I was awarded for being the hero who saved the world. No one knows that Kelvin saved me. If it wasn’t for him, I would have been toast.

“I am proud to be the hero, but I am not. This award goes to my best pal, Kelvin. He saved me, and in doing so, he lost his own life. Without him, I would not be here, standing here with my mom and dad and all of you guys. Kelvin helped this team and even me go through tough times. I could not thank him enough, so I would proudly give this award to my fallen brother Kelvin. I wish he could see all of you guys here alive and well, and I know for a fact that he is in a wonderful place, up high. I just wanna say, thank you, and I love you all.”

So, I gave this speech about Kelvin. As for the award, it’s in the Museum of Fallen Heroes. It was built for all the fallen heroes known in history. One of them is Kelvin. We all learned a lesson from Kelvin’s death. We learned that home and family are what we fight for. We always come home to our family and friends. That’s what makes us unified. It’s our sense of humanity.

In loving memory of Kelvin Hollenbeck [My main character]

 

Acelin (Chapter One)

The king’s throne room truly is as magnificent as everyone describes it, if not more. The room is made of marble, and the ceiling reaches about forty feet above me. Guards prod me in, but I don’t need them ushering me to know what to do. I’ve had plenty of practice. Smile, bow, perform, and dance. Then smile, bow, and make your exit. I stride in, confident in my own abilities. I walk up, right to the elevated platform where fifteen thrones sit. I can see the king’s scrutinizing expression. I am merely a small, meaningless nymph who is much lower than him on whatever social scale you look at. I am here to entertain the king, the royal family, and his court before hundreds of princesses or girls of noble status come and try to entertain the thirteen princes. Thirteen out of five hundred will become brides, and one will be the future queen of Acelin.

I point to one of the waterfalls and twirl my finger around. It obeys, copying my actions. There are “oohh’s” and “aahh’s” coming from the court, but the royal family is silent. They’re my target. If they like it, I get handsome pay. I begin to twirl the one on the opposite direction too, then I move my right hand to the other side. The twirling waterfall gracefully moves across the room to where I point and combines with the other spinning waterfall, making a bigger, grander display. I turn my head to the right, looking at the royal family. I have a few princes hooked on the edge of their seats, including the heir to the throne. I wink and go back to my work.

Half an hour later, I finish the exhibit of my powers. I even managed to get a stream of water to curve around the thrones of the royal family. Cheers erupt from the courts, and I even get a standing ovation. The queen and all her sons give me one as well. A standing ovation from fourteen royals, not bad for someone like me. The king smiles and claps a little. His eldest son nudges him, and the king begrudgingly stands to clap for his insignificant performer.

I smile widely and bow in a similar way as before. “As always, a privilege, your excellencies,” I say and make my exit. Two guards lead me to my temporary room.

I begin to pack. My sister will be expecting me to be home tomorrow. I organize the very few belongings I have in my travel bag and grab my train ticket home. They said they’d escort me in fifteen minutes, at 18:00 sharp. So I sit and wait on the bed.

I’ve been in Creledo for two days. It’s even bigger than where I live, an underwater city called Oceim where every saltwater nymph lives. Creledo is the capital, but it isn’t where the king resides year round. He travels to different regions in the country to seek warmer weather than in the capital. Winter is harshest there because the ice faes, fairies, and nymphs all reside in Tostica which is a mere twenty miles away. I see the king more often than most because he has a summer home a few miles away from Ociem on the beach. A little town even sprang up around it. The town grew into the city of Gardenia, named after the magnificent gardens growing in front of the summer palace, which the public could view from outside the gates. I work in Gardenia. It’s not the most honorable job, but the pay is handsome, and I’m good at it.

My sister has a much more suitable job for a young nymph. She works in Ociem as a jeweler. She hunts for shells and turns them into the best jewelry in all of Acelin. She even sells them to the citizens of Gardenia. She said the queen even bought a necklace she made once. She’s very respected in Gardenia and Ociem unlike me. But I was desperate before my sister got a job.

I am interrupted from my thoughts when there is a heavy knocking on the door. It isn’t 18:00 yet, but maybe they came to collect me early.

I open the door, luggage in hand — if you can even call it that.

“Miss, we’re taking you home a bit early,” a tall, red-headed guard says.

“Alright,” I say and step out with them.

“Your pay will be delivered to your bank account,” the other guard tells me.

“Thank you.”

Perfect, I can’t be robbed on the train then.

They lead me out of my room and through the rest of the marble palace to a waiting carriage.

A servant opens the door for me and helps me in. The carriage is spacious, and the windows let in a lot of light. I sit on one of the velvet cushioned benches and stare out the window. The red-headed guard sits across from me, holding a long spear. The other, shorter guard takes his seat next to me holding a similar spear.

Am I that important that they have to use spears to protect me?

“What is it like in Ociem?” the redhead says, trying to start a conversation.

“There are many shops,” I say. “They sell one of a kind things. Jewelry you can get from nowhere else, amazing food and it’s not salty, and novelties from wreckages. The nymphs that do know of wreckages are archaeologists or investigators for the government.”

“What do you eat since you’re underwater?”

“Well, unknown to a lot, the city is surrounded by a bubble of oxygen. So it’s dry, and we breathe air, but nymphs can breathe both air and water. Cargo subs bring supplies to and from Ociem.”

“Of course,” the shorter one says. “But the bubble is interesting.”

“Yes,” I say, and the rest of the ride is silent.

We arrive at the Korona station at 18:15. The servant comes and opens the door again. The shorter guard steps out first before the servant helps me out again, and the redhead follows. They lead me to the check-in for the station.

A woman with classic black glasses looks at me sternly. She’s a member of the Acelian National Guard or ANG. She has on a black jumpsuit, making her movements versatile and agile while also making it appear she is in a structured, organized group. On her upper left sleeve is the Acelian crest, a Phoenix with its wings spread proudly. Little color dots circle it — green, orange, white, silver, lilac, blue, beige, and violet. One for each power group. She has her name tagged onto the jumpsuit. Admiral McKinnley. She has her auburn hair in a tight bun on top of her head. Her stormy gray eyes fix themselves on me.

“Name?” she commands more than asks.

“Atlantica Reef,” I reply, my voice level.

“Ticket.” She holds her hand out from behind the desk. I open my bag and take out the train ticket the Royals provided me. It’s made of silver colored paper, meaning a seat in the second class car. McKinnley scans the ticket, enters the code on it, and tears off the part meant for records. She hands me the other half.

“I’m going to have to search your bag and pat you down,” she says and gets up from her desk and gets out of the box she sits in. When she gets out, I can see she’s wearing black, knee high, lace up, heeled combat boots. It makes her look very badass, and part of women’s training for the ANG is learning to run in heels. How useful in cases like these. I wonder what her power is.

“Bag.” She holds her hand out. I hand her my luggage. She sets it on her desk and rummages through it. After a thorough search, she closes my bag and hands it back to me. She pats me down. I’m calm while doing this, it’s for security. She’s finished quickly, and the shorter guard leads me inside after she opens the door. The redhead stays behind. I catch a glimpse of him flirting and her blushing before I leave.

The silver bullet train speeds into the station at 18:30. Right on time. The guard bids me farewell, and I get on once the train stops. A conductor guides me to the second class car and my seat. It’s more luxurious than I could’ve dreamed. There are more comforts than I have ever seen at home. My sister and I live in the rundown part of town, in a dilapidated shack.

There is velvet cushioned seating and a table in the middle, for what I can’t imagine. I have my own compartment closed off by a sliding wooden door, allowing for privacy. The train will take two days to reach Ociem, so there’s another door behind me. That’s where my sleeping quarters are most likely and also the latrine. I just sit and look out the window. The bullet train begins to rise because of the magnets it uses. It’s a great alternative to what people were using years ago to power trains. The magnets on the train and on the platform are now at the same poles making the train levitate effortlessly above the tracks before speeding off.

I watch as the scenery passes by in a blur but quickly get bored, so I open my bag and take out my belongings. A locket, a few changes of clothing, and a book that I’ve read about five times already from cover to cover. The book’s about the history of sea nymphs. It’s got records of all the sea nymphs who ever lived in Ociem, and I’m trying to find any family ties I can because my sister should not have to live the way she does. I haven’t found anything — not one thing — with the only exception being dead relatives, like our parents. I sigh and put the clothes and book back, but I hold onto the locket. My sister made it out of shells, but I haven’t put any pictures in there. I put away the ring I received from my best friend. I don’t want to wear it for the fear it will be stolen.

I put the locket back into my bag with him in mind and go to my sleeping quarters.

There’s a comfy looking bed in one corner, a bathroom with a shower is in an adjacent room, and a vanity is placed opposite to the bed. I place my carpet bag on the bed and relax. I decide it’d be nice to take a shower and a nap. I head into the beautiful washroom. Towels hang on a rack next to the huge shower. I slide open the glass door and examine it. There’s no tub. Just a tile floor with a drain in the middle. I go back and lock the sliding door to my compartment, then the one for my sleeping quarters, and finally the one to the bathroom before taking my strapless, sweetheart neckline, light blue, chiffon dress off. My underwear follows, and I begin to remove my hair from its braid and free it from the hair accessories I used for my performance. I take my makeup remover out of my bag and begin taking off the heavy eyeshadow, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, and blush I used. It feels good to be completely bare for once. No paint on my face, no suffocating dresses, and to finally free myself, I kick off my heels. My natural face shows in the mirror, and I almost don’t recognize myself. It’s been forever since I’ve seen myself without makeup. I look pretty either way, but I feel better like this. I step into the shower and cleanse myself with the scented soaps and oils provided in lukewarm water. Afterward, I dry myself and put on the bathrobe provided before heading to get changed into a comfortable outfit for once in my life. I put on my favorite light wash, ripped, denim, skinny jeans and a white off the shoulder top. I slip on a pair of sandal flip flops. I let my hair out and go back to do my makeup. I put on minimal mascara and apply my eyeliner in the cat eye style.

I take a look at myself. I look good.

I unlock all the doors and sit back down on the cushioned benches. A waiter enters my compartment and puts a platter on the table along with a bottle of ginger ale.

“In case of any motion sickness,” he says and exits as quickly as he came, sliding my compartment door closed behind him. I look at the covered tray and lift the cover out of curiosity. The tray is full of food for an amazing dinner plus dessert. California rolls with a side of soy sauce as an appetizer, chicken breast with mashed potatoes and vegetables, and finally for dessert, creme brûlée. I eat the meal, savoring every bite. I’ll never eat this well again. My mind wanders to how the first class must be treated if this is only second class. I relax after I finish the meal and neatly put the plates and dishes back before covering the tray again. I take the bottle of ginger ale to my bedroom and put it in my bag. My sister and I rarely drink pop, so I want her to share it with me. I feel bad Airia won’t get to try an amazing dinner like this, but she’ll have ginger ale, so I guess that makes up for it.

I cannot fathom what to do at this point. I’ve got nothing to read or take my mind off my boredom, so I just hope the waiter comes back to take my tray.

He does after a few minutes thankfully, and he asks me, “Do you need anything, miss?”

“Could I get a book?” I ask.

The waiter nods. “Do you have one in mind?”

“Not really, but I do enjoy the works of Otega Green,” I reply. He nods then disappears before coming back in ten minutes with two books.

“I’ve got two, miss,” he says and puts them on the table. “Perfect Strangers and Perfectly Imperfect.

I thank him, and he leaves. I then lock my compartment for the night and head to my “bedroom.” I slip out of my normal clothes and put on my nightgown and braid my hair into one long plait before getting into the comfy bed with Perfect Strangers. I read for two more hours before falling asleep.

 

Next Door Robbery

It was 9:00 in the morning when I had woken up, and it was a usual day, but it really wasn’t when my landlord came by to check on the house. But the moment the landlord knocked on the door rapidly, I knew that was really weird because he always looks in through the window. Then, he demanded I “open up.”

When I opened the door, he entered and gasped saying, “Call 911 this moment.”

Then, he pushed me toward the telephone, pushed me out of the way, and pressed the buttons rapidly. Then, I looked at his face, and his face was in terror with his red, sweaty forehead. I even thought his little hair on his forehead was turning red, too.

Then, I asked what was going on, and he replied, “There’s a robbery next door.”

And at that moment, my heart felt like it fell into my stomach. Then, the landlord finally got on the line with a 911 responder, and the landlord said, quickly cutting off the responder, “There’s a robbery on 258 Elm Street.”

The woman said, “We will be there.”

Then, out of nowhere, I heard the noise of glass shatter, and the next thing I saw was the cord break. I looked back, and I saw a man in a black ski mask, and then he quickly lifted up the bag full of jewelry and chuckled. Then, he left in seconds. The landlord and I looked at each other and sat nervously and waited for the cops to come. Then when they came, they asked what happened.

I said, “I don’t know.”

When the landlord and I were all alone, he said, “I was behind the robbery. That man that you saw in the ski mask, that was my brother, and you want to know why I called the cops. Because I will be last person they come to. I trust you so much I am telling you this now, and for you to be hush-hush, I am splitting the money with you. Okay?”

“I’ll take the deal,” I replied.

Then he said, “Okay.”

Though I did wonder why he robbed that place.

 

Silent Love

The radio played a soft ukulele tune in the background, shadowed by carefully placed piano chords. We lay atop my bed together, looking at the ceiling that glittered with fake, painted stars. One of my arms was on my chest, one of his was on the cover, and we each held the other’s hand. The pastel aqua and melon theme that was patterned in the bedroom added another feeling of peace. The radio crackled, the song ended, and it began to play a slightly calmer, aesthetic song with electronic beats. He shifted his position on the bed, and so did I, following his lead, so we both sat with our backs to the walls, sitting on top of the blanket. Our love was a quiet, delicate thing. It involved aimlessly lying on beds while playing warming music and looking up to our imaginary sky. We always painted the ceiling, so one time the sky could be dark and littered with small glow-in-the-dark stars, and other times it could be mixes of reds and yellows, imitating a sunset. But all that really mattered was that the two of us were there, together.

 

Dog Party

Another day at the Supermall USA, the mall of all malls, the supermarket of all supermarkets. And why are we (or in this case, why am I) here? We are here to get 13 small but important items for the party. It may take a while. It looks like I might be here for hours and hours just for the food aisle! I enter the supermall.

“Oh my god,” I whisper to myself under my breath. “This mall is huge! You could fit my apartment 40 times in here and still have space! This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack,” I say to myself, staring at the promotional poster that shows a literal needle in a haystack in a supermall with the quote beneath it saying: “Try finding a needle in a haystack in SUPERMALL USA!!!”

I have three hours until the party. If I don’t get this done, I don’t know what I am going to do. Poor Joe will be so let down. Okay, let’s start by heading to the dairy aisle, aisle 52. Okay, cheese after cheese after cheese after milk after milk! Aha! That’s what I need. Milk. That’s one thing off the list, and now I have to go all the way back to the start for the zip lock bag aisle. I grab a bag not even looking at it and then run back to the back of the store. I do this for hours. Finally, I got all the items, and I look in my cart and realize half of them are open and tampered with. I scream out loud because I have been in here for at least an hour. People stare at me and run, some even filming me.

Embarrassed, I continue shopping like a normal person, taking all those old items and putting them wherever I desire. I continue my shopping, carefully examining items once I pick them up. It’s been another hour, and I have all the items that are on my shopping list. All the items are perfectly functional, and I realize I have not gotten a single gift. Not one gift has made its way into my cart. I quickly run back to grab a teddy bear and rubber chicken, run back in line, and wait. In the time I left and ran back, 30 more people got in line. The one time I leave and come back, the one time I go shopping in this mall, 30 more people… get in line… and take my spot… I am never going to this mall again, unless I am in true need of it. One and a half hours have passed. I sit in line, and I wait, trying to make small talk with the person in front of me while some young lady is talking very loudly on the phone behind me.

“O-M-G! That is so cool. I totally like that. As a matter of fact, I might like like that like now! Like it’s so like what’s the word oh it’s like cool,” she tells her phone.

I can’t take it anymore. It’s too much stupidity. This person, nothing she says makes sense.

“Can you like shut up!” I say, mocking her awful accent and speech.

She gives me a dirty look and turns and faces the other direction, continuing her conversation, this time talking about me and how “crazzzzy” I am. This time, instead of saying something, I ignore her, knowing that I am fighting a losing battle. I continue to wait in line for the checkout, finally reaching it after another 15 minutes.

“Cash or credit?” the cashier questions.

I respond with, “Credit.”

“There is no balance on your card,” he responds.

I reach into my wallet for cash, hoping there will be enough money in it. Today is not my lucky day, so I do not expect much, but surprisingly, I have enough. I make my way outside with my items and my near empty wallet and start driving home, looking at my gas tank. I realize by the time I reach home it will be empty. I take a quick stop to refill on gas. Joe’s friends will be home soon. I have to hurry. I look right and see some reckless idiot smoking a cigarette right next to a pump. What an idiot. I feel the need to approach him, the need to tell him the hazard of smoking near a gas pump and what it can do to him and others around him! So I do.

“You listen here, idiot. You don’t smoke near gas pumps because you can kill people like that!” I yell at him.

He quickly puts it away whilst saying, “Sorry, mom!”

I don’t know why he said “sorry mom,” but I don’t have time to question it. I head back home in the car. I approach the door with my keys in hand and only five minutes to spare. All of my friends will be here soon. I enter.

“Hey there, Joe!” I exclaim.

“Bark bark,” he barks.

Joe is a dog, a little Chihuahua. I hear a knock at the door. All my friends are here with their dogs ready for Joe the dog’s fifth birthday. Bark on, barkster.

 

Routine

Wake up – It’s hard to face the world. Hard to leave the safety of your bed and enter the pain the world holds.

Get dressed – Does it really matter what you wear. People will judge you either way. You keep glancing back at your bed, just wishing you could crawl back to safety. The only thing your outfit needs is long sleeves.

Have breakfast – Or don’t. Food is just empty calories that won’t help your diet.

Listen to the radio – People try to speak about the happiness in the world just to cover up all that’s wrong.

School – The teachers’ words enter your brain, then leave without a trace. They don’t leave any information, and you walk out of each classroom wondering what the teacher was talking about because you can’t ask for clarification. You don’t want people to think you’re stupid.

Lunch – A time when you sit with someone because you don’t want people to come up to you and ask if you’re okay. You hear them talking but feel distant from them. You struggle to keep your eyes open as you drift off into your own tortured thoughts.

More school – Just more time to think. More time trapped in the thoughts that are starting to scare you because you don’t rinse them. More time just waiting for the day to be over.

Sports – Fresh air, a breeze. You dread sports, but in reality, they help you cope with the thoughts that aren’t your own.

Home – You get home and get ready for a nap. A nap that you can’t have because the minute you lie down, you’re no longer tired, so you lie there just thinking.

Unspeakable things – Your thoughts convince you that it will help the pain. That it will make the voices go away. You drowning in your own petrifying thoughts as you stand over the sink, silver blade shining in the dim light. Blood runs down the drain until you finally stop the flow.

Dinner – More calories that you will pay for later but still consume.

Bed – You finally get to go to sleep. Peaceful, your mind at rest, banishing all memories of the day and just snuggling up and wishing you never had to leave.

Repeat – Do it all again, exactly the same.

And again, and again, and again, until you can’t take it anymore. Until you can’t handle spending your days waiting for the end of each day. Until the world seems to be spinning. You can’t take it anymore, and a thought crosses your mind. A thought of leaving the routine forever.

Away you go, away from the routine. People grieve until they forget, and they go on with their routines, not remembering you, the person who left.

But, it doesn’t need to be that way. So, you stay. You stay and change your routine. When you wake up, you no longer wish to go back to sleep. You see your food as something delicious and not as calories. You enjoy discovering the wonders of the world during each of your classes. You return from school full of energy, never feeling the need for a knife. You still love to sleep, but now you dream.

You choose to overcome the difficulties that the routine brings. You choose not to focus on the pain. You focus instead on the happy things in each day.

It doesn’t have to be something big. It could be something small. A snowflake landing on a window. The light shining through the trees in the perfect way. A funny photo. Anything that will change your day, make you smile for the first time in months.

Your grades improve. You social life improves. You appetite improves, but most of all, your life improves.

 

The Biggest Game of my Life

          

I’m standing there in the tunnel waiting for my teammates to exit the team room. I’m feeling nervous because I have never been in this big of a game. I know this because I could hear my heart beating and nothing else besides that. This is the state championship game. The game that decides who would be crowned “king” of the state. My teammates are hyped as I try to hide my nervousness from them because I was one of the best players on the team. I could not be having any of these feelings before such a big game. Our coach screams that we are about to run out onto the court.

I close my eyes. I imagine everything our team has accomplished this year. How we were the best team in the league, which was a surprise, how we had four all-state players, and how I broke the scoring record in state history. This was one of the best moments of my career. It might be okay with my teammates for just getting to this big of a game, but I for one wanted to go out there and win it all. After all, not only was it my last season, but it was also my last game ever for my school.

***

I wasn’t always this kid who was amazing at basketball. In the beginning of high school, I was this 5’5” kid who did not have much of a jump shot and below average ball handling skills. But in-between now and then, I had grown to 6’8” and worked harder than I had ever worked before. I had top programs knocking on my door now, and it came down to six different programs. So, I talked it over with my parents, and it came down to Duke, North Carolina, Villanova, Kentucky, Kansas, and Virginia. On National Signing Day, I decided that I would be attending the University of North Carolina. At the end of the day, I reflected on how I had changed so much over the past four years and how my hard work had really paid off.

At the beginning of the season, I did not expect us to do so well. Our practices were terrible because almost nobody knew the plays, and don’t even get me started on the games. So one day, my coach sat me down in his office, and he said to me, “Look, I know this is your last season and you want to go to the state tourney, so what you have to do is become a leader or else this season is a lost cause.” I was leading the practices, and we actually started to win games. By the end of the regular season, our team had secured a spot in the state tournament, finishing with a record of 18-5. It took a lot of hard work, sweat, and grit, but I was proud of this team and what it had accomplished this year.

***

I remember when my son started playing the game that my husband loved for so long. I remember the times when he could barely play, but he stayed out long past dark shooting the basketball in that hoop I bought him for his eighth birthday. One day, he came home from school, and he said, “Mom, I don’t want to continue playing this game because I am terrible at it.” I told him that to get better, you have to practice more. I could tell that he wanted to get better because basketball was his life and one of the most important things that he cared about. My son had worked long and hard to get to the place where he was now; and I’m not just talking about all these college scholarships. I’m talking about the state championship game. He had been talking about this since the first moment of his high school basketball career. And now here he was, just about ready to play in the state championship game.

***

I’m standing there, ready to take the floor. As I run out onto the court, I look at the section where my mom is sitting and see how proud she is of me. She is looking at me and is so happy to see what my teammates and I had accomplished. We were so pumped for this because I know for me and six of my other teammates, it would be our last basketball game for this team. For those other six seniors, it may even be their last competitive basketball game. We take our last warmups, and then our coach calls us in to give us one final pep talk. I’m not really paying attention because I can’t focus with everyone yelling in the stands, but he is probably saying “I’m proud of you guys. You fought hard all year long, and it’s a true accomplishment just to get here.”

Here I am, three minutes before the biggest game of my high school career, and I’m so determined to win this game. This might be because it’s my last game ever for the school or because I want to give the fans a game to remember. But as I waited for the game to start, I remember those three minutes being the most nervous moments of my life. Oh, how I will never forget those three minutes before the game began.

 

The Vindicators (Chapter One)

       

Prologue

The date is April 25, 2030. The planet has been flooded with criminals and chaos, the government has been overthrown, and all known superheroes have either been killed or have gone into hiding. The citizens of Earth now obey the criminals and supervillians that threaten them. They survive through each day with hope, hope that the heroes might rise again to restore the world to its former glory.

 

Chapter One

In a subterranean base deep underground, a not-entirely-human in a spacesuit is working on an android. His suit is a mix of green, gray, and black, made mostly of metal. A beam of blue light emanates from the spot in his helmet where his eyes would be. He wears the suit to protect what is held inside, a being made of pure, unstable energy. The suit shields Guardian from Earth’s air, which is toxic to his body. A cure to his condition is still elusive despite his intelligence. The suit is his only way of living on Earth.

The white room that he is working in is filled with gadgets and tools, strewn about in a seemingly random fashion. A pile of scrap metal sits in the corner, overflowing with junk: a broken radio, half of a computer, even a couple damaged airplane parts. He currently sits at a desk working on the upper body of a robot, one of his numerous projects.

The room is Guardian’s personal laboratory, and he uses it to build technology for his boss and teammate, Minion. The project that he is currently working on, titled Apetura, is an android designed to be an assistant to Guardian. It will have all of his technical prowess and limitless intelligence. Its purpose is to assist Guardian with a far more complex task: building a more advanced robot from scratch that can match the martial abilities of Minion, a necessary requirement for any member of his team. The robot will be named Namaste and will be a member of Minion’s team of superheroes, The Vindicators. Their goal is to save the world from the evil that runs unchallenged throughout Earth. Minion walks into the room, the reds and blues of his super suit shining in the light. He has a smile on his face and appears to be very excited, practically jumping with every step.

“How goes the project, my friend? I will require Namaste to be ready in a week’s time so that I can properly assess his abilities,” Minion inquires. Guardian looks up and hesitates for a second before speaking.

“Well… there’s a slight problem. To create an android from scratch in that amount of time I will require an assistant, which I am creating now. She will be specifically designed for this task and will hopefully prove to be a valuable asset to my lab. But Namaste should be ready by next week if all goes well, sir,” Guardian replies.

Minion smiles and leaves the room. He walks through the main floor of the base and into the elevator, a stainless steel contraption with an array of floor buttons, much more than any regular elevator. Minion inserts his key card into a slot on the bottom of the button panel and presses the lowest floor in the entire complex. The elevator descends rapidly and soon reaches the bottom, dinging with every floor passed. The doors open into the portal room, a room created for only one purpose: teleportation. A large portal-making device sits in the very center of this room. It looks like a metallic, circular frame, but nothing currently sits in the frame. A terminal slides out of the wall with Minion’s arrival, and an interface is brought up to his hand. He inputs the exact coordinates of his destination, and the terminal slides silently back into the wall. The portal machine emits a low humming noise, and a portal fills the frame, showing a glimpse of the other world. Minion enters into the darkness of the portal and is teleported away. The portal closes behind him.

***

The world that Minion enters is pitch black, except for the light coming from the portal behind him. But the light disappears almost immediately with the closing of the portal. The planet is named Ragnarok, after the doomsday story in which the sun itself is eaten and the world is plunged into darkness, a very fitting name for a place devoid of light. Minion takes a pair of night vision goggles out from his belt, puts them on, and starts walking down a meticulous path with the aid of his now clear vision. His surroundings aren’t much, just black spires of rock and the occasional hole, but the night vision helps to distinguish them from the rest of the darkness.

Without light, this planet is incapable of sustaining life, except for the person that Minion is looking for. The planet was once great. Its surface was vibrant, its animals happy and peaceful. But that was before the planet’s sun exploded. Everything went downhill from there. Soon, Minion reaches a steep ravine, the bottom nowhere in sight. He grabs onto the end of a tall pole that rests against his side of the gap, as if it was placed there on purpose. Minion vaults across the ravine with practiced ease and leaves the pole resting against the side of the ravine that he now stands upon. He takes a series of complicated turns and reaches another ravine, albeit with less distance between both sides. A metal bridge has been built here by someone, to allow Minion passage across to the other side. He is careful to avoid the tripwire placed between the second and third steps. At the end of the bridge, he reaches a large cocoon made of pure darkness, the lair of the person he is seeking.

The door opens eerily as Minion approaches the cocoon. He enters the lair of darkness and spots the only inhabitant of Ragnarok: Lady Death. She is a creature of shadows, specializing in the magic of darkness and necromancy. She used to be the daughter of a wealthy human family, but the reason for the sudden shift from her past self to her present self is unknown. Lady Death rarely talks about her past. She is currently sitting in a chair made of darkness, lazily playing with a wisp of darkness in one hand.

A scene plays out between the darkness, a battle between two contenders. Two stick figures wielding swords exchange blows silently. One lunges at the other, but the sword is knocked away by the second, a clearly better fighter. The better fighter holds up his sword to the other figure’s throat. The swordless fighter, clearly defeated, puts his hands above his head. The fighter with the sword gives the swordless fighter his sword back, and they shake hands.

Minion stands in the doorway patiently, knowing not to disturb her. Lady Death lets him wait for a second before letting the darkness dissipate and turning around to face Minion, intrigue in her eyes.

“What kind of project do you want me to work on this time? It’s always projects with you, no fun.” Lady Death makes a fake pouty face. “You’ll owe me a favor, of course, for my compliance. You won’t know when or where, but it’ll come sooner or later,” Lady Death says slyly, a grin spreading across her face. Minion’s expression falls.

“I thought you would let me off the hook given our history. Especially because of that last favor you wanted. That one took a lot of resources, especially from Guardian.”

“I insist,” Lady Death replies. Minion thinks for a couple moments and reluctantly comes to a conclusion.

“Fine,” Minion mumbles. Lady Death winks and pulls her cloak across her body, disappearing into the darkness and teleporting to Minion’s base. Minion rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Of course she’d just leave me here,” he says exasperatedly. “I’ll have to walk all the way back now.” Minion mumbles as he walks back down the long and boring route to his portal.

***

Minion passes through the portal back into his lair, entering the room with a satisfying swoosh. The darkness of Ragnarok crawls into the room for a moment but is sucked out when the portal closes. Lady Death sits in a conjured chair of darkness in the corner, pretending to be asleep. She pretends to wake up suddenly, as if Minion’s entrance was loud enough to disrupt her sleep.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived. I’ve been waiting here forever. I wondered if you would even return at all,” Lady Death drawls. Minion rolls his eyes, clearly not appreciating the sarcasm.

“The project is this way, follow me,” Minion says forcefully. He walks into the elevator room and turns left into a small room, Lady Death following right behind him. The room is painted white with nothing but a skeleton made of metal in the center. The skeleton slightly resembles that of a bat, with an elongated face and winglike bone structure where ears would be. Minion walks directly towards the skeleton, while Lady Death keeps her distance and fidgets with her hands.

“Don’t be scared, it doesn’t bite!” Minion says jokingly, beckoning her forward.

“I… have an aversion to metal,” Lady Death says hesitantly, only inching forward a small amount. Minion nods slightly, respecting her wishes and making a mental note of this occasion, so as to not repeat it in the future.

“This is my project, or at least part of it. I want to create an intelligent creature from scratch, made of darkness and water. I want it to be like a human, but enhanced. I need the darkness from you. I can provide everything else,” Minion says. Lady Death reluctantly inches a little closer to the metal skeleton and begins to collect a ball of darkness in her hands. She closes her eyes, concentrating on the darkness, and it soon grows boulder sized. Lady Death opens her eyes and launches the darkness at the skeleton, covering the skeleton completely and then some. She rushes to the darkness covered skeleton and begins to sculpt the blob into a figure. She starts at the bottom, giving the being sturdy feet. Lady Death moves to the legs, sculpting stocky upper and lower legs for balance. The torso is slim and feminine, with small breasts and narrow shoulders. Her arms are thin with small but strong hands. Lady Death stands back, admiring her handiwork for a moment, and moves upward to the head. She sculpts a human face with slight batlike features, small winglike ears at the back of the head and a prominent nose. She steps back again.

Minion raises his right arm and forms a gauntlet made of water. He walks up to the creature and infuses water into her body. The creature’s chest glows blue for a moment before fading. Minion’s water gauntlet then turns white with light as he gives his project her final necessary component, life. Her body lifts into the air, and her eyes open wide, revealing blue irises. Minion steps back as the creature touches the floor. She bends down on one knee and bows her head, waiting for Minion to name her.

“Chiroptera, rise and protect the citizens of Earth! Help me save the world!” Minion exclaims. Chiroptera stands up tall and tests out her water abilities, creating shoulder pads and knee pads effortlessly, the magical abilities coming to her naturally. She then creates a sword out of water, takes a few practice swings, and lets the sword’s form coalesce into a sphere of water. She turns it to ice, then back to water. The water is absorbed into her body, and she looks up at Minion.

“I am ready to serve,” she says. Minion looks at Lady Death, smiles, and looks back at Chiroptera.

“Welcome to my base of operations,” he exclaims proudly. Minion hears a gasp behind him and turns around quickly. Lady Death’s black gloves are on the floor, and she is clutching her hands, which are turning white and skeletal from the palms to the wrists. The rest of her hands have already been turned white. Flesh drips off her hands, forming a small puddle at her feet. She bites her lip, trying to hide the obvious pain that the process is causing her.

“What’s happening to you?!” Minion asks concernedly. Lady Death gasps before responding.

“It’s from using too much magic… The darkness is corrupting me… eating through my skin. I can’t use that much darkness at once or it’ll… consume me entirely… This has happened before, it’s the cost of my abilities… ” Her flesh stops melting, and Lady Death straightens her body, her arrogant air materializing again. She puts her gloves back on and tries to pretend like nothing happened, acting as if the process never happened.

“Are you alright?!” Minion asks worriedly.

“I’m fine,” Lady Death says angrily. She rolls her eyes and teleports back to her lair.

 

Shine Bright Like a Diamond

       

Chapter One: Debbie Allen’s Dance Academy

I had the dream dance class… at least that’s what I thought. But, I’m getting way ahead of myself. It all started three months ago when we were in dance class, and Mrs. Allen came in the room to post the cast for The Nutcracker and guess what… I got the lead part: Clara. It said it there in big bold letters. Danielle Rosewood… Clara. I was so excited that I jumped up and down, so I caught most people’s attention.

I said, “I got Clara!”

But, some people weren’t so happy.

My friends Harper and Aubrey got the ensemble, and Evelyn got Uncle Drosselmeyer. They looked as if they envied me. When I saw them looking at me like that, they rolled their eyes and turned away.

I walked over to where they were standing and said, “Why are you guys mad?”

“We just really wanted to get the part,” said Evelyn.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make sure that you get the understudy.”

I looked back at the sheet to see who was my understudy. It was my archenemy, Skylar. Perfect.

Skylar and I used to be best friends, but ever since I moved from L.A. to Beverly Hills because of my dad’s job, she made her friends, and I made mine. When I came back to L.A., she was already in a clique. Skylar was very angry because she felt like I betrayed her. She wanted to switch roles with somebody else, but Ms. Allen wouldn’t let her.

“But please, you don’t understand! She’s evil,” Skylar squawked.

“I said no, and that’s the end of this conversation,” said Mrs. Allen.

“Ugh, fine,” said Skylar.

She walked back over to where we were standing and said, “I’m so excited to be your understudy.”

I said, “At least that’s the first few words you said to me all year.”

She crossed her arms and said, “Hmph.”

It’s never a dull day when Skylar’s mad.

 

Chapter Two: Restless, Rehearsals, Revenge

Skylar tried everything she could to get revenge on me. Even before the auditions for the parts for the show, Skylar was practicing for the part of Clara. Now that she was the understudy, she hated my guts. It was the rehearsal, and we still didn’t have the dance memorized. Mrs. Allen was yelling like crazy.

“Girls, you have to straighten your backs. Danielle, please point your toes.”

“Mrs. Allen, I can coach Danielle with her moves,” said Skylar.

“Umm…” I said.

“Wonderful. This is perfect because you two are the prima ballerinas in this class.”

“Ugh,” I exclaimed.

I already knew that Skylar was trying to sabotage me for getting the part.

Later that day…

Skylar came two hours late. She even had the nerve to say that she was doing homework, and her mom wouldn’t let her come until she finished, but I know she never does her homework. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Skylar and I are in the same class in school, unfortunately.

“So you should point your toes more,” Skylar said, while fixing her nails.

“You’re not helping. You know that, right?”

“You’re so ungrateful. Whatever, I’m leaving.”

She “accidentally” knocked over her bag, spilled some makeup, and cleaned it up. Little did I know that she snuck butter under the rug that I would later move to do my dance.

“Hope the door doesn’t hit you on the way out.”

She turned around. I “accidentally” slapped her with my wooden front door.

“Oops.”

Skylar left, storming.

The next day…

Since my mom and Skylar’s mom are really close friends, when Skylar told me that I was driving her to school, I was very annoyed. The whole ride there we were silent while my mom was blasting her favorite song through our car windows. Skylar was just looking out one window the whole time, and I was looking out the other.

As soon as we got to school, Skylar jumped out of the car without even saying thank-you.

My mom asked me, “Hey, what’s up with Skylar?”

I said, “Nothing, nothing. We’re just having a grand old time! Haha… bye!”

She cluelessly said, “Okay!”

During Mathematics 101, Skylar told Brandon, Joey, and Lucia to pass me a note. So, without Mr. Kerry seeing, they started down the line. When it ended up at me, I opened the note, and it had a picture of me with devil horns on my head with the devil staff.

After, when we were on our independent time, I went up to Mr. Kerry with the note in my hand pretending to ask a question.

I asked him, “Can I go to the principal’s office? This has been happening every single day.”

He said, “Okay. Class, class please settle down!”

As soon as I went into the principal’s office, I showed him the notes. He called Skylar into his office, and she gave me an evil glance, and I stuck my tongue out at her. Then again, this was my revenge for her trying to get revenge on me. After today, I will have victory and justice, and she’ll never get the lead part. I got it fair and square, and she cannot be mad. After today, she got suspended and because her mom was so mad at her, she wouldn’t let her go to dance. And I faked sick because there was nobody to be my understudy since Skylar was gone.

I chose Evelyn to be my understudy, and Skylar would have to be Uncle Drosselmeyer. This was all part of my plan.

Three days later…

Skylar walked into the dance studio saying, “Let’s rehearse this thing since I’m the understudy, and I say what has to be done.”

Mrs. Allen came into the dance studio and said, “Actually, since you weren’t here the day that Danielle was sick, we changed your position to Uncle Drosselmeyer, and Evelyn became the new understudy.”

“That’s just my way of getting revenge,” I whispered in her ear.

She growled.

 

Chapter Three: Practice, Practice Makes Perfect

Okay, so I gave you a flashback of my last three months which were a living heck, but Skylar got a perfect part to express her anger … just kidding. He is a good person in The Nutcracker. Now, every day since that moment, Skylar has tried to get her part back. Anyway, back to dancing. I have one week to make sure that I know the dance (even though I practiced one million times).

At home…

“Step, turn, step, chasse. Man, I need to work harder. Especially if I want to be better than Skylar.” I kept dancing until I rolled my ankle. Ouch. I was so mad. Hold up, why is the floor so slippery? I moved the rug to find a small yet noticeable packet of butter and a strand of hair that was an ombre of black to gray. My mind immediately went straight to the black-ombre devil herself.

Bad conscience: Come on, let her have it!

Good conscience: No, that’s only going to make matters worse.

You know what? I’m just going to leave it alone because I don’t feel like getting into any more messes.

Bad conscience and good conscience in sync: What are you going to do about Mrs. Allen? For sure you’re going to be kicked off the dance team.

Okay, I’ll just not perform in the dance, so Evelyn can have a turn. I’m happy that she’s getting a chance. I’ll call her now.

Ringing…

“Hey, Evelyn. Are you going to the dress rehearsal tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t. My cousins are coming over from Paris, so I am leaving from school early and not going to dance.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Mrs. Allen would kill me if I wasn’t at practice since I am the lead role, and the show is in less than a week. I just hope that nobody sees my foot.

The next day…

I strolled into dance like nothing happened the day before. It’s going to be hard to pull it off because I have a limp now. If anyone finds out about my foot, I could be kicked out of the dance. Man … these are going to be a long few days. What am I going to do?

We all went to the auditorium (it was freezing), and Mrs. Allen was waiting for us. We start dancing. My moves are a little sloppy because of my ankle. At least Mrs. Allen didn’t see me. I didn’t know that someone was watching me.

After dance class, Mrs. Allen stopped me in the hallway to tell me that Skylar told her that I was limping during practice. Unfortunately, I had no socks or shoes on, so she was able to see that I had a giant bruise on my foot.

“IF YOUR FOOT CAN’T BE HEALED BY THE OPENING NIGHT, YOU WILL BE KICKED OFF THE SHOW!!!”

She shoved me with her shoulder as she walked past. (She literally gave me the cold shoulder). As soon as I went home, I slammed the front door, stomped up to my room (which really hurt), slammed my bedroom door as hard as I could, and cried into Mr. Fluffernutter, my fluffy, usually emotionless cat.

“Why did I have to fall. I have such bad luck.” I sighed. “I know what to do!”

I grabbed my makeup case and ran into the bathroom. When I came out, it looked like the day before yesterday never happened.

 

Chapter Four: Opening Night

I strolled into the auditorium looking like a “non-injured” queen.

I went right up to Mrs. Allen and said, “I’m here and ready to dance.”

“Great. Go change into your costume.”

In my dressing room…

“First, let’s do my costume, makeup, and then my hair.”

An hour later…

“Finally, I’m done.”

I’m going to find Harper and Aubrey, so we can practice our solo. We got so lost in dancing that we did not even hear the five minute call.

“Places in five… four… three… two… ”

“WE HAVE TO GO ON STAGE.”

“Run before the curtains open,” said Harper.

We got on just in the nick of time. Mrs. Allen was not very happy. The dance was going so well. I always get so wrapped up in the music. I didn’t even realize that the dance was ending, and it was time for my solo. Step, turn, step, chasse, grand jet… “OWW!”

“Someone call the ambulance!!” said Harper.

I was in so much pain that I couldn’t move or speak. This has got to be the worst week ever.

 

Chapter Five: The Hospital

“Where am I? What happened?”

“Hi, Danielle. I’m Dr. Taylor. You are in the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“You were in a dance show and fell, sprained your ankle, got a slight case of amnesia, and sustained a severe head injury.”

“Will I get my memory back?”

“With enough rest, your memory should come back in the next 48 hours!”

“Thank you. Can you get my mom and dad, please.”

“Of course.”

My mom and dad, Lilianna and Derick, walked in the room.

“Hey, Mom and Dad.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” my mom said.

“What is going to happen when I go back to dance?”

“We don’t know. All we have to do is wait,” said Dad.

Two days later…

Cough. “Mrs. Allen… ”

“Please pack your things, and leave my studio”

“What? Why?”

“Because you lied to me, and you know I hate liars.”

A few hours later…

“She kicked me out,” I said to Harper, Aubrey, and Evelyn.

“It’s okay. Maybe you can find a new studio nearby,” said Evelyn.

“You don’t understand. I’m not going to see you guys anymore,” I said.

“We’ll be here with you every step of the way,” Harper said.

The next day after school…

On the bus ride back from school, it was already filled up, so Skylar had to sit next to me. She sat down looking like she had read the funniest text ever. Today is not the day for this.

“How is it having so much free time on your hands?” Skylar smirked.

“What’s your problem? You got what you wanted,” I said.

“My problem is you’re still in this town. Why can’t you just pack your things and move?”

Why can’t she just leave me alone? The bus dropped me off at my house.

Skylar yelled, “See you never, loser!”

That was when I got a brilliant idea. I walked in the front door to my mom sitting on a stool in the kitchen, typing up a storm. She was too busy to notice me.

“Ma, can we get out of this town? It’s so boring, it’s so annoying, and I’m tired of seeing Skylar’s and Mrs. Allen’s faces.”

“What? Why? I thought you liked Skylar. I thought you guys were best friends.” She closed her computer and turned around.

“She stopped talking to me after we moved back. Can we leave? She just keeps making fun of me and bullying me at school. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want it to get out of hand.”

“Sure. I’ll tell your father. We can arrange to move back into our old house,” she said calmly.

I was very happy about the decision.

A week later, we said our goodbyes and were on the road.

 

Chapter Six: A New Beginning

I just moved to my new house. It feels so empty… I feel so empty. I lay on the floor with my arms spread out just thinking about how things would’ve gone if I hadn’t rolled my ankle last month. I went to the bathroom to wash my face, and I looked up in the mirror and saw that my mascara was smudging because I was crying so much. I washed my face and put my hair back in a perfect bun. I was so happy but also so sad. I wish I was never kicked out of the dance studio, even though my new studio is so much better. I miss dancing with my friends. I went up the stairs to my nonexistent bedroom, and I lay on my nonexistent bed. I saw my moving boxes perched against the bright white wall. I went into my box labeled “decorations” and took out the photo of me and my friends dancing in our first performance and laid it on my nonexistent table.

I guess I should start unpacking.

A few hours later…

“And that’s the last of it! Finally,” I said.

I lay on my now existent bed. I felt more at home. I had my corkboard with all of my pictures on it in front of my desk, which was on the right side of my bed. On the left side of my bed was my nightstand with my picture and lamp on it. On the other side of the room was my walk-in closet. And I couldn’t forget my faux fur beanbag. I only felt like one thing was missing… my friends.

If I called them, would they be mad at me? If I didn’t call them, would they get more mad? I’ll call them now.

Phone ringing.

“Hello?” I said.

“O-M-G, hey!” said Evelyn.

“I can’t believe I’m really talking to you,” Harper said enthusiastically.

“How’s your new home?” Aubrey exclaimed.

“It’s great. I miss you guys so much.”

“Open your front door,” Evelyn stated.

“Okay?”

I went downstairs and opened the door. I saw Aubrey, Evelyn, and Harper reaching out for a group hug. I saw Evelyn’s mom’s car in the driveway.

“Oh my gosh. It’s really you!” I gave them the tightest hug ever.

“So, who are you dancing for now?” Evelyn asked.

“Don’t get mad at me, but I’m dancing for Energii now.”

“What? Why? You know they’re our rivals!” Harper yelled.

“They were the only ones who would accept me.”

“I respect your decision.” Evelyn smiled.

“I love you guys so much!”

They all said, “We love you, too!”

THE END

 

Hawaiian Vacation

         

Chapter One: Crazy Problems

Three minutes before my family moved to Hawaii, I was so scared. I felt sick to my stomach. I had never flown anywhere. Well, except for going to Florida and California. Now, you might be thinking, why are you going to Hawaii? Well, I’m going because my family and I got hit by an avalanche. Well, our house did. I was skiing in Pennsylvania, and I forgot to say I live in Ohio, so we could get there kind of quickly. That didn’t really help because our car had broke down, and our grandfather was at work, and we couldn’t call him because the power went out. This was the worst day of my life. When I thought things were starting to turn around, they got worse. I was scared of flying, and I had not packed anything. One good thing did happen: We changed the flight, so we could go there in two weeks. Well, my dad called someone. Yay! I had to pack because the movers came a week before we left. We had to stay in a hotel all week. I finally packed! The hotel was okay but only because we swam in the pool every day.

Two weeks later…

So now my family and I were going through security. The way there was not bad. We made it! So, now we had to fill our water bottles. Nothing bad happened except that the water fountains were not working. My family did not have to buy water bottles because my dad knew that our flight was not for two hours, but we got there early just in case. We had to take a red-eye, but at least it was Tuesday because the restaurant that is there had a pasta buffet. I do not like pasta, but I like meatballs with sauce which they did have. The food was filling because I did not have breakfast (as always). By the time we finished, the water fountain was fixed. Then, we filled our water bottles, and then we got onto the airplane…

 

Chapter Two: Plane Problems

If things were not bad enough, as I said earlier, flying makes me scared. What should I do? Help me!! Then, the very nice flight attendant told me to buckle my seatbelt. At least there were no problems with the seatbelt. When I sat down, I forgot that we were in first class. After we were allowed to take off our seatbelts, I waited until the flight attendant came by with drinks and food. I got a bagel and a ginger ale. Aloha, Texas! When I got off the plane, I was not scared of flying because I just thought I was scared. I was glad that I was not scared because that flight was only three hours, and my next flight was in nine hours. So that gave me time to figure out what to do on the i ka hora ‘iwawa, which means nine hour flight in Hawaiian. I figured out that maybe I could just sleep through it because Hawaii is six hours behind. I forgot about the time change so if my flight left at 10:00 and Hawaii is six hours behind, then it would be 4:00 A.M.. I might as well sleep a tiny bit. It was very hard for me to fall asleep, so I would watch a few movies and binge-watch TV. I was not sure what TV show but whatever it was, this would be really fun (hopefully). But if I do not like the show, it will not be fun for me. Now it was time for my family and I to go to Hawaii. We got on the plane with no problems. The flight was boring.

 

Chapter Three: Aloha, Hawaii

When I first got there, I was so excited to find out where our house was that I forgot that it was on the big island, and I was on Oahu which means, “the gathering place.” I guess the name fit what I was doing because I was gathering some of my things. Tonight, my family and I were staying at a hotel. Tomorrow, I would get to see my new house because we were taking another flight. Then, I was done flying for a while which was a good thing because flying is expensive, the long flights get boring, and the time change is super different.

The next morning…

When I woke up, I was very excited because this was my last flight for a while, (hopefully for my family too because my dad was going to try to get a job at the Polynesian Cultural Center which sounds like a really cool place). We were at the airport, and my family and I were now on the plane. Lift off! The flight was only 30 minutes, so now there were 15 minutes left. The flight attendant came by with drinks that were in pineapples. My family was in first class, so the really cool drinks were free. But the people in coach had to pay if they wanted the drinks. Now we were about to land, and I was so surprised that nothing bad happened. My family and I took a bus to the hotel that was really close to where our new house was.

When I saw our house, I was so surprised because the house was three floors. My dad also said that there was a pool in the back. Everyone in my family got their own room, but my parents shared a bed. Also, everyone in my family got their own bathroom with a tub and a shower. As soon as I got in, I saw boxes everywhere. When I saw my bed, I thought that the bed fit in perfectly and that the room was for me.

 

Chapter Four: The Pool

As soon as I got in my room after looking around, I changed into a swimsuit, and my brothers did too. I looked inside their rooms. It looked like both of my brothers belonged in those rooms. Then, my mom took a picture of me and my brothers jumping that would become a part of our Christmas card. It was summer (well, people were in school, but our parents did not want us to start school in the middle of the year) so I didn’t have to worry about trying to make new friends. I also did not have to worry about homework because there was no break homework. Ia! That means yay in Hawaiian. People were on break for one more day. So now I could spend the rest of my time playing in the pool and having fun.

The pool was amazing. It came with a slide which made it super fun and cool. Our family also had a bunch of inflatables and pool noodles. My best friend FaceTimed me, and it was so great to see her face. It was May, so she was almost done with school. Her house did not get smashed by the volcano because she lived far away from school. I was not sure why. I really thought she would like the pool. I hoped she would like the shaved ice and malasada, the Hawaiian doughnut. My dad said he really likes his job. My mom just started working there too, so my older brother who is 14 was in charge, but he was nice. My new life was going well for me and my family. My parents made a lot of money. They also said their jobs were fun and easy, so it was a win-win. The house also came with two golf carts, and my parents got everyone big hammocks that were so comfortable. I could sit on a hammock all day long crafting, except it gets too hot.

 

Chapter Five: Seeing My Friend

I was so excited to see my friend from Ohio because I had not seen her in so long that it felt like a year. When she got here, she and her family put all their bags down, and then they came over to our house. When she got there, we start doing all sorts of crafts, talking, and asking all kinds of questions like ones about school or what the ride over was like. We had so much fun! Her two brothers and her sister were all looking over at us because we were making leis. Then, we let them and my two brothers make them. My friend and I went to my room and then into the na mala li’ili’i, which means little garden. We picked a bunch of beautiful flowers because there were five people who wanted real flower leis. Her family had not got any at the airport because it was very expensive. Then, my family took my friend’s family to the Polynesian Cultural Center for free because my dad worked there. They loved it. The next day, we took them to the King’s Hawaiian Roll Factory, and the rolls were good like they always were. On the last day of her visiting, we made friendships bracelets because she said that I was still her favorite best friend. When she left, it was so sad. The good part was that she just got a phone, so I could FaceTime and text her. My friend’s flight got delayed, and she did not want to stay at an airport, so she had to stay at our house because there were no available rooms at any hotels near the airport. That was fine with me. We could have our own sleepover. It would be so fun.

 

Chapter Six: The Sleepover

My friend and I were so excited. No problem here. We stayed up until ten o’clock, crafting and drawing. Then, we got to swim in the pool for thirty minutes. It was 10:30, so we went back into my room and then went to my room past the garden, by where all the hammocks were. My hammock was purple and covered in lights that I turned on. But my family made a rule: If we had friends over, we had to ask to use another person’s hammock. I had to ask my mom to use her hammock, because it was next to mine and moving a hammock is very hard. My friend said that this was the best night ever, better even than her birthday, which is always very fun. We used my family’s telescope to look up at the sky. It was so beautiful. Her mom came out and said they were going to stay for an extra week. We both yelled, “Yay!” We were so excited. Then, we actually had to go back to bed, but it was okay because we still had fun. We spent the next day in the pool. It was awesome. I almost forgot about the street fair the next day. My friend had not been to a street fair in months, so she was excited when I told her. When we were in the pool and not looking at the house, my brother jumped in, and I was so scared! Then, I spent the rest of the day in the pool going down the slide. I think that this was one of the best days in my life.

 

Chapter Seven: The Fair and Fun

This fair was not one of the typical street fairs you would see in Ohio. Yes, there were cotton candy, games, and shops, but there was also a huge luau. There were some really great fire dancers like my dad, who was teaching my brothers all the tricks. My mom and I danced in the luau which was always fun. My friend really liked it. The next day, I got to teach her how to do a traditional dance. She really liked doing the hula. She thought it was hard, but then she got the hang of it. Then, we put on a show for our mothers, and they loved it. There were five more days left until my friend left. They would be packed with fun and awesome things. The next day, we spent the day at a water park, which was amazing. We were tall enough to go on all the rides, even though we didn’t. I was screaming half the time with joy and laughter but mostly because I was just scared because the rides were so big. But after going, it was not that scary at all. In fact, it was fun. My friend also won a huge inflatable ball that was red. When we got home, we played with the ball for the rest of the day, but before sunset it started to rain. So we went inside and played hide-and-seek until sunset, and then we fell asleep. It was still raining the next day, so we went to the arcade and played all day and had so much fun. It felt as if we never had to leave, but we did because my dad said that the storm was getting worse. So on the way back, my family got some batteries while my friend’s family stayed in the car. When we got back, we were fine until…

 

Chapter Eight: The Storm and More

So, the power went out, and now we couldn’t call, text, or play games. What would be so bad about that, right? I mean, maybe not having electronics would not be the worst thing because I could play games and talk to people more than I usually would. So first, we played Just Dance where one person from each family would compete against each other, and my family won. Yay! Next, we played family vs. family Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader which was fun because my friend and I were in fifth grade before the avalanche. Next, we taught my friend’s family a simple luau dance which was super cool because it was fun to watch a luau even if you were not in it. We got all the flashlights in the house and used them for the luau. Soon after the luau, we all went to bed. Then the next morning, it finally stopped raining. But then the power company said that they could not get the power on until the next day, which was fine because another day without electronics would kind of be fun. For the first half of the day, we just laid on the hammocks talking. Then, we had lunch by the pool and then just played in the pool for the rest of the day. The next day there was power, but we barely used it because we learned our lesson when the storm was here: you don’t need electronics to have fun. My friend was leaving in a few days so no time to waste, right? But, it didn’t matter if we didn’t do everything because she would come back very soon.

 

Chapter Nine: Almost Bye…

I was going to have to say bye to my friend the next day, but once again they postponed it, so I had three more days with her. Awesomeness was in view. So the next day, we planned to go to the luau at my new school where the eighth grade girls did a special dance, and the boys played with fire. We got to the luau with one minute to spare. The luau was great. As soon as it finished, the principal took me and my friend on a tour. The building was not that big, but it smelled amazing for some reason. The girls were super kind, so I wasn’t worried about making new friends. After all of that, I was so tired. The next morning, everyone in our house woke up at 10:00 which was very late for me. So to wake myself up, I went for a swim in the pool, and soon after, everyone else joined. It was so fun because I felt like it was the best pool party ever. We all played until 11:00 when the parents had to work. All of the parents had to leave, but all of the kids stayed in the pool until 12:00 when we had lunch, which was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I made. After that, we watched a tiny bit of TV. Next, soon after the TV, we played Just Dance which was super fun and tiring. Next, we played hide-and-seek, and I scared my little brother for fun. After that exhausting day, we laid on the hammocks reading books. When my parents came home, they gave me and my two brothers each a fish. I knew why: because I had a fish but my brothers don’t. I was excited to have a second one because maybe my fish could be friends through the glass. They were both a rustic, purple, bluish color.

 

Chapter Ten: Bye for Real

Having to leave my friend was hard, but she was coming back in a month, and I was starting school which would get my mind off of her. Since we were both starting new schools, we would text each other about our difficulties if we had any, but hopefully we wouldn’t. The next day when I woke up, it was time to take my friend to the airport where she would go to Texas and then to Pennsylvania, where she and her family would begin the drive to Ohio. When we were in the car, I gave her a picture of us in Hawaii that says “friend” on top. I gave her sister a magnet and her brother a keychain to remember Hawaii. They all thanked me, and I was happy that they liked it. It was almost time to leave when one of the bags in the back opened up, and this trip was about to turn into a disaster. They had gotten to the airport two hours early though, so they had time to put everything back in the bag and even fold the clothes. So now, time for the hardest part, saying goodbye without crying. Here we go. I said goodbye and told her thanks for coming. She also said bye and said thank you too. I said the same things to her mom, brother, and sister. They went into the airport and then onto the plane. We saw it taking off, and we waved even though they probably could not see us. I think it was a sad and happy day.

 

Vera

Three days later, she found herself on the riverbank. Thin breaths huddled in her chest and emerged at unpredictable intervals. Perhaps she was saving heat. The early March grass, pale and sickly, was bent a final few degrees beneath her feet. The water would have been a perfect pale blue, but it was dirtied by too many sticks and garbage and polluted snowmelt. A breath of wind, as small as her own exhalations came by, and it threatened to freeze the water in the river and on her face with all the force of a puppy playing at ferociousness. She stayed still as the smallest fraction of a smile bloomed inside her and withered a moment later, and she listened to the empty air ringing in her ears.

Vera, in her own quiet way, had always been as proud as a cat. She never claimed superiority, never went around with a stiffly straightened back, but like a cat, she always licked her wounds in secret and never let anyone know she was injured.

The winter descended on Vera late, and as she thought about it on the riverbank, she was as grateful as she could be, given everything. The first snow had been in November, but it hadn’t reached in and hushed up her soul for a good month. Even so, it had been too long. Each day she looked for some new tool or trick. Each time she seemed to be out of ideas, she summoned up enough cunning for just one more.

Still, none of them had worked (and the last one had worked least of all), and now, with the crocuses still in bloom, all she had was her own breath and a scrap of hope. The second, when she looked for it, was absent as often as it was there. Vera still held onto it like a child’s blanket, because what else was there? Sometimes she was almost glad of its absence, the breathless wanting that broke through the hush a little bit. She was always glad of its presence. Mostly the cycle, the soar and the crash, had tired her out. Still she was a little glad, because what else was there?

It was with this little bit of hope and little bit of gladness that Vera waited on the riverbank and worried a little. What if the late arrival meant a late departure? What if there was no departure at all, and the turning inside her was separate from the seasons? (This last one was too likely for comfort, and Vera tried to think of the rivers’ currents instead, the empty twisting things.)

***

Three days ago, the sky had been an over-bright, perfectly clear blue, as if trying and failing to make up for the below-zero temperature. Vera had gone outside, at the urging of her mother, and not just to the river a bit behind her house. She had got in the car, for the first time since the break began, and bit back a grimace at the fumes. She always imagined them creeping through her lungs and turning her insides charcoal gray, but the reality was that they were mostly just gross. Someone who avoided the car like her would probably be fine.

The seat of the car looked the same way it smelled: dirty, old, and slightly wrong. It was the sort of smell that infused the places where terrible things happened. She was being overdramatic, she knew that. She could ignore the smell. It faded into the background if she waited long enough and looked at the trees, looking empty without their leaves. Or at the road, watching the dashes blur into an unbroken line of white paint and seeing the barriers on the side of the road crash into each other noiselessly. Her gaze shifted in continual disappointment. The sun was out, the sky was doing its best to pretend it was summer, but everything was sallow, like the light was slacking off.

The trees looked like dust plumes now. Vera’s mother hadn’t said anything yet. Vera had barely noticed her get in the car and start driving. Something hard weighed in her chest.

“How long have you been driving?”

“Uh, five minutes or so.” Her mom looked a little surprised, and Vera wondered why, until she remembered that she had barely spoken in the last few days. “We’ll be there soon.”

Which meant anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Although, she had been to this store before. She really should have been able to remember. “Okay. Thanks.”

The white line kept bleeding into itself. Everything that could be seen on the side of the road hurried away from the direction Vera was heading. What were they, so desperate to get away and so good at it too? For a moment the car was stationary, she and her mom sitting passively in it, doing nothing but twitching and breathing. The earth roared past, and the air hissed along the car. Then, her perspective flipped right back, and it was once more the car racing down the highway while the trees fumbled a little in the wind. Vera sat still, breathless, disturbed. Was it any different? She still did nothing; only the car moved her. Could she even move? Vera willed herself to pick up her arm. It didn’t move, but that was to be expected. She hadn’t wanted it enough.

Some thick tangle of emotion engulfed her. She looked through the gaps, doing her best to ignore it and waiting for time and oxygen to take it away, even as it was about to stop her throat from beneath. “Mom?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“The play you went to last week, what was that about?” Might as well distract herself.

“Oh, I don’t really remember. Adultery or something?” Vera’s mom didn’t look at her. Of course she couldn’t, she was driving, but she had drilled into Vera the importance of looking people in the face.

“What do you mean, adultery?”

“Like, people cheating on each other.”

“No, I know what adultery means. I mean what else happened in the play? Lots of plays are about adultery.”

“Exactly.” A corner of her mom’s mouth flicked upward, just for a second. “Can’t keep them apart.”

“Hm.” Vera didn’t see the point in seeing a play you couldn’t remember, but she decided to shut up about it. “Was it good?”

Her mom shrugged. “It was like the rest of them.”

A sense of déjà vu struck her; she could have sworn she’d had this conversation. Only it wasn’t déjà vu at all: she had said these things before, or close enough to them, and her mom had just gone on seeing the same plays. Her stomach turned, and the smell of exhaust that she had ignored till now flooded it. “Then why did you see them?” she demanded. Her voice had an edge of anger in it that made her mother flinch.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

Vera sulked and didn’t stop until her mom pulled into the parking lot, where the endless concrete was too overwhelming to really do anything but look at it. Something compressed her chest; she could hardly breathe. The buildings were not concrete, but they were the same color, or else a bleached beige totally devoid of personality. All the local colors had been drained out and stuffed into a handful of logos. Minus the sky. The sky was the same oversaturated blue, and at that moment Vera couldn’t imagine it ever changing. She would simply have to live out her life stalked by that sky, leeching all the color out of the landscape.

It was with — not gladness, but something close enough to it that Vera slipped out from under the sky and entered the store, following her mother blindly. The place was lightly crowded. That should have been easy enough to get around, but no one here could move at all, and Vera found herself bumping into person after person. Scowling, she retreated into a corner. Her mom could do the shopping herself.

The corner she found herself in was not a corner, exactly. That is to say, it was not a place where two walls met. It was a place where they collided as if thrown together by some frustrated god of retail, with any adherence to the laws of physics or aesthetics entirely accidental. The cement was rough enough to almost hurt when she leaned against it, and the caulk was filled with dirt. Had anyone, she wondered, ever taken care of this place? Or was it one of those permanently untended patches of civilization, built to keep out the wind and nothing more?

Something flickering by her nose surprised her, and when she traced the light back to its source, she found she was eye to eye with a dragonfly. It dragged itself up the caulk over bits of dirt that must have seemed to it as large as boulders, staring at her with glittering compound eyes; she scarcely breathed for fear of disturbing it. It drank in the empty light with its whole body and converted it, casual as anything, into iridescence: this must have been what made the alchemists think that they could transmute lead into gold.

“Vera?”

The sound of her mom’s voice made the dragonfly take off. Vera tracked the blue and green glimmers for the moment it was still in sight, then reluctantly turned around. “Coming!” she shouted, then winced at the sound of her own voice. The store was the same as it had been a few minutes ago. The lights flattened the linoleum floor into a featureless expanse, and everywhere, bright packages and conversation blurred into a meaningless haze. The place smelled overwhelming, but it was an unplaceable scent, the smell of hundreds of processed foodstuffs. She thought of the dragonfly, how for a moment the sight of it had carved into her the desire to simply watch it. Forever, if she could get that.

But this was the real world. It was shallow and chaotic, and she couldn’t sit and want. Can’t sit and want. It was a message she would do well to gouge into a wall somewhere, but of course, nothing was that permanent or that simple. She would have to remember it. Perhaps she should leave a note for her future self, telling her not to empty herself out, to let the tides of the supermarket and the car trips wash over her and fill her. For the time being.

 

This is Called a Ransom Note

Dear Janice,

You may have recently noticed that your dear semi-aquatic turtle named Henry has gone missing. Please do not call the police. If you do, they won’t believe you and won’t do anything to help you no matter how much you plead. Resistance is futile. There is no way out this time, Janice. Henry is in good health, and his tank water is kept at a constant 27.7778 degrees Celsius. I feed him every morning and every night. But in order for him to continue on in his joyous state, I will need you to place exactly $53.94 in a sealed envelope underneath the Ford-Gleedon library mailbox, located on the corner of Ford and Gleedon. I will use the money to buy Henry a jumbo sized container of freeze-dried krill every other month. You have a whole year to create a plan to infiltrate my facility. If you can find it. Good luck.

Sincerely,

Your dear Henry’s captor

P.S. I forgot to mention this in the letter, and I’ve gotten this far, and I’m not redoing this again. Just so you know, I need the money by Thursday.

 

Dear Daniel,

It has come to my attention that you have turtlenapped my semi-aquatic turtle named Henry. I know it was you. You have always loved Henry, and I saw you running out of my apartment building with Henry’s transportation tank while I was parking after my brunch with Janet. I know where you live, so there’s no reason for me to call the police anyway. Henry is a “she,” and you can always adopt a very similar turtle from your local shelter. Thank you for taking care of my turtle. I will be picking her up at 8:12 A.M. Eastern Standard Time tomorrow. Should you fail to hand over my dear Henry, you will be met with the brute force of a turtle mother. You have been warned.

With much frustration,

Janice

 

Dear Janice,

It has come to my attention that you have unmasked my identity. With much joy, I shall inform you of my plans this weekend. This upcoming Friday, I will be leaving the country with Henry and won’t look back. That’s right. I’m leaving. Over the weekend, we will take a cruise along the coast of France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and end in Greece. I have already bought a house for myself and Henry. We will live in a small cottage there and be adopted into the Grecian society. Henry will have HER own room with all of her supplies and toys. Until then, you have a slight window of time before we leave on our one-way trip to the sweet, sweet country Greece. Just so you know, yes, I have gotten a turtle license to have Henry with me on the plane to France. Farewell, Janice!

With much joy,

Daniel

 

Dear Daniel,

If it means that much to you, then I suppose you may take Henry on the cruise, but you can’t stay in Greece with her forever. You can’t even stay in Greece forever. I have heard it’s beautiful there, though. Perhaps I will meet you in Greece. After all, we haven’t talked in a while. It will be nice to see you. We could go to some museums and parks or gardens! Anyway, tell Henry that Mommy’s coming.

Janice

 

Dear Janice,

I appreciate you allowing me to take Henry on the adventure of her 20-30 year life. It would be nice to meet up in Greece. I told my turtle that her psychotic stalker was coming to get her, and she looked pretty scared. Great job at being a mom. Today, Henry took a walk around the block in her new rolly cart transporter! It’s a small cart that comes with a tank strapped onto it. You can take your aquatic friends on a walk anywhere you are willing to walk to. Henry seemed to have liked it a lot. I plan to take her on more rolly cart transporter trips. All is well otherwise, and I hope to see you in Greece. Or maybe not. Because then you might try to take Henry away from me. It would be very unfortunate if that were to happen. Well, we’ll see.

Sincerely,

Daniel

 

Sonnet of the Feline

           

The worst gray haired creatures to roam the earth,

They leave and scrounge for rats and mice alike,

And they are even worse while giving birth,

Do not cross their paths whilst on a hike,

 

Do not pet them because, beware, they’ll bite,

On bed or shoes, wherever they may lay,

Tread on the tail, and prepare for a fight.

Inside or stray, please stay out of their way.

 

Their retractable claws will leave a mark

That won’t simply wash away with some soap.

Run away and they will dive in an arc,

Tis a slip’ry slope, farewell to your hope.

 

A kitten’s life is like a sharp descent,

Clearly, dogs are better, that’s what I meant.

 

Weird Dream

A dream that I had once, which was extremely odd, was that I started off standing on the top of the moon. I walked forward to the edge of the moon and fell all the way through space, down to earth. When I hit the pavement, I jumped out of my sleep. This dream has happened over at least five or seven times. The only logical explanation I have for this dream occurring multiple times is that when I was younger, I used to imagine that I was sleeping on top of the world. I guess that my wondrous imagination somehow turned into a terrifying dream that winds up having my body completely in pieces when I hit the ground, turning my “awesome dream” into a heart pounding moment for me.

 

Potatoes to Apples

        

“Just a small town girl

Livin’ in a lonely world

She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere” – Journey (1981)

 

For all my life, I’ve wished I could be someone else. Somewhere else. New York. I remember being a kid, flipping through magazines at the one dentist office within a five mile radius, looking at the glamour and flashiness that the models and actresses flaunted in their pictures. I remember the article I was reading, something about the Big Apple, with a beautiful picture of Lindsay Lohan in the right hand corner. You know. Before she got sent to rehab.

She was in a red dress that skimmed the floor with these big hoop earrings. I flipped to the next page where there were even more A-List celebrities, carrying around their mini dogs in their mini bags before it was passé, and I fell in love. From that day on, I knew New York was my town.

I wouldn’t stop bothering my mom for a dress just like Lindsay’s. She got me one from the thrift shop that looked and smelled like it’d been worth about two dollars. Mom told me she’d gotten it for one. Did I care? No. I wore that dress until the fraying sleeves wore down to threads and I had had to cut up one of Dad’s old shirts for makeshift straps.

Idaho wasn’t ready for a star like me. And I made sure everyone around me knew that. My friends got tired of me talking their ears off about how great New York was and how terrible Idaho was. Can you blame me, though? We aren’t called the potato state for nothing. There’s nothing else here. It’s not exactly like you can party it up in a silo or anything.

So I made a plan. My town had one train station about two miles away from where I lived. Maybe I should have bought my tickets a little earlier, considering the fact that the only tickets left were for a train leaving at midnight. The only problem was that the ticket fare for a cross country trip was close to $200. Which meant that I would have to ask my parents for the money.

The closest I’ve ever been to a cross-country trip is driving to my Aunt Tilda’s house about two hours away from mine. My parents aren’t exactly what you’d call well-traveled people either. So I expected them to be a little protective of their only child going to a far away city and whatnot. They laughed. And when they saw how upset I looked, they stopped for a second.

“Why do you want to go to New York?” Dad asks, not even looking up from his newspaper. I could tell they weren’t taking me seriously.

Okay, so maybe I had already threatened to run away from home in eighth grade. They probably thought it was just one of those phases that I went through as a kid. But I’m not a kid anymore! I’m almost 18!

“I’ve looked at the train fare already, and it’s close to $200.” I showed them the online train schedule. I’ve already established that I’m an adult by showing them that I’m responsible for looking up the train times. To ask anything more of me would be overkill.

“And you just expect us to give you the money?” Mom stops peeling potatoes long enough to exchange glances with Dad. I know that glance. It’s the should-we-entertain-our-delusional-daughter-or-tell-her-how-the-world-actually-works glance. Which is ridiculous. I’m not delusional, and this isn’t a phase.

“It’s not just giving me the money, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “Think of this as an investment. I’ll go to New York, I’ll make money, and when I get rich and famous enough, I’ll buy you and Dad a house someplace better than Idaho.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on making this money?”

I stop for a second. Do I even know what I’m planning on doing in New York? Whatever. I’ll figure it out when I get there. They don’t need to know. God! Why can’t they just support me? It’s just $200. And the money I’ll need to rent out a place or stay in a motel. And the money I’ll need for food and a ticket back. But it’s not like I’ll be coming back anyway, so I don’t even need that $200. I’m already thinking ahead and saving money. So I go about convincing my parents the only way I know how: begging.

“Please? Please? Please?” I stretch out each syllable and make eye contact with my parents, hoping to send across some kind of subliminal message that says, “I need to go to New York now, and if I don’t, I might die.”

“Let’s say you did go. Where would you even stay? We’ve only left you at home alone once while we went to Marcie’s wedding.” Mom starts to cut up the potatoes into little chunks. It feels like the potatoes are my dreams, and my parents are just willing to cut them up into pieces for soup, or whatever dish we’re having tonight for dinner.

“I’d stay in a motel,” I answer quickly. “They’re cheap, and I’d be able to stay there for a while.”

They don’t look convinced.

“No.” Mom goes back to the potatoes. I can feel my dream slipping through my fingers like a wet bar of soap. Ew.

“But that’s not fair!” I feel tears gathering behind my eyeballs. I can picture it now. Me, years from today, in another house just like this one. I’m peeling potatoes, or washing dishes, or mucking out a cow yard. I’ll be just like… my parents. My boring, mediocre parents. I can feel the walls of our tiny kitchen start to close in on me. I have to get out of this state.

I manage a smile and try to make eye contact with my dad. “Okay. You’re right. I’m not responsible enough to stay by myself, especially in a whole other state.” I force a laugh but end up sounding like a car backfiring.

Mom pushes her mouth into a straight line and nods. “I’m glad you see it from our perspective.”

“I’ll just go to my room and get ready for dinner.” I turn to walk upstairs.

Dinner that night is kind of weird. Unusually quiet. But that might be because I’m trying to think of how to execute my master plan titled, How I’m Going to Get Out of Idaho by Stealing Money from my Parents While They’re Sleeping.

I mull over my options. I don’t have access to any of the things I see in the spy movies, which means I’ll just have to sneak into their room. They keep this ceramic bottle somewhere on their nightstand that has our emergency money in it. This is an emergency.

We finish eating in silence and go upstairs to wash up and go to sleep. Once I hear the faint snoring coming from the room across the hall, I know it’s time for me to put my plan into action.

I roll across the bed and plant my feet on the floor as softly as I can. I start to make my way to my parents’ room. Barely three steps into my plan, my foot and the floor create this awful creaking sound that gives me a heart attack. I reach the door and turn the handle slowly, wincing a little when it squeaks. I stop for a second and listen for any sign that says they’re awake. When there aren’t any, I turn the handle the rest of the way to let myself in.

I tiptoe my way to Dad’s side of the bed and reach around on the nightstand trying to find the ceramic bottle. I make contact with something cold, smooth, and cylindrical. Score. I shake it around a little to make sure it’s the right thing, and sure enough, the money inside makes a faint swishing sound as it hits the insides of the bottle.

My dad grunts in his sleep, and I almost fall back, but catch myself on the edge of the nightstand. I come back to my room and switch on the lights. I uncork the bottle and pull the money out with a pair of tweezers.

There’s about $500 in 20 dollar bills. I decide to take all of it. I empty out my school bag and pack a sweatshirt, some jeans, three shirts, and four changes of underwear and socks. I stuff the money into a fanny pack that I’ve put on under my hoodie and get downstairs as quietly as I can.

Once I make it outside, I do a little victory dance. Now all I need to do is get to the station. I check the time on my phone. 10:46. I have around an hour to get to the station before midnight. I walk down the driveway connecting my house to the road. It’s a quiet night and close enough to summer that I can feel the shirt under my hoodie start to stick to my skin.

I’m doing it! I’m finally getting out of Idaho!

It takes a while for my eyes to get adjusted to the lighting at the station. I see the ticket desk as soon as I get inside. There’s a pimply, tired looking kid around my age sitting behind it.

“Hi. One ticket for the train to New York?” I slide the money into the little compartment under the speaker. He looks up and types something into a machine and hands me the ticket. I wait for him to be impressed, maybe ask some questions about why I’m going to New York. A couple of seconds pass. Nothing. I lean with my elbow on the counter. “Yeah, I’m going to New York. By myself. I just decided I needed to get out of Idaho, you know? Who knows how long I’ll be gone.” I check to see if he’s listening. He’s not. “I might meet some celebrities there too, no big deal. I’ll ride a subway or two, go to Central Park. I’ve heard it’s all very glamorous.” The guy finally looks up. Yes! A reaction! He opens his mouth to say something. Maybe about how cool it is that I’m taking this journey? Or maybe about how he’s always wanted to go to New York too and how he’s so jealous I’m living out my dream?

“Did you say something?” He takes out the earbuds that I’ve just noticed and looks at me with a unimpressed, mildly annoyed expression. The earbuds play loud rock music that cuts through the silence of the station.

“Um. Nothing. Have a nice night.” I take my elbow off the counter and walk quickly to the seating area. Okay. Not exactly the reaction I was looking for. Not really a reaction at all, if I’m being honest.

But it’s okay! In about 15 minutes, everything about this garbage state will be history. The train will arrive, and I’ll be off to live the life I always knew was for me. I go out to the platform and sit on a bench with my hands tucked into the pocket of my hoodie and wait. Then, the train pulls up.

I enter the car and shuffle all the way to the back. I hoist my duffel bag up into the compartment and sit down in a window seat. It’s all dark outside with the exception of the lights from the station. I’m ready to reenact the victory dance from when I left the house when I notice there are two other people sitting in the car with me. I shrink down into my seat.

There’s a lady sitting in the seat across from me. She has hair that looks like it’s been dyed, and even though I’m sitting pretty far away, the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume wafts from her direction. I feel kind of awkward, but it’s not like I’ll have any reason to talk to her anyway. I settle down into my seat and lean back into the headrest. I’m just about to doze off when a guy gets on and sits in the seat in front of me. From what I can see from the back, he has on a Pistons jersey.

The train jerks forward a little, and we start to move out of the station. I press my hands up against the window like a little kid and move my face as close to the glass as I can and crane my neck up to look at the sky.

For all I complain about Idaho, it really does look pretty at night. We even got some national reserve for looking at the sky. The stars look scattered, like someone took a paintbrush covered in white paint and flicked the bristles until the dark canvas was covered with tiny dots of light.

We start to pick up speed. I hear shifting in the compartment where my bag is. Then, my bag tumbles to the ground with a graceful thump, articles of clothing flying everywhere within a four foot radius. Crap. I scramble around looking for the things that fell out and manage to locate two shirts and three pairs of socks.

The lady sitting across from me looks around her seat and finds another pair of socks. She hands it to me. “Thank you so much.” I take the socks from her and stuff them into my bag. I’m positive my face is bright red.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a small smile. “You seem to have packed quite a bit. Might I ask where you’re going?” Finally! Someone who shows interest. I’m going to pretend she didn’t just see my pair of socks with the embarrassing polka dot print on them.

“I’m going to New York by myself,” I say. The guy in front of me turns around and hands me one of my shirts. I don’t want to seem rude, so I thank him and ask where he’s from. You know. Small talk. I’ll need it for when I rub elbows with Taylor Swift.

“I’m from Detroit.”

“Ohhh. Like 8 Mile?” I hope I’ve hit an emotional chord for him. Like, maybe he really likes Eminem and wants to follow in his footsteps and reach rap stardom. He gives me a blank look.

“What’s that?”

“Nevermind. But isn’t Detroit way closer to New York than Idaho?”

He shrugs. “I stayed with some relatives here for a while.”

I turn to the lady next to me and ask her where she’s from.

“I’m a singer. I have connections with some friends in Brooklyn, and they said they’d book me a gig at their bar.” She brushes her hair behind her ears and checks her phone.
“That’s really cool.” I smile at the both of them. None of us know what else to say, so we all go back to staring out the windows, looking at our phones, and sleeping.

As the anticipation grows in my stomach, so does the exhaustion from all the planning and scheming I’ve done for the past five hours. I close my eyes. Hopefully I’ll wake up just when we arrive in New York. It’s kind of like a fresh start.

A fresh start for me and everyone else on the midnight train.

 

2073

Music echoes against the cold wooden walls of the old room, each note emphasizing how silent and still everything else is. Old books, stacked unevenly on the shelves, are coated in a thick layer of dust, and papers are strewn across the floor. It is 2073, and it has been years since anyone has stepped foot inside. The music comes from a tape recorder, plugged into the wall, perpetually playing the same three notes again and again. It is the only sound aside from the the buzzing of the bees outside. The drapes flutter with each gust of wind through the shattered glass window, and all that can be seen is a deserted wasteland with no human in sight. It is a fragmented version of what once was, a memory only held in the minds of the children, now adults, who once inhabited the playground outside.

Far away, a man stumbles through the dry, desolate desert all alone. Upon his skinny body cling tattered cargo pants, scattered with holes and loose threads. An equally worn long sleeve shirt hangs loosely on him, size extra large, when he is now a small. He was once known as Jeremy, but the name has long since slipped from his memory along with thoughts of his family and his home. He is the shell of the person he once was. As he climbs hill after hill of sand, his tattered leather bag slips off of his skeletal shoulders, forcing him to stop and adjust it over and over again. He can’t risk losing it, for it holds every single thing that he owns. His bag is slowly getting lighter with each passing day. It is becoming easier to carry, yet a reminder of how close he may be to death.

Memories of the past months slowly begin to infiltrate his thoughts and weigh down on his body and mind. He is reminded of the struggle to continue moving through the desert in the past weeks, as well as years ago, a time of joy, but also one that is on the brink of slipping from his memory. His daughter peaks out of his cloudy memory more often than anyone else. His wife less so, since he has had many more months to adjust to this loss.


Crap, he thinks to himself, pulled away from his thoughts as he suddenly realizes that something is wrong. Looking himself up and down, he finally notices the disappearance of the comforting thumping of his bag swaying against his back. Crap, he thinks again, realizing that he must now retrace his steps and climb the hill he just descended to find his bag. He scurries up, forcing himself to ignore the sand slipping under his feet, scattering across his face and into his eyes.

One hundred miles away, at the site of the old room, the ground suddenly begins to shake with the force of a 40 elephant stampede. One hundred miles from the room, the ground once again begins to shake. The man steadies himself, one hand against the sliding sand dune, and the other slowly losing its clutch on his bag and possession, eventually dropping them to the ground once again. The shaking comes as no surprise to the man, who has had to deal with these daily earthquakes for months now, but it is no less irritating. As the ground rapidly shakes beneath him and the earth seems to flip upside down, his feet slip out from under him, and he slides face first down the mound of sand. His chin stings as he comes to a stop at the bottom of the sand dune, then his eyes and hands as he returns from his stunned state to recognize the pain from the sand. His eyes fill with tears, and he wipes them away with a swift swipe of his hand, embarrassed, even though there is no one to see him cry. As a final droplet cascades down his cheek, making a river-like indent in the folds of his filthy face, his bag comes crashing down from the top of the hill to his feet. The earthquake slowly comes to an end, and the man checks his belongings. Nothing is broken, and he continues on.

Two months pass. The man has walked tirelessly in uneven circles, unaware that he is going nowhere. He has survived by drinking from wells in abandoned villages and sleeping in the empty houses. The water is bitter, and the beds are rusting and coated in dust, but they offer a diversion from the never-ending sand and sun. He never stays long, for he needs to continue on through the rolling hills of sand that never cease to scorch his feet with each step. It has been three weeks since he has come across any evidence of abandoned human civilization, and before that it had been two weeks. He is exceedingly aware that the towns are becoming farther and farther apart and that his strength is dwindling. His steps become smaller and smaller with each hour that he walks. He stumbles along, eyes half closed, legs giving out.

It is close to noon and already he is growing too tired to keep his eyes open. He knows that he is safe to do this because the landscape never changes, and as long as he continues walking he will be fine. He is almost at the point of sleepwalking, and his feet have a mind of their own.

The end was coming. There was a delusion across the earth that there was still a chance, still hope. Only those who could wrap their heads around it were preparing, and the rest were already as good as dead. The man had grabbed his daughter when he heard the news, shoved their belongings into their 1990’s SUV, and laid his daugher across the backseat, covering her in a blanket. Shoot, he thought, as he was pulling out of the driveway. He knew his daughter would be devastated if he forgot her favorite blanket. He rushed into the backyard where he knew that her blanket was laying and grabbed her off the grass, muddying his hands. The man rushed back to the car, the countdown to apocalypse almost visible, like an hourglass, in his mind. Without really thinking, he jumps back into his car, places the blanket carefully on the front seat next to him, and zooms out of the driveway. He needs the extra time to make it out of the city before the traffic builds.

Two hours later, with his daughter still asleep in the backseat, he arrives at the outskirts of town. They are almost safe. His brother has offered them a spot in his apocalypse shelter, and they are almost there. He turns around for the first time to shake his daughter awake, but is greeted by an empty space with a blanket strewn across. He is frozen with shock. His eyes are locked on the leather seat, and his hands slip from the wheel. The next thing he knows the car smashes into a tree, and he is thrown back by his airbag. The man can’t begin to understand what happened; his daughter is gone, and his car is wrecked. He is left with a blank feeling of terror as darkness encloses around him, leaving the man standing, out of breath, on the side of the road, his smoking car offering the sole glow of light as the stars begin to rip through the blackness above.

While the man stands terrified in the road, his daughter is scrunched in the bathroom corner of their house, crying. She is alone and afraid. Her father is nowhere to be found, and her house is full of her monsters. Two hours ago she had woken up in the car, her father gone. He had been grabbing her blanket, and the night stars had been shining down on her through the windows. She had slipped out the door and gone back into her house to see what was happening. As the front door swung closed behind the girl, her dad, unbeknownst to her, ran back up the driveway and turned the car on, forgetting to check the backseat again, driving away.

Suddenly, the man is jolted from his memory and pulled back into the desert. His body bashes against a hard, rough wooden surface, and his eyes snap open as he comes to an abrupt stop, waking him from his sleepy state. A little wooden room greets the man, almost welcoming him inside with a hard wooden hug. One note, then another meet his ears, beating down on him with the pounding of the past. The song that he once recognized feels distant, but the meaning is something he has never forgotten. The notes drift through the air, emitted in all directions from a tape recorder plugged into the wall to the left of the door, on the inside of the cozy room. Ivy covers the exterior, but a golden, rust-free handle is visible, peeking nervously through the vines. The man reaches out a shaky hand, grasps the handle, and turns it, pulling it towards him with a suddenly energized intensity.

He rushes inside, eager to escape the brutal sun. Once he is safely inside, he removes his bag, dropping it to the floor just next to his feet, and looks around. Old books, stacked unevenly on the shelves, are coated in a thick layer of dust, and papers are strewn across the floor. The drapes flutter with each gust of wind through the shattered glass window, and all that can be seen through them is the deserted wasteland that the man knows so well. The man spins around, searching for the source of the music. In the corner of the room, he sees a tape recorder with a cord twisted up and plugged into an outlet in the wall. Gasping, he holds his breath, unable to breathe because of the surprise.

The man learned long ago that electricity was no longer usable; outlets had stopped working after the asteroid. He reaches forward and yanks the cord out from the wall, but instead of ending immediately, the music falters and then continues playing louder than before. Surprised, he shakes the box and turns it around. He finds a panel on one side of the box that is screwed shut. He spots the lid of a bean can, slipped under the table and laying on the ground. Bending it in half, accidentally drawing blood with the sharp jagged edge he has fashioned into a knife, the man cuts a little door in the plastic music box and carefully lifts up the panel. The man nervously peeks inside and sees the last thing he expects, a tiny, pink music box, topped with a ballerina moving mechanically, yet rhythmically to the music.

“How could this be possible.” He gasps. The music box inside is undoubtedly what he thinks it is: his daughter’s. And he finally recalls why he had recognized the song.

He shrivels with sadness, sinking to the floor, shoulders squished against the wall, sobbing. He doesn’t know what to think of this. His mind races, jumping frantically from one laughable idea to another ill-conceived notion. As his thoughts jumble together into one, he forces himself to believe that the music box must be a coincidence, but he cannot force himself to ignore the voice in the back of his head, whispering his daughter’s name, telling him that the music box is hers.

Hours later he lies, shivering on the floor, overtaken by a restless sleep. Even as he dreams, he feels a presence. A shadow. Suddenly, he is shaken from his rest by the sound of soft tears. He can almost see his daughter shuffling through the books on the bookshelf, tears falling across the pages as she flips through the book her dad had once read to her. He has a sudden urge to comfort the girl, his daughter, but is left with an empty feeling when he remembers that no one is there. He runs to the books, noticing a select few which have somehow shed their dust not too long before. He knocks the pile down, searching through the books for one in particular, the one he had seen in his dream. One catches his eye, the bright fluorescent colors and glossy paper cover reminding him of the many nights that he sat reading to his daughter. He flips through the pages, but then tells himself that he is silly to even let his mind be plagued with this thought.

He puts the book back down, yelling internally at himself for allowing his optimism to get to him. He becomes angry, angry at himself and angry at the room for playing tricks on him. He shouts out loud, projecting his feelings into every corner of the building, yet his emotions continue to flood his body. He punches the table once, twice, three times, continuously, endlessly, expelling his rage for what happened to his daughter and to himself. He spots the books he had strewn across the table earlier and pushes them aside, onto the floor. Then, he crumbles into a ball on the floor besides the table, sobbing.

Through his tears he looks around, colors blending together from the salty water filling his eyes. The books covering the floor catch his eye and before he can stop himself, he is on his knees weeding through the pages. His tears scatter like rain across the pages, but he cannot ignore the dried tears among them that are undeniably from an earlier time. It is not till minutes later that the truth actually sinks in. He ignores all reason, his mind clouded with hope: his daughter must have been here, there is no other possibility.

 

Stormx4 Part I

Julia skipped happily down the stairs into the kitchen. She was wearing flamingo pajamas. The pants were completely covered with rainbow flamingos. The shirt consisted of a pink flamingo, the yellow sun, and it said, “Summertime is the best time.” Summer is getting close, but it’s not here yet. Her mom was on the phone again. Her mom had been on her phone for weeks, checking her texts, calling someone, or answering a call. Julia had been thinking about it forever and was determined to figure out the answer, and when Julia is determined to do something, it will be done.

“Good morning, Mom!” she said with a smile. Her mom ignored her and shooed Julia away with a motion of her hand. Julia did not listen because she was upset that her mother was ignoring her. “Mother!!! Mom!!! Mama!!! MUM!! MOM!!!” she yelled.

“Um, sorry. Excuse me for a second,” Julia’s mother said. Her mother put her hand over the phone speaker. “Julia, enough with this behavior of yours. I am on the phone with someone,” she whispered loudly.

“With who?!” Julia said.

“Someone important. Now go watch TV,” she replied.

“But I want breakfast!” Julia complained.

“No, Julia! Make it yourself! Do not be so dependant!” her mom responded sternly.

“Why can’t you just make it?” she pleaded.

“I told you! I’m on the phone!” her mom replied.

“But Mom! I don’t want to make it myself! I do that every morning!” Julia moaned.

“Then you can live without it. Now go watch TV,” her mom answered.

“I don’t want to,” she said as she crossed her arms and pouted.

“I do not care if you want to or not! I am on the phone, so go!” her mom hollered. Julia stomped to the living room which was right in front of the kitchen.

“Sorry about that, my… dog was acting up again,” Julia’s mother continued with her call. “So what were you saying?”

“Dog? I am not a dog, right? She gone crazy?” Julia mumbled to herself.

Her dad marched in the room. “Hey, Julie!” he said. “You ready for school today?” he asked.

“Dad, do I look like a dog to you?” Julia questioned.

Her dad looked concerned. “Um, no? Should you?”

“I knew it, and also there is no school today. It’s Sunday,” Julia mumbled. There is something weird going on, and I am going to figure out what exactly that is, Julia thought.

Her dad rolled his eyes and laughed a little. “I gotta go to work. Make sure you wake up your brother for his baseball game, so he has enough time to get ready. Also, did you see outside there is a moving van. I guess someone finally moved into the house next door. Too bad that old couple had to move. They were such great neighbors,” he said.

Julia paid no attention to him. She had worse things to worry about. “Okay. Sure, Dad.” She snuck up the stairs and sat in the room filled with her old toys. She pretended to be reading a book.

Julia then realized her mom was in the shower. This was her chance to figure out what was really going on. Julia’s mom typically takes a thirty minute shower, so that was how long Julia had to figure out this mystery.

She tiptoed into her parents room and grabbed her mom’s phone. She opened up the text messages. There was a number, 408-487-9863. Julia ran to her room and grabbed her phone. On her notes, she put the same number.

Mystery person: 408-487-9863

Julia opened up her mom’s text messages. At the very top, it said that she had received 40 text messages from that number. She clicked on the number, and at that very moment the doorbell rang.

Julia jumped in fear. The shower sound stopped. Her mom’s footsteps got closer and closer. Julia panicked and ran behind her mom’s bed.

Her mom cracked open the door. “Julia!” she called.

“Yeah!” Julia answered back, not realizing that she was trying to hide from her mother.

“What are you doing back there?” she asked.

“Uumm… I lost my phone. Yeah. I was looking for it, um, under the beds?” she replied.

“Okay. Can you get the door, and also hand me my phone, please,” she said.

Julia grabbed her phone and handed it to her mom who was wrapped in a towel. Her mom quickly shut the door. Julia sighed and turned away.

“And Julia!” her mom called from the shower. “Be polite.” Julia rolled her eyes and walked to the door. She doesn’t need to tell me to be polite. I am very polite. She’ll see. I will make her proud, Julia thought.

Julia opened the door. In front of her was a family of four. “Hello. We are your new neighbors! It is very nice to meet you. I am Esther, and this is Richard. These are our two lovely children, Michael and Ella. May we meet your family?” the woman asked.

“Um, just give me a sec please. Um, you can wait right outside, please. Thank you,” Julia answered. She slammed the door in their faces.

She ran up the stairs to her mom. “MOM!!! We have new neighbors! They want to meet you!!” Julia yelled loudly, so the family knew she was trying.

“I don’t have time right now, sweetie. I am preparing for a very important meeting. Bring your father,” she said back. Her mom was switching from outfit to outfit, trying to look her best for the meeting. She still had the dark blue towel wrapped around her hair on top of her head.

“Don’t you know he went to work?” Julia questioned.

“Alright then, bring your brother… Did you or your father wake him up for his baseball game?” she asked.

Julia stressfully put her hand on top of her head and pulled her dark brown hair. “Oh my gosh. I knew I was forgetting something!!!”

She ran to her brother’s room a few feet away and slammed open the door, smashing one of his newly built Legos. “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!!! YOU ARE GOING TO MISS YOUR BASEBALL GAME!!!” she screamed.

“Julia, I just built that!” her brother angrily complained.

“Well, I’m sorry, but it is not my fault you left it by the door! Now get up to go to your baseball game!” Julia yelled. Julia and her brother, Sam, are very close in age. She is eleven, and Sam is eight.

“But I don’t want to go!” he yelled.

“SAM! GET UP!” Julia hollered, infuriated by her brother’s refusal to listen to her.

“Why are you so mean?” He pouted.

“I am not!” Julia answered. “C’mon, Sam. Why don’t you want to go to your baseball game?”

“Because,” he replied.

“Because why?” Julia asked.

“Because, because.” Julia noticed that Sam seemed really upset, and she felt sorry for him. She hugged him and sat on the foot of his bed.

“HELLO!!! ANYBODY THERE?!” the neighbors yelled.

“Oh my gosh. The neighbors. I totally forgot!!! SO SORRY! BE THERE IN A MINUTE!!!” Julia responded.

“C’mon, Sam. We gotta go meet the new neighbors,” Julia prompted.

“Okay,” Sam said. She dragged Sam down the stairs, and once they got to the door, she smashed it open as fast as she could. The family waited impatiently outside the door.

The father stared at his watch and straightened his red tie. The mother perfected the ruffles of her tight purple dress. She fanned herself with her elegant paper fan that was covered with all sorts of patterns. Her two twins stared at each other. It was easy to figure out the resemblance between all of them. The mom and her children had golden blond hair. The father had brown hair, but the two kids had his same pointy nose. And of course, they were all so perfect.

“So sorry. My mom is preparing for a meeting, and my dad is at work,” Julia said, ashamed.

“But you can meet me!” Sam added optimistically.

“Okay, no problem. We’d love to meet you, little one. What is your name?” the woman asked.

“Sam,” he answered.

“Oh Sam, we are delighted to meet you,” Esther said with a smile. The two kids beamed at Julia and Sam. Her mother ran down the stairs.

“Oh, um… hello, Chandlers. Pleasure to um… meet you here. Why exactly are you here?” Julia’s mom asked. Julia was shocked that her mother already knew these people.

“It almost seems like you don’t want us here, Leena. We are the new neighbors. Would it be alright if your children came over for a while?” Esther asked politely. Julia was very upset with this. She always hated being in other people’s houses if it was not her best friend’s house.

“Um, no, sorry. He has a baseball game to get to,” Julia’s mom answered quickly.

“No, no. We insist,” Richard assured. The two parents glared at Mrs. Wood. Mrs. Wood was intimidated by them.

“Um, sure. I’m sure it would be fine to be a little late. Why don’t you two go upstairs and get dressed,” she said.

Sam and Julia nodded obediently even though they had no idea what was going on. The two ran up the stairs and into their rooms.

“Why don’t you two go in the house. We’ll meet you there, okay?” Richard said to his children.

“Okay!” they answered.

“Why are you really here?” Leena questioned.

“Oh well, I wanted to get a head start on it. My children already passed. Will yours?” Esther responded. She stopped waving her fan and micheviously grinned at Leena.

They glared at each other. “Give me a second please,” Leena hissed. She held her hand to her chest, trying her hardest not to break Esther’s nose with her fist. She walked to the phone to call her husband, Noah.

Julia and Sam came running down the stairs. “C’mon, little ones. Let’s go!” Esther called in a kind, high-pitched voice.

Now, Julia wore a plain purple short sleeve shirt with jeans. Her dark brown hair was in a neat side braid. Sam wore a dark blue jacket with a neon orange Adidas symbol on the front. His sweatshirt covered his black shirt. There was a Minecraft creeper surrounded by TNTs. He wore his orange shorts that were loose and really big on him, but he liked them that way. His hair was still messy because he hated to fix it. The only time he ever did his hair was when his friend, Bella, came over.

The two siblings held hands and walked with their neighbors to their house, where Michael and his twin sister Ella waited patiently.

Julia and Sam walked through the small door and into their neighbor’s small town home.

“Alright, Julia and Sam Wood. We are going to ask you a few questions today,” Richard said.

“Why?” Sam replied politely.

“Well, we are doctors, and your mother asked us to make sure you are doing okay because she is so busy she does not have time to take you to the doctor’s office. Let’s go upstairs,” Esther said.

Michael and Ella sat in their living room and watched them all walk up the stairs. The twins both knew exactly what was going on, but Julia and Sam were completely unaware.

“So, Julia and Sam, how old are you both?” Esther asked.

“I am eleven, and my brother is eight,” Julia answered respectfully.

“It seems you Sam, are very smart. You have all A+’s and one A. Julia you have…” Richard stated.

Julia cut him off, “How do you know that?”

“One A, three A-’s, two B+’s, and one A+,” Richard continued. “It seems you have decent grades, but will they be enough? That is the question.” Esther elbowed her clueless husband. He understood exactly why.

“We…” Esther sighed. “Your mother told us about you. She is so proud of you.” Julia nodded. “So, back to the questions. Have either of you ever been in a pressured situation? Such as bullies, natural disasters, death of a close friend or relative,” Esther added.

“Uh, we have been in a 2.3 earthquake,” Julia replied.

“I have been bullied,” Sam said quietly. Julia gasped in shock. Her brother is usually an open book and tells her everything.

“Sam! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Julia exclaimed.

“I didn’t think it mattered that much. I didn’t really think you cared,” he whispered.

“Of course I care, Sam. I’m your sister, and I always care about what happens to you,” Julia said sympathetically. “Now, who was doing it?”

“This cantankerous, unscrupulous, utterly malicious bully named Darius,” Sam mumbled. Julia stared at her little brother. She had no idea he knew his vocabulary so well. It must have been because he had been reading so much. Sam had always been an amazing reader and could read pretty much any book, unless he felt like it was boring.

“Um, okay. That was lovely, but let’s continue,” Richard prompted. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I want to be a scientist. What do you wanna be, Sam?” Julia answered.

“I wanna be… I wanna be a scientist, so I can work with Julia!” he stated. He stood up on the small brown couch and bounced up and down with excitement. He imagined it, him sitting with Julia solving math problems that would indicate when the Earth’s rotation would stop. She would have a purple lab coat, and he would have an orange one. They would solve it together and then laugh, realizing how simple their mistakes were before.

“Good heavens!” Esther squealed. “Do not bounce on the couch! Were you raised in a barn?!” She covered her mouth with her hand and fanned herself with her detailed paper fan once again. Sam quickly sat back down next to Julia across from the other small brown couch where their doctors and neighbors sat. Little did they know, the Chandlers were neither doctors nor their new neighbors. They were something far more important.

“I think that is enough questions, answers, and impersonating jackrabbits for today, children. Off you go,” Esther said, annoyed. Julia and Sam stood up and left the room. Richard got up from his seat and closed the door behind them.

“You can’t say stuff like that, Richard. You’ll give us away. It is a hard secret to keep. It may feel like you should warn people, but it is for the best that no one knows what is to be left of this world when the storm occurs. We will stop it. We just can’t tell anyone. The only people who will be aware of this are the few chosen engineers and scientists,” Esther whispered to her husband.

“But I don’t get why we cannot allow the real scientists and engineers to handle this,” Richard replied quietly.

“Because, Richard. The new generation of children has spent more time around technology. We have a much better chance using them. Besides, it will be quicker,” Esther answered.

Julia and Sam walked down their stairs and started to open the door. “Hey, guys. How did it go?” Michael asked. The two twins still sat in the same spot on the beige couch in front of the TV. Ella paused the horror movie that they were watching. It made sense because they were both twelve.

“How did what go?” Sam replied.

Ella looked around to make sure no one was listening. “The test?” she whispered.

“What test?” Julia asked.

“You really do know nothing,” Michael continued. “They, our parents, are part of a secret organization known as STORMx4. It stands for Support, Technological, Official, Rescuing Machine. The name in general means a storm that is combining four different types of natural disasters, a hurricane, tornado, earthquake, and tsunami. It will be a worldwide storm, and it will wipe out half of the planet. So STORMx4 is trying to bring together the smartest kids on the planet and use them to build a machine that will prevent this.

“So we could get picked?” Sam questioned. It was hard for Julia and Sam to process it all, that their worlds would blow up, unless a few kids could save it.

“Yes, that’s what we have heard,” Ella responded.

“Well, we have to warn the police officers and the firemen. And our parents,” Julia said stressfully.

“You can’t. We aren’t even supposed to know. You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone, not even your family,” Michael said quickly.

Sam looked up at Julia. They both really wanted to warn their parents, so that they could get to safety.

“Okay,” Sam sighed. The kids all heard footsteps coming from upstairs.

They all looked at each other. If Esther and Richard figured out that they were still there, the Chandler parents would for sure suspect something. Julia and Sam crawled swiftly and quietly to the door.

Julia twisted the door handle and then opened the door. Thankfully, their previous neighbors hated squeaky doors and had the door fixed. So if you opened the door, you could still hear the sound of a bee buzzing outside and pollinating the nearby flowers.

She cautiously closed it behind her. Sam and Julia ran back to their home. Their dad came home as quick as possible when he heard that his children could be chosen to rescue the world.

Noah and Leena held hands and leaned against their counter in the white kitchen. Noah rubbed Leena’s hand as she sobbed. Julia and Sam walked through the door.

“Is everything okay?” Julia asked. Their parents just came over and hugged them.

“Yes. Are you okay?” their father said concerningly.

“Yeah. Why?” Sam replied. Their parents looked at each other. “What?” Sam added.

“Well, there is a storm coming, and — ” their father had a lot more to say, but he was disrupted.

“Yeah, we know. It is a huge storm, and it will wipe out half the planet. We also heard that they are testing kids to see who will qualify to help build a machine to stop it,” Julia interrupted.

Both parents were shocked that their children already knew about this. “Our friends told us!” Sam said enthusiastically.

“Okay. Well, that is why I have been on the phone so much. I have been talking to the Chandlers,” Leena added. She looked down at her feet and clenched her husband’s hand. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“And that’s why I have been so busy. STORMx4 has been contacting us. They believe they have discovered some potential inventors. The thing is, you just tested. They have seen your grades and know precisely what you struggle with. Our neighbors are the employees in charge of testing and watching you. They have been spectating you for a few days, so we have heard. Anyways, we are sorry for not telling you kids,” Noah said.

“It’s okay, Dad, but have people been stalking us?!” Sam continued. “Are they secret spy agents?!”

“Sure, Sam,” Leena laughed. The Woods all laughed together, just like they used to. Unfortunately, it may have been the last time the Woods would do something together, as a family.

A few days later, two white envelopes arrived. The days had been long and hard, but the Wood family tried to make the most of it. They played board games and spent time as a family. Now, came the moment of truth. Would the family be split up? Or would they stay together? No one knew.

Julia and Sam couldn’t bear to open it up in front of their parents. If they did make it, how would they tell them?

The two sat in Julia’s room. It was comforting in there. A pink light shone down on her fluffy purple pillows that covered her cozy blue bed sheets. Her queen size bed was overflowing with stuffed animals. Some were red, some orange, pink, blue, purple, green, magenta, rainbow.

She and Sam sat criss-cross-applesauce on her fuzzy purple rug near her bed. “We’re gonna open it on three, okay?” Julia said, looking at Sam. She tried her hardest to stay calm but couldn’t help but breathe a little fast.

“One,” Julia counted. “Two.”

“Three,” Sam added. The two siblings opened their envelopes and inside was a note. The note in Julia’s envelope read:

Dear Julia Wood,

I am sure you may not have been aware, but we have been watching you. We have been trying to figure out if you qualify for building a machine that could save the world.

We are sad to tell you, that unfortunately, you did not test at the right skill level. We are very sorry and hope you have future opportunities.

Please do not tell anyone about this message. This is a private organization.

Thank you,

Stormx4

Julia jumped up and down. She was so happy that she was not required to leave her family.

“Eeeeeeehhh!!!” she squealed.

Sam stared horror-struck at his letter. “What’s… What’s wrong Sam?” Julia asked.

“I — I — I.” He took in a shaky deep breath. “I qualified.” Julia stopped jumping and looked at her brother.

“No. There must have been some mistake. You must have read it wrong.” She snatched the note right out of his hands.

“Dear Sam Wood,” Julia read. “I am sure you may not have been aware… Blah. Blah. Blah. We are proud, and honored to notify you… ” She copped her mouth with her hand. “That you have qualified for this project. You are our youngest inventor and because our inventor closest to your age is a teen, the writing will not be so simple. You may bring one maximum person with you. Your grades and ability to catch on to things quickly are the reason you were chosen for this project. Please report to the STORMx4 organization, 98670, Main Street, Santa Clara, CA, with all of your belongings and clothes that you will need for the next few months. Congratulations,” Julia mumbled. She slouched down onto her bed. She was in denial. Her little brother, Sam, would leave her for a few months.

“I can’t do it,” he said. Julia didn’t reply. She just sat on her blue bed covers and stared at the note. Sam got up and ripped the envelope in half. He threw it on the ground and ran out Julia’s door. His parents were talking about how they would handle it if their kids did have to leave, when Sam pushed past them to reach the front door.

He opened it and ran to the park that was in the back of his small town home area. No one ever came there, so it was a great place to hide.

He ran to the farthest back corner, where a strong tall oak tree stood. He reached for the branch that was in front of him and pulled himself up. Tears streamed down his face as he climbed the tall tree. He pulled himself up to the next branch and stood on a small one below him because his arms weren’t that strong.

The branch supporting his foot snapped. He gasped. He clenched the thick branch tight. He held onto one side, and his body hung off the opposite side.

He had climbed this tree before, and the same thing had happened. But, that time he was with Julia. He broke his leg, but he was also only allowed to climb to the third brach up, which was pretty much ten feet off the ground. Now, he was two stories high.

He kicked his legs and pulled himself up farther with his arms. He swung his leg up and thankfully, it landed on the life support branch. He hugged the branch with his legs and arms.

I think that is enough climbing for today, Sam thought. He warily pushed himself up, so he sat normally. He held on with his right hand to a thinner branch close above him.

He still could not process the fact that he would leave his family behind. He knew that he would be trying to save, not just his family, but his friend’s families and their friend’s families. The point is, he would have one chance to try and save millions of people.

Sam pulled a paper airplane out of his pocket that he had made that morning. He stared at it. No more paper airplane making. No more friends. No more Mom. No more Dad. But worst of all, no more Julia, Sam thought. Sam had always been close with his mom and dad, but he was always the closest with Julia.

Whenever Sam felt like his world was going to end, Julia was there. He recalled that once he did terribly in a baseball game. It was a playoff game. If they lost, they would get second. If they won, they would gain first place in the league. The game was nearly tied, five to six. It was the last inning, the seventh inning. His team was one point behind, and they had two outs. It was up to him to keep them in and get a homerun for his team. One of his players was on the third base. All he needed to do was a single good hit, and he would win his team the game. It was his last pitch. The ball flew, and he missed it.

When he finished, he started crying and said it was all his fault. Julia comforted him and said, “If your players would have gotten more homeruns, then you could have been in the lead. It’s not only your fault. When a team loses, it is because of the whole team, not one player.”

But when he goes to STORMx4, Julia won’t be there to comfort him.

Sam stared at the sun, sinking beneath the horizon. The sky was a bright pink mixed with orange. Clouds were scattered. Sam sighed. He was always very outdoorsy. He would miss coming here. It’s a beautiful view, and it is really easy to think on that branch. Sam put his dark blue hood over his messy brown hair.

He lifted the paper plane up and threw it into the air. The plane flew through the sky, like a dandelion wish. Sam dreamed of being a paper plane and being free. He wouldn’t have to help STORMx4 because he would be busy soaring through the cool, crisp air.

He wiped away a few of the tears that were on his face. Should I go? Didn’t the note say I could take one person with me who could understand complicated words? Julia is good at that. Plus, she is good at math, the one subject I have an A in, she has her one A+. But, would it be okay with her if I pulled her away from her family, our family? Sam thought.

Sam climbed down from his thinking space and headed back home. He opened the door and walked in. His parents ran to the door.

“Oh, Sam. We are so sorry,” his mother cried. “Julia told us what happened.”

“Yes, Sam. We are really sorry,” his dad added. They hugged their son tight.

“Where is Julia, anyways?” Sam asked.

“Her room. Why?” his mother said, as she wiped her tears with a tissue.

“Just wondering. I’m gonna go talk to her,” Sam replied.

“Okay, sweetie,” Leena answered. Sam ran to and up the stairs. He walked across the playroom to Julia’s room. Sam lightly knocked on the door and cracked it open. His sister was on her bed, staring at the ceiling and cuddling her teddy bear stuffed animal. It used to be her favorite stuffed animal and her best friend. She would tell that stuffed animal everything, until Sam. Now, she can just tell Sam, but not this time.

“Julia… ” Sam said hesitantly.

“Sam, shouldn’t you be packing?” she asked, still staring at the ceiling. Her hands rested on her stomach and she crossed her ankles.

“The note says… ” Sam grabbed the crumpled note from the floor. “Since the closest inventor in age is a teen, you may bring one maximum person with you. So, I was thinking…”

Julia popped her head up. She hated to admit it, but she really wanted to go with Sam. And she was a little upset that he got picked and not her. She thought her grades were pretty good.

Sam continued, “Maybe, since you have one A+ in math and I have one A in math, you could… Maybe.”

Julia looked at him. Her, leave her family? She loved Sam, but she also loved her friends and her parents. They would be devastated. But, if she helps, her brother would not be alone. She could help save the world! Julia always wanted to be a superhero. This was pretty similar!

Julia was upset that STORMx4 would choose her little brother and not her. But, she wasn’t going to miss her chance to prove to them that they made a mistake, and they should have chosen her.

“I’ll do it, Sam. I’ll go with you,” Julia answered, after a little thinking.

“Well, let’s get packing,” Sam replied. He was sad to leave his parents. But, he was ecstatic that he would stay with his sister, his favorite person in the world. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he walked to his room, knowing that he would not be alone.

To be continued…

 

Golden Blood (Excerpt)

“We need to find her.”

“Sorry?”

“The girl.”

“Sir, which girl?”

“The girl, Zira. She’s one of the last ones. We won’t stop until we get what we need — her blood.”

The man stood in front of the committee and swore to do whatever they asked. Immediately, he started to work on finding her in the other world, Earth.

***

I’m concentrating on my comic submission, due next week. Music plays loudly on the radio in my room, but it sounds like background noise to me. The ink flows on my paper freely. I quickly glance at the clock. 11:46 P.M.. New page. Just as I start to draw a new box, my phone rings.

I jump, then scramble to find my phone under the mess on my desk. It’s only my friend, Kyla. I hit the green button and answer with a dry, “Hello?”

She answers much too enthusiastically for this time of the night. “Hey! I’m out right now, so what do you want for your birthday?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Kyla, why are you out this late? And my birthday is technically in 14 minutes.”

“I know, but I’m getting you something right now anyway. How do you feel about — ”

“It’s okay, I don’t care what you get,” I interrupt. “I’m busy with something. See you tomorrow,” I say and press the “end call” button just as she was about to protest.

I go back to focusing on the comic. I had three pages written already, of my protagonist battling monsters and whatnot. Where I’d left off, my protagonist was standing in front of the biggest, scariest monster of all.

I don’t know what to draw next. I switch my lamp off and go to sleep.

“I’ve come to take you back.”

I shoot up from my bed. I suddenly have a tingly feeling over my entire body, and I grow very hot and dizzy. I find myself too weak to stay sitting up. I see my phone on the bedside table turn to 12:00 A.M.. Thursday, October 11. This isn’t what I thought turning 18 would feel like.

You’ve been in this other world for much too long and need to get back to your people.

The view of my window becomes blurred as I drift back to sleep, or faint. I can’t remember.

When I wake up, I’m only confused.

Am I still dreaming? I don’t know what time it is, but it’s dark. I don’t know what day it is. I check my phone. Friday, October 12. 10:45 P.M.. How? What happened?

I’m not in bed. Still confused, I start to feel scared. I’m as good as paralyzed. Terrified.

Why am I in a fancy dress? I hesitantly stand up and realize that I’m in a classroom. I walk out to the hallway. Empty.

School at night is eerie to begin with. Every sound from outside feels louder than it should be, and everything seems bigger than it is during the day. I struggle to remember why I was here in the first place.

There’s a gash on my thigh, bleeding underneath my dress. I hold the muddy ruffles tight in my fist. Not only am I scared and wondering how I ended up here, but an overwhelming, unexplainable grim feeling consumes me. My spirit had been brought down.

Then, a creak.

Lockers line the entire hallway, but one creaked open behind me. A chill goes down my spine. I’m not turning around.

“Who’s there?”

I stay completely still. My body is cold. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Who’s there?” I ask again. My breaths were heavy. Nobody’s there.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the way you do when you get a shot at the doctor’s office and you just want it to be over. I spin around and open my eyes.

Nothing. I had a sinking feeling there was nothing there. It wasn’t a draft. The hallway is spotless. No garbage, or bugs, or even a single dust mite. If only I could see a dust mite.

I step gingerly towards the exit. I keep walking, stiff.

Why am I here? Why am I here? I ask myself over and over, as if it would give me the answer. The last thing I remember is drawing, the night before my birthday. I realize I don’t remember what happened on my birthday, which was also homecoming. That’s right, this is my homecoming dress.

I push hard on the exit door to open it. It doesn’t budge. Locked. I’m beginning to feel lightheaded. I’m trapped.

“Is there anyone there?” I call out through the door.

The gash on my thigh is the only injury I can see. It had started partly scabbing over. The rest of my body is just covered in dirt. The horrible, ominous aura wouldn’t go away.

What happened? I rub my eyes, hoping maybe it was a bad dream. Mascara smudges onto my hand.

As I start to lean on the door and cry, it swings open. My heart feels like it dropped to my stomach and is pounding from there.

I look eye to eye with a guy standing in front of me. I recognize him. I can’t put a name to his face at the moment, but surely I’ve spoken to him before.

“Um, are you okay? What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Help me.” I say it in the weakest voice, but the guy helps me out of the building.

***

Next, there are thick, dark clouds. Purple, black. They surround me. It’s cold. Something is talking to me.

“Come,” they say. “Come to the other side… ” Over and over. The echo is everywhere. It doesn’t matter where I turn; the voices and the clouds are all that exist in this moment. I can’t escape.

“No,” I say. “No!”

I wake up in an unfamiliar place, with the same guy by my side. What is his name? I still have a sick feeling. “Where am I? How did I get here?”

He holds a glass of water. “Shh, it was just a dream,” he says. “I brought you here. This is my house. I would have driven you home, but I didn’t know where you lived, and I’m right around the corner from school.” I sit up straight, abruptly. He tries to hold eye contact with me, but I’m flustered. He gives me the water.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” he asks softly.

“I remember last night. I know I was at school, but I don’t… I don’t know why… or what happened before that,” I stutter.

“Okay, well, it’s me, Tyler,” the guy says. Tyler. Right. “Last night was homecoming night.”

“I figured that out from my dress,” I say, gesturing to it. I’m still wearing it.

“Your parents are probably really worried,” Tyler points out. “Do you, like, need help or something?”

“They probably aren’t.” Actually, I bet my dad is. It’s not like I told either of them that I was sleeping over at someone’s house. I just didn’t come home. “And I don’t think you can help me. Something’s going on,”

“Well… yeah, I think that’s safe to assume,” Tyler answers. He looks down at his feet. He kind of looks like he wants to say something but decides against it.

I roll my eyes. “No, I mean… I don’t know. Like, it’s not over.”

“Do you want to talk more after you change clothes? There’s a guest room that no one goes in. There’s clothes there,” he offers. I don’t know Tyler that well, but somehow I trust him. There seems to be a connection. I can’t tell what it is.

I nod, and he tells me to go to the room on the left. I follow his instruction and leave the door the slightest bit open.

The room is painted a subdued red. There are eight pieces of artwork, two on each wall. They’re all overwhelmingly dark, depicting graphic pictures of wars and monsters. There’s one portrait. The girl in the portrait cries dark tears.

How unsettling.

I quickly find a T-shirt and shorts in the dresser under the portrait. My mind was clouded with sounds. I need an aspirin or something.

My perception of time is completely messed up. I close my eyes and try to imagine myself in school. A normal day, before yesterday. I imagine myself on the field, running endlessly. It all seems so far. Whatever happened, I want it to stop. I want them to stop torturing me. I wish I knew who “them” was. If they want to kill me, then why not just do it?

Tyler is sitting with his back turned toward me. He seems to be taking some sort of pill, but his cup holds a dark liquid, like grape juice or something, rather than water. He groans in pain.

“Hey,” I say. “Are you good?”

Tyler looks up now. The light in this room is off, but it’s still bright from the daylight coming through the window. He stands up.

“I’m fine. Hi,” he says.

Ignoring the incident, I ask, “Why do you have those paintings?”

“They’re… ” he pauses. “Memories.”

I sit down on the hard wooden chair. “Where’s your family?” I asked. “Are they their paintings?”

“Yes, but I won’t say anything further than that.”

“What does that mean? Are you, like, adopted? You know, I’m adopted.” Why did I say that? He doesn’t care.

“That’s not quite it,” Tyler says. “I don’t know how to explain them.”

“Can you try?” I want to know more.

“I brought them with me when I came here. They’re, uh, otherworldly, I suppose. We had them in my home when I was younger. I can’t go back, though,” he says.

“Why?”

“It’s just not… here,” he says.

We look at each other for a long moment. Now that I can really look at him, it’s the first time I notice that he’s actually attractive, even though I was acquaintances with him for a while. I look away and focus on an area where the paint is peeling off on the ceiling.

“You should go home and rest. Let’s talk more another time,” Tyler says.

I look back at him. “Okay.” I know he would keep to that. Or at least, I hope.

He drives me home. I stand in front of my house for a few seconds before I walk in. It’s the same. Why wouldn’t it be?

My parents sit together on the couch. My dad looks me up and down, a stern look on his face. “Hannah, how did you get that?” he asks, pointing to my thigh.

“Oh, this… it was, uh, an accident. Someone hit it by accident. ‘Cause it was dark and stuff… ” I decide to shut up before my lies become obvious.

“And why are you still wearing your dress? Are you okay?” my mom asks.

“You just fell? Sober?” Dad comments. Ouch. That stings.

“No, I wasn’t drinking. I was at a friend’s house, that’s all. We were really tired after the party, and I slept over,” I answer. He doesn’t seem convinced.

Mom nods her head. “Okay honey.”

I go upstairs. There’s not much else I can tell them. There’s not much else I know.

My bedroom hadn’t been touched since the night before. The comic book pages were still sprawled on my desk. I picked the first one up. There was a drawing of a thick cloud, similar to the one I found myself in while sleeping.

I feel uncomfortable, so I turn it over.

Down the hallway, I turn on the water for a shower. I stand under the water for a bit, just feeling it run down my face. After I’m done, I don’t know what else to do. I sit on my bed and look out the window.

“Hannah,” I hear my mom call from downstairs. “Dinner’s ready!”

I don’t want to eat. I snuggle under my blanket and face the wall. As soon as I hear her footsteps on the stairs, I close my eyes. I hear my room door open.

“Oh, you’re asleep,” she says. “Alright then. Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the monsters bite.”

My eyes fly open. I’m still facing the wall, so my mom doesn’t notice. She leaves the room innocently. Did I mishear “bed bugs?”

At first, I think I won’t be able to sleep at all. But I drift to an in-between state — both sleeping and awake. Again, I find myself stuck within these dark clouds. It almost feels as if I am falling. A person emerges from the fog. At least it looks like a person. He’s tall and skinny and wears an all black suit. He sports a thin purple scar across his cheek.

Hannah,” he says. His voice is raspy and intimidating.

“What do you want?”

Come back to us. This is where you belong.”

“Where are you?”

Come back to us… ” he hisses.

“Why? Why are you torturing me?” It feels like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs as I say it. I’m filled with anger, passionate anger. Before this happened, I remember that everything was fine, that I was so excited to be turning 18. And now I don’t know what’s going on.

The person disappears with one gust of wind. The echoing of voices uttering incoherent things makes the setting all the more unsettling.

I wake up out of breath. I check the time. It’s completely dark out. 12:34 A.M.. How?

My family must be sound asleep. I turn on the lamp on my desk and rummage for a post-it note. On it, I write “out for a morning jog, be back soon.” If they wake up while I’m still out, they won’t get worried. And they won’t assume I left this early.

Carefully, I stick it to the outside of my door and then proceed to climb out my window.

Once I reach the ground, I pull my hoodie on and walk twenty minutes to Tyler’s house. I don’t know why. I’m not sure what I really wanted to do outside in the first place. It’s cold. Going to his house just seems natural.

It’s not, of course.

I hesitate for a moment in front of his door. Knock, or don’t. I knock once, pause, and knock again. What am I doing? My heart is racing. What will I even say? It’s the middle of the night; would he even —

The door swings open.

“I really wasn’t expecting you to answer,” I say, kind of shocked and out of breath.

“I really wasn’t expecting you to knock on my door at one in the morning,” Tyler deadpans.

“Me neither.”

Tyler steps back to let me in. “So… why are you here? I mean, not to be rude, but this is one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me.”

“I don’t know why I’m here either,” I say. “I just wanted to, I guess.”

Tyler nods, but his facial expression shows confusion more than anything else. I debate whether or not I should get into my dream. It seems a bit much to walk all the way to his house just to talk about a bad dream. Talk about being needy.

“I can leave,” I say.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it. Are you sure you don’t want to… talk about something?” Yes. I would like to talk to him about something. Those damn clouds.

He sits down on the couch, but I stay standing in front of him.

“No, it’s not like talking would help.” I pace back and forth a few times.

He’s facing the ground. “So, what do you want?”

“What do I want?” What a loaded question. I wish the clouds would leave me alone. I wish I knew why or even what was happening to me. “I want a regular life back. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I’m scared all the time, and I can’t sleep anymore. I turned 18 yesterday, and I can’t even remember it. And this, this thing won’t leave me alone!” I cry.

Tyler doesn’t speak immediately after. I burst into tears. He stands up and wraps his arms around me. He hugs me tight, and the warmth makes me feel safer.

“Hannah, I think I know why this is happening,” he whispers to me.

“What do you mean?” I pull back and look at his face. He sighs. He looks down at his feet and avoids eye contact.

“Remember when I said my home isn’t here?” he asks. I nod. “It’s in a parallel universe.”

At first I’m speechless. Nothing. “Am I supposed to play along?”

Tyler drops his head, like he knew I wouldn’t believe him. But who would? “Can I tell you how I came? It’ll help you.”

I roll my eyes slightly. I don’t know where he’s getting at, but I’ll listen.

“I’m sorry, it sounds stupid. But when you leave that world, you automatically lose every memory of it. And some there are special, valuable. They have gold blood, and that’s why they’re always in danger.”

“Okay, wait,” I interrupt. “Out of every explanation you could’ve possibly given me, this one is the most unbelievable. This isn’t even useful.”

“I promise I’m not messing with you. Just listen. You’re one of the special ones. That’s why the smoke or whatever is in your dreams. Because your memory was automatically lost. And you’re valuable to them, so they need you back.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

Tyler is obviously frustrated. He puts both hands on my shoulders and moves me out of his way. He leans over to grab the scissors on the table. I become tense. “Tyler, what are you doing?”

He pulls up his sleeve, not answering me. With the scissors, he cuts his hand. Dark purple liquid oozes from the cut. I suddenly think of the portrait. Dark tears. Dark blood.

“Give me your hand.”

I hesitate, holding my clenched fist to my chest.

“Hannah, I need your hand. Please,” Tyler pleads. I slowly open my hand and give it to him, almost against my will. He grabs it and cuts it in one swift motion, too fast for me to react. I don’t pay attention if it hurts.

I stare at my hand. The blood is gold.

“W-why… why wasn’t my blood gold before? And why do you know this? What am I?”

“Calm down.”

“Are you joking? Calm down?”

Tyler puts his hands on my shoulders again. “Yes, I’ll tell you everything. Let me continue.” He makes me sit down and takes a deep breath.

All I could do was stare at my trembling hand. Where did it come from? How did nobody notice, not even me?

“I don’t even know where to start but — ”

“You better start somewhere,” I warn.

Tyler leans back, half sitting on the arm of the couch in the living room. He put his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, but his fingers were still fidgeting.

“So,” he begins. “First of all, I’m the only one who can remember here in this world. I figured out a concoction that kept my memory in place despite going through the portal. The regular purple bloods need the gold-bloods for the gold. And so when they leave, by whatever reason, they need to find a way to get the gold-bloods back. I guess it’s also a punishment for anyone who leaves.

“The portal between our two worlds is the clouds that you’ve been seeing,” he says. “The blood is disguised on Earth until they are discovered, and eventually what they want is to bring you back. So this is what you’re experiencing.”

I stay silent for a few minutes. We sit across from each other, not making a sound or moving one bit. “So… What now?” I say softly. This isn’t what I expected when I came.

“Well now you know. So, it’s up to you what you do next.”

“I’m going home,” I say. “I’ll… see you on Monday, I guess.”

“Do you want me to drive you again?” He starts to get up, but I stop him.

“No, I’m going to run home. Thanks.”

I step outside on the street, and the wind hits me in the face. I don’t know how I’m able to leave so easily with all this new information. I still have so many questions. So many thoughts.

I sneak back to my room without my parents noticing. It’s still dark out.

I’m exhausted. Exhaustion is the least of what I was feeling at the moment, though. I lean against the closed door, ready to just give up.

A thick stream of smoke wafts in through the window. It moves as if it has a brain of its own, and it’s coming straight to my face. It curls around me, but not encompassing me. “Hello… ” it whispers.

“Is this a dream? What are you?”

“I think you’re imagining me. Don’t you, smart girl?” the smoke says to me.

“No. This is real.”

The smoke curls around my feet, and slowly makes its way around my body. “You belong with us. You have a place… ” it hisses.

“No.”

“You were destined for things greater than this weak planet. There’s a set place for you, a rare good under our empire. You’re supposed to come back… you shouldn’t have left. You need to be under our control,” the smoke provokes.

“What if I like it here?” I respond.

“You’re a difficult one.” The smoke curls up around my chest and behind my neck. It feels like breath as it speaks. “Aren’t you looking for something more? An identity, perhaps. A true identity?”

“You aren’t even a real person,” I say bitterly. “You are only a soul.”

The smoke laughs, sending a chill down my spine. “That’s what makes me powerful, dear golden-blood. You can’t hurt me, but I can hurt you.” The smoke nears my face, threatening to suffocate me as I pull away.

I clench my fists hard. “You already have. I know you won’t kill me if you need me back.”

The smoke loosens. “This won’t be the last time we meet. Don’t doubt that we will have it our way.” The smoke vanishes, out my window where it came from. I rush to close the window immediately after.

I breathe heavily. I change my clothes, shaking.

The person I see in the mirror is unrecognizable. There are huge dark circles under my eyes.

I know that I’m becoming a tense and anxious person, something I’d never been before. I close my eyes for a moment to think. What should I do? Inhale, exhale. I think back to when I was happy and carefree. I didn’t know things could change so instantly.

My comic still lay unfinished on my desk. The submission date was fast approaching. Maybe it would take my mind off things. I crack my door open to let in some fresh air. No way was I going to open the window.

Where did I leave off?

The protagonist was fiercely fighting off her antagonists. If the drawing can do it, why can’t I do it? I continue to fill in the background and started a new square.

The sun starts to rise, and before I know it, it becomes complete daytime with the sun streaming into my room. Somebody knocks on my door.

I jump. Mom walks in. “Relax, it’s just me. What’s up? Why so jumpy all of a sudden?”

“I know, I’m just… I’m fine.”

“Come eat with us,” Mom asks. I look at the deep creases in her eyes. She’s so happy and oblivious to my nightmare. I love her. I could never leave her, especially for something like smoke and nightmares.

I say nothing as I sit across both of them. I eat small bites and avoid looking at them. They talk about mundane things. Work, switching the lights, laundry. I zone out into my thoughts. What can I do? How did this all even happen?

“Are you alright?” Dad asks. “You seem really out of it.”

“No,” I say reflexively.

“What’s wrong?” they both ask.

I don’t know how to respond. They don’t even know. I stay quiet.

“Hannah, you can tell us what’s bothering you. We love you,” Mom says. I start formulating what I want to say. They stare at me, very concerned.

“I just… ” I finally begin, cautiously giving the rest of my answer. “I don’t have some information that could help me. Like, I don’t know what happened at homecoming. And… I don’t know who I really am, and I don’t have what I need to figure it out. Where am I from?”

My parents exchange a glance.

“Hannah,” my dad says, “This conversation was a long time coming.” I bet. “I wish I could share your origins with you. But we don’t know anything about before we adopted you either. There’s no information about your birth parents, birthplace, or anything like that.”

There’s no forms. It clicked when he said that. There was my proof that I wasn’t born here. “Absolutely nothing?” I ask.

My parents shake their heads. “You were all alone when we took you in. You weren’t at an orphanage. You were a year old or something, and you were in the street,” Dad says.

“What about the legal stuff? School, doctors… ” I say. Nobody must’ve realized that I had gold blood. Heck, I didn’t know until last night. How did the purple-bloods get away with it? It’s interesting to hear my parents speak about this when I’m referring to drastically different things.

There are still a lot of holes in my story. I sit there, half blanked out, half listening. My parents share about the loopholes they were able to get through, like my birth certificate. I was born “at home,” it seems. My head is spinning.

There was still a big “why?” hanging over me. I understand that I’m obviously from somewhere else, but why did I end up here? Why do I matter so much? Why won’t it go away?

“Thank you, Dad.” I give him a quick hug and rush to my room.

I’m weirdly excited. I feel anticipation for the answers I’ll receive tomorrow. It’s the closest to happiness I’ve felt in a while. Something to look forward to rather than to fear.

I try to sleep. There are too many things on my mind. I sit up. It won’t be long before I speak to Tyler. I tap my leg lightly with my finger, thinking of something to do.

Visually lay it out. Get my thoughts on paper.

I jump out of bed and flip on the lights. I get an empty notebook floating around on my desk and open up to the first page. Just like drawing a story. Except this one is real.

I take a deep breath.

I draw and write furiously. A baby, adopted and moved around, a determined runner, and homecoming night. Arrows and little comments cover the piece.

I drop my pencil and massage my wrist. It’s very late, and it’s been a few hours since I’ve eaten with my parents. I sneak out of my room to get a snack.

The kitchen lights are still on even though both of my parents are sleeping. I grab an apple and slowly make my way back up the stairs. I shut my door gently. I sit back at my desk, ready to keep working.

The drawings were now in color.

I drop my apple and it rolls under my desk.

All of the pictures of me were all colored gold, even though none of them had blood. There was also smoke added. Clearly I wasn’t alone.

I step back and look at the filled up pages. I feel scared once again, just as I was starting to get over it. Just as it was dying down, just as I was about to get answers.

Disregarding the time yet again, I decide to call Tyler.

No answer.

Should I call again? I click on the call button one more time. And again, he doesn’t pick up his phone. I throw my phone on my bed.

I want to show him the pictures. But I don’t want to touch them. I don’t know what’s been done to them. I don’t know if they’re hiding somewhere in my room.

I don’t feel safe.

 

Beach Girl

The blue haired girl always came to the beach. She stood, only her toes in the water, arms outstretched. She closed her eyes and smiled. It was like she was in her own world, just her, the wind, the water. Nobody else.

I walked to the beach every day just to see her. I wanted to walk up to her, and hold her hand and stand with her. I wanted her to notice me like I noticed her. But she never did. So I just came everyday, and watched her be beautiful as I sat on the sand only inches away.

Then came a day when she didn’t come. I walked over to my place, but she wasn’t there. Her hair wasn’t flowing in the wind, her dress wasn’t flapping, her hands weren’t extending to the skies. Her absence was emptying. It felt as if the whole world had imploded in itself, and its rotation was thrown off course. The girl with the blue hair wasn’t there.

I panicked, and didn’t return to the beach for years.

Five years of waiting passed. I hadn’t seen the closed eyed girl with the long, blue hair for five years. I had almost forgotten about her, but I couldn’t. She was too beautiful. I longed to see her again. So after five years of waiting in the dark, I emerged again. I don’t know what caused me to want to go back, but once I thought of seeing her I couldn’t stop myself. I went to the beach where she always stood.

And there she was.

She stood, only her toes in the water, arms outstretched. She closed her eyes and smiled. It was like she was in her own world, just her, the wind, the water. Nobody else. She was exactly the same, only taller. I sat down, on the sand, only inches away from her, and watched her.

She opened her eyes.

“Where have you been?” she asked me. I didn’t know how to respond. She had never opened her eyes, she had never let out a sound or even moved. She never saw me as I sat down beside her. But there she was, talking to me.

“I — I thought you left,” I responded.

Her smile widened. “Leave? I would never leave.” There was a moment of silence. “Stand with me.”

I stood, my legs shaking like jello. I stood beside her, and outstretched my arms. My fingers touched hers.

“Close your eyes,” she told me. “Don’t think of anything, just feel.”

I did. I felt the wind ripple around me and her soft fingers touching mine. I felt the soft rays of the sun warm my arms and the cool water wetting my toes. I felt what this girl had always felt, the peace, love, and calm. I finally understood. So there we stood.

We stood, only our toes in the water, arms outstretched. We closed our eyes and smiled. It was like we were in our own world, just her, the wind, the water, and me. Nobody else.

 

Royal Blood (Excerpt)

 

Prologue

I creep into the room, my arms tense and my forehead sweaty. Tiptoeing over to the desk in the middle of the room, I open the second to last drawer. Peeking inside, I see what I was looking for. A gold heart-shaped amulet, covered in amethysts. It was my great-grandmother’s, stolen from her by thieves and put into a pawnshop. It then was traded to a king’s servant and given to the princess as a birthday present for her “sweet sixteen.”

I clutch the amulet close to my chest. Silently, I put my fingers into the pouch at my side. I find the fake necklace a blacksmith had made for me, in return for a favor. It was an identical twin to the real one — the exact size, shape, weight, and color. The only difference was that it was made from iron, bronze, and other cheap metals instead of the valuable gold and amethyst like the real one.

Slipping the real one into my pouch at my side, I turn around, prepared to walk outside and get away with the prized possession in my hands. I smile and walk across the room, my confidence blinding me. For a split second, I feel fur under my foot before hearing a loud yowl beneath me. I lift my foot immediately, and the animal stretches into a pouncing stance, hisses coming from the back of its throat. I’m scared for my life, knowing that if I am caught, I’ll probably be killed for entering and stealing such a valuable piece. So, what do I do? I run.

I sprint out of there, taking the old servant’s route up to the back of the castle with the beast at my heels. I wouldn’t call the beast a cat, but that’s what its body is mainly made up of. It is at least five times the size of a normal cat, and at the sides of its body, the black fur turns into feathers and its wings folded at its side. I recognize the beast to be a Lexor, probably the princess’s pet.

The Lexor lunges for me, just scraping my leg. I dart out of the way and make a sharp left. I climb up a ladder and jump off it. The Lexor tries to follow me, but a clear barrier blocks its way. It meows and swats at the barrier but with no avail in getting past. I smirk behind my shoulder and run into the forest. The only way anyone can get through that barrier is with a certain blood type. A kind called Royal blood.

 

Chapter One

I enter the town and run down a back alleyway that’s known as “home” to Ash and me. Ash is my best and only friend I’ve ever had. I slow down to a walk and plop myself down next to her. Her pale skin shines in the darkness.

“I’m back.”

She continues to crochet and looks up slightly.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

I break into a bigger smile than I had on before.

“Yup!”

I hold up the amulet and let it spin in front of Ash’s eyes. She now completely stops crocheting and holds the amulet a bit closer to her.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. Her dark chocolate eyes stare into my sea green ones. “Where in the world did you get that?!”

I smile back at her. “Remember two weeks ago when we went to the library and stopped by the Record Hall? Well, I looked into my history, and I found out that my great-great- great-great-great-grandma used to own a gold amulet with amethyst on it. It even showed a picture! Then, I remembered that the staff brought Princess Annabelle a necklace. Remember in the news it never said exactly what it looked liked, but it was just ‘really expensive?’ This is it!”

Ash’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. “So you just stole it?! Eve, what do you honestly think they’re going to do when Princess Annabelle finds the necklace missing, and you just so happen to have the one that’s missing?! Oh, they’re going to have our heads…” She trails off and gets up, starting to pace back forth and muttering to herself.

“Don’t worry Ash. They’re not going to find us. And they’re going to take your head over my dead, non-executed body. I put a fake one — same color, same shape, same weight — it’s exactly the same as the one I have.”

She stops pacing and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Are you infinity and beyond percent sure, Eve?” She drops to a lower tone. “I can’t lose you over something like this — not when I’ve lost everything else.” Her hands start to shake and even in the pitch black alleyway, I can tell that she’s about to cry. I bounce up and walk over to her. Tears start to form in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. I pull her close to my chest and let her cry in my arms.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Alright?” She cries for a few more minutes as I rock her back and forth. Once she cries all the tears left in her, she rests her head on my chest.

“Look,” she says, her voice light and airy. She points to the sun as it starts to rise over our heads, the sky turning from its black darkness and bursting into a bright orange, then turning into pinks and yellows.

I smile and stretch my back. “Today’s a new day, okay? Let’s make it a better day than yesterday.”

She smiles and hands me a basket. “I made new blankets to sell in town.” I smile at her change of attitude and take the basket in my hands. “Don’t forget to buy new wool and bread!”

I nod and start off my journey to market.

 

Chapter Two

Even though the sun came up just a few minutes ago, the streets were already bustling with people. There are only five hours of sunlight in Astoria, so people need to work at least ten times harder when the sun is up. When the sun’s down, people spend that time by preparing for what they have to do for the next day. The school children have at least six hours of homework, four if it was a good day, and ten hours would be considered a lot. The chefs, like most establishments, would continue to serve their customers for at least six hours after the sun fell. Most people working a middle-upper job would work in some sort of building, getting paid by their bosses. The middle-lower class community mostly worked how I worked — in a tent selling what they can. But it was one-hundred percent necessary to work in some sort of job for at least five hours or else you’ll be thrown in jail, quoting law 14.

Our jail doubles as a mental health center, and it was an extremely dirty place. There were hardly any janitors that worked there, and the ones that did were often lazy and put minimal effort into their work. The people who did go to jail were mainly tough men who probably knew how to kill a person in fifty different ways, with their hands alone. Since getting thrown in jail will show up on my resume, forcing me to not be able to apply for a job with higher pay, I can’t afford to go there. Plus, I would probably die in jail anyway. Now, we live off of Ash’s woolen creations to survive, her working day and night while I sell them at the market when the sun is up. Today she created small blankets with a design of butterflies, dragons, and other cute designs, perfect for any small child.

I sprint to the marketplace where all the stands were being set up and prepared for 7:15, when the market was officially open for business, quoting law 23. I took mine on the side of town where the most people passed by. I put the basket onto the table and open it. Inside I find different blankets in different colors measuring about 3 feet by 5 feet, with the designs of dragons and fairies, unicorns and phoenixes. I trace the patterns with my thumb and smile softly to myself, thinking of when I used to have a blanket like this that I carried everywhere. It’s one of the only things from my childhood that I was allowed to keep.

The sounds of horse-pulled carriages driving by snaps me back into reality. I look up as a blue carriage drives by and splashes the edge of the tent with dark, murky water. I glare at the back of the carriage and continue to set up the shop. Once I’m done setting up, I turn the small postcard on the front of my tent to the “open” side. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I start yelling, “BLANKETS!!! BABY BLANKETS FOR SALE!!! ONLY 13 BRONZE PISCES!!!” I soon attract a small crowd of people walking under my tent and looking at what they can buy. I stand in the corner of the tent, quietly looking around at the people, but not really looking at them, but for thieves. There was usually at least one thief trying to steal something per day, and it was usually during rush hour which was either at the very beginning of the day when everyone was trying to get to their jobs or at the end of the day when everyone was coming home. My eyes swept around the shop, noticing a small child with darting eyes and beads of sweat dripping down his face.

“Hey kid,” I call to him. He looks terrified and froze to the spot. His eyes slowly drift to me. I wave for the boy to come here. I kneel down to his level. “You were about to steal from me, correct?” The boy nods and bends his head down. “Do you have a hobby of some sort?”

He nods and whispers, “I like to draw and paint.”

I nod. “Well, if you bring your drawings here, then I’ll be more than happy to sell them here. Then, if you one day can earn ten dollars, then you can have a blanket, okay?” A smile quickly spreads across his face, and he nods at me. “Good. Just bring your paintings or drawings here when the sun rises, and I’ll sell them. Now run off,” I said, making a small shooting motion with my hands. He whispers a thank-you and runs off.

I stand up from the floor and assist the customers that were waiting in the line on the other half of the tent. I place the mirror next to the quill and ink where I write down the orders that people ask for and treat the customers, trading the money for blankets. About halfway down the line, a very attractive lady comes up and points to the mirror that I was checking.

“Is that for sale?” she asks.

“No ma’am,” I respond. This is for checking the rest of the shop when I’m treating customers. Speaking of which…” I trail off and see a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the center of his head, dressed in all black. His hands were drifting over the blankets, and his mouth was pursed in a hard line.

“You!” I yell and turn around.

The thief looks at me, and he looks like the younger boy that just tried to steal from me earlier. I grab a sword from my side and point the tip at this face.

“Put my blankets down. Now.”

The man drops them to the floor and backs up.

“All of them,” I say through my gritted teeth.

He takes one that he was cleverly hiding down his sleeve and drops it.

“All. Of. Them,” I command.

The mysterious man stays in his place. I can feel my eyes glaring at him and walk towards him.

“I said all of them.” I take my sword, Esmeralda, out of her leather casing and put her blade under his chin. “Unless you don’t want your head.”

He drops to his knees and tosses one last blanket that was under his hat onto the floor.

“Good,” I say. “And if you want to actually buy a blanket, then you can meet me at the counter or browse under the tent.”

I let go of his collar that I didn’t even realize I was grabbing and remove the blade from his neck, leaving a small red line. He grumbles and walks towards the tent. I put Esmeralda in her scabbard that was attached to my belt, and I return to the counter. These days, it was every person for themselves or else you might get backstabbed.

I crack my knuckles and pick up my quill.

“That will be ten bronze tokens please.”

 

I So Don’t Want to Be Here (Excerpt)

“I so don’t want to be here.”

Desiree looked up at the blonde girl in surprise. “Why?” she asked her.

“Why? Why? Isn’t it obvious why I don’t wanna be here? We’re in detention,” she said, a flash of irritation in her eyes.

“No — I know that,” Desiree told her, “What I meant is… why are you talking to me?”

Alice thought for a moment and shrugged.

“I — I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Do you even know my name, Alice?” Desiree asked her, a hint of amusement laced in her voice. Alice said nothing.

“Yeah… didn’t think so.”

Alice still said nothing.

Desiree smiled softly at Alice. “Would you like to know my name, Alice?” she asked.

Alice nodded. “Yes please.”

“It’s Desiree,” she told her and extended her hand so that Alice could shake it, but Alice didn’t budge. Perhaps a handshake was too formal of an action for situations such as these, and Desiree put her hand down on the table in a failed attempt to seem natural. She picked up her pencil and began writing.

“So why are you here, Desiree?” Alice asked, as she proceeded to examine the state of her most recent manicure. She began picking the pink polish off her nails, watching it fall to the table in small pieces. Pick, pick, pick. This action greatly annoyed Desiree, seeing as the chips of nail polish were getting all over the table, and the two would probably have to clean them up afterwards, but she said nothing about it. Instead, she sighed heavily and answered the question she had been asked.

“I’m here for a pretty dumb reason.”

“Oh?” Alice raised an eyebrow, her eyes still focused on the nail polish she was picking off. “And what might that be?”

Desiree thought this was quite rude, but seeing as she was still writing her essay and not fully paying attention to the conversation either, she didn’t really have a right to criticize.

“I’m here for breaking dress code,” she explained, rolling her eyes in irritation. “God forbid I wore something I actually wanted to. To be fair, it was an accident. They change the dress code so often that half of the time I don’t even know what’s in it.”

Alice snorted in response. “Yeah, you were right.”

“About what?”

“That is a really dumb reason.”

Desiree smiled. “Tell me about it. At this point, I’m not even writing an essay. I might as well be writing a book. And instead of writing about what I did wrong and what I can do to fix my ‘dreaded behavior,’ I’m writing about why the dress code is stupid.”

“So rebellious, Desiree,” Alice mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. Desiree pulled at one of the strands of her frizzy, brown hair.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not rebellious at all. I guess that’s the thing about me. I follow the rules, even if I hate them. This is really the first time I’m speaking out against them.”

Desiree put her pencil down and turned to face the girl. She was still picking at her nails, completely oblivious to the large mess she was making.

“What’s the point of getting them done if you’re just gonna pick the polish off?” Desiree asked her.

Alice’s head snapped up. She looked at Desiree.

“I’ve got no fucking clue,” she told her.

“Huh. Interesting,” Desiree muttered, and Alice nodded. “Well, regardless of that, will you please stop picking off the nail polish? You’re making a huge mess.”

“Oh.” Alice became flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah, sure. Sorry.”

“It’s fine — ”

“Hello, you two. Have you completed your essays?”

Desiree turned, only to be met face-to-face with the school’s biggest asshole and assistant principal, Ms. Ronen, who stood in front of them with her hands on her hips. Everyone in the school liked Ms. Ronen — everyone but Desiree. She hated this woman with every fiber of her being, mostly hating her for the obnoxious voice she had, which was the voice a person uses when talking to a dog or a baby. It made her feel extremely insignificant and insulted her greatly, though nobody else seemed to care or have any issue with her whatsoever. Desiree also hated Ms. Ronen because she always seemed to get into some sort of trouble whenever she was around — which she hated because she was a good kid. She was always well-behaved — always had been, too, but for whatever reason, she always ended up doing something wrong.

Desiree nodded and handed Ms. Ronen her essay. The woman stood there, shocked as she realized that there were now five back-to-back pages in her hands.

“Is that good enough? I could always add ten more pages.”

Ms. Ronen’s eyes widened in horror at Desiree’s suggestion. “Oh! Oh no, no, no, that’s — that’s fine, Desiree. You’ve done great.”

Desiree smirked. Bet she’ll have a great time reading that, she thought.

“And what about you, Alice?”

Desiree looked over to where Alice was sitting, looking bored and uninterested. She sighed.

“I don’t have my essay.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because I didn’t want to write it.”

The assistant principal looked appalled. “You do realize that you can’t just not write the essay… right, Alice?”

Alice shrugged and turned away.

“I barely did anything, though,” she whined.

“You skipped class, Alice,” Ms. Ronen huffed, “That’s a pretty big deal.”

“But I have to write an essay about why I feel bad for doing what I did,” Alice told her.

“And? Your point is?”

“My point is that I can’t write my essay because I don’t feel bad. I don’t care.”

Ms. Ronen’s face reddened in anger. “Just — just pretend you care… okay?” She sighed, obviously too tired to deal with Alice’s shenanigans. Alice nodded.

“Fine… ”

“And hurry up, too. It’s almost time for you two to leave.”

At this, Alice’s eyes widened fretfully. “But — I can’t! I can’t finish an essay in such a short amount of time!”

Ms. Ronen sighed as if she knew that something like this was going to happen. “Okay, fine. Just — finish it at home and bring it in on Monday.”

Alice nodded vigorously. “Okay! Fine by me! Can we leave now?”

There were more words exchanged between Alice and Ms. Ronen, but what they were exactly Desiree wasn’t sure. The only thing that Desiree cared about in that moment was the use of the word ‘we.’ ‘Can we leave now,’ Alice had asked, not ‘Can I leave now.’ She wondered what Alice meant by this, because as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a ‘we.’ It’s probably nothing, Desiree thought. She probably just said that by accident. Even so, Desiree planned to ask Alice about this later on… well, if they ever talked again, that is.

Desiree knew for a fact that they probably wouldn’t.

 

Peru in the Trees

Everyone at my school thinks that I’m a nobody

They just don’t know the real me

I’m Peru Emma Maxwell

I’m known as the “quiet girl” or “nobody”

None of that is true

I want to one day be a regular kid

The kid that everyone knows

I have no clue if that will ever happen

But I know that I can try

Try hard

-Peru Maxwell

 

Chapter One: Spring Break

My heart is pounding as I enter the history classroom on my last day of school before spring break. Everyone in my class is going somewhere amazing, except for me. Alice is going to Alaska, Christopher is going to Brazil, and Brittney is even going to Australia. Our spring break is a month long, so it’s not like anyone would stay home.

But I’m staying home. Just me, my mom, and Fluffster, my Pomeranian puppy. My dad is in the army, so he hasn’t been home for ten years.

As I head into class, I hear the usual bullies laughing and teasing people.

“Fat Pat! Awkward Annie!”

People call me average all the time, and it doesn’t even rhyme with my name! I had thought that, since I was starting at a new middle school, everything would be perfect, but boy, was I wrong.

I sit in my chair, waiting for the bell to ring so that Mr. Abram can start the lesson. The rest of the class is in the hall, getting their stuff and socializing.

“Peru, what are you doing here?” Mr. Abram asks.

“Waiting for the bell to ring, apparently.”

Alex Ritman is standing outside of the room as if she were waiting for someone. She’s the most popular girl in school. The bell rings loudly, and Alex walks in slowly, trying not to look eager to get to class.

“Alex, please sit down,” Mr. Abram says.

For five minutes, we’re the only students in class. When I glance over at her, she is eagerly doodling in her notebook.

Today is an early release day, so I only have five hours of school. Four more people walk into the classroom eight minutes late. I don’t have any idea who they are because they never talk to me, other than the terrible jokes they make up.

“Okay, now that everyone is here, we can get on with class. This semester we are talking about South America. Each of you will choose an animal from this bowl. You will study and research the animal you have chosen,” Mr. Abram says.

I get to go first. My hands shuffle in the bowl, hoping to pick something good. I unfold the card and it reads: “Three-toed sloth.” I’m excited to start researching, so I don’t pay attention to what everyone else gets; I start reading web pages right away.

After an hour and a half of research, class is over. I have English, science, and chorus during the rest of the day. The bus finally comes, and spring break begins. I’m actually glad I’m staying at home, because it means I can watch Netflix for a month.

My mom opens the door for me and says the same thing that she says everyday. “So, how was your day?”

“In history, we’re studying South American animals, and I got the three-toed sloth,” I say, quickly dropping my bags.

Fluffster is asleep on my bed. I don’t have any homework, so I can just relax. My heart is pumping quickly from excitement. I can’t help but to research the three-toed sloth more. My phone dings before I can get my laptop. A text message from my best friend, Marcella, was here. She lives in Costa Rica, so it’s been five years since I’ve seen her.

My mom bursts open my bedroom door, full of excitement, before I can read the text.

“Peru! Marcella’s mom just called me, and guess what?” she asks, waiting for a response.

“What?”

“Marcella’s family invited us to go to Costa Rica to visit them! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

I can’t believe it! I’m going somewhere for spring break, and it’s Costa Rica!

 

Chapter Two: My Adventure Begins

My alarm wakes me up at one in the morning. I have to be on the plane at 3:35 for an eight hour flight, so everything is packed and ready to go. I put on a pair of jeggings, a short sleeve top, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. When I finish packing the last items in my bag, my mom calls me downstairs for a quick breakfast. Since we didn’t want any food to spoil, we haven’t bought groceries since we found out we were going to Costa Rica. I eat an apple, and I drink some water.

“Peru, it’s 2:00. I think we should start loading up the car.”

Bag by bag, we shove everything into the trunk. It’s a 30 minute drive to the airport, so I catch up on some of my sleep in the car.

When I wake up, we’re in a parking deck outside of the airport doors. I reach for my backpack, and help my mom unload the car. We go through security and get our bags checked in, and then we have to wait for an hour.

On the table next to me, I see a few books about Costa Rica. When I flip through one of them, I am surprised to see an article about three-toed sloths. I find out that Costa Rica is famous for its beaches, and that sloths sleep for fifteen to eighteen hours a day.

“Flight 1527 to Costa Rica is boarding,” I hear over the loudspeaker. “Again, flight 1527 to Costa Rica is boarding.”

We board the plane second in line. I still can’t believe that this is actually happening! I just realized that my plane ticket says First Class. This is my first time in first class. I sit down in seat F, the window seat. My mom is on my left, and another lady is on her left. We listen to safety instructions over the speaker on the plane, and then we take off.

 

Chapter Three: This Is Actually Happening

After eight hours on a plane, we arrive in Costa Rica. The view of palm trees and tropical-colored buildings is something I know I will never forget. It seems unreal. Marcella and her family are waiting for us at the airport to drive us to their house. Once I see them around the corner, I run to Marcella.

“Marcella!” I yell from across the airport.

“Peru!” she yells back.

Before she can say anything else, I give her a big hug. This is the best way to start my vacation. We grab our bags and get into Marcella’s family’s car. I catch up with Marcella during the ride to her house. She lives in a two-story home with a basement. When I walk in, I’m greeted by her cat, Snowy, and her dog, Patriot.

“Marcella, why don’t you show Peru her room?” Mr. Jennings says.

She takes me to a room with white walls, a bed, desk, dresser, nightstand, and closet. It has a bay window looking out over the city.

“Do you like it?” says Marcella.

“Do I like it? I love it!” I say happily.

I roll my suitcase into the closet to unpack my clothes for the month. Patriot walks in with a card in his mouth. After reading it, I find out that some of Marcella’s friends want to invite me to go to the Cafe for lunch tomorrow. I set the card on the dresser to think about it. It takes me a hour to unpack a month’s worth of clothes. It’s seven o’clock, so I get ready for bed. When I come out of the bathroom, I see the note on my dresser. Maybe I will go.

 

Chapter Four: The More the Merrier, Right?

I wake up at 7:00 to get ready for my adventure. I have no idea who I’m meeting today. Marcella is waiting for me downstairs, ready to get in the car. It takes us about five minutes to get to the downtown Cafe, the place where we’re eating.

I jump out of the car and eagerly open the restaurant door. It’s not what I thought it would be. I thought it would be a downtown Chick-fil-a, but it’s dark, loud, and crowded. Most of the people there probably have tattoos.

Marcella guides me to a table where three kids are sitting — a girl and two boys.

“Peru, this is Samii, Nathan, and Dylan,” says Marcella.

“Hey,” I say, quiet but excited.

“That’s her? You said that she was cool!” says Nathan.

“Don’t worry, Peru. He’s not like this every day,” says Samii.

I try to get past his comment. I look at the menu to decide what I want to eat. Everything is so basic. Burger, chicken, fries… it doesn’t have any pizzazz to it. It seems like I’m the only one not talking in the group.

“Hey, Peru, what do you think you’re getting to eat?” asked Dylan.

“Ummm, I might get the, ummm, cheese pizza slice,” I say quickly.

“Oh. Well, I’m getting the burger. It’s my favorite,” he says with passion.

“Okay, everyone, how about now we all place our orders,” says Marcella.

“And how about while we wait for our server, we say our I’m sorries,” Samii says, gesturing to Nathan. “We may have hurt someone’s feelings.”

“Whatever. I don’t care about her feelings,” says Nathan rudely.

Ugh, he reminds me of someone from back home. I liked him, but it is obvious he hates me. At least almost everyone else here likes me.

 

Chapter Five: Finally

After hours of trying to ignore Nathan, Marcella finally decides to leave. Before we start walking down the street, she stops me and tells me about a new sloth exhibit at the zoo.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I could work on my project, and maybe even get extra credit. I didn’t even want to say anything besides “YES!”

“I’m taking that as a yes, you want to go,” Marcella answers.

“My project is on sloths, let’s go!” I say, pulling her out of the door.

“Umm, okay, bye guys.”

“Bye,” they all say in unison.

***

The car pulls up to reveal a sign reading “Costa Rica Zoo.”

“Welcome to the Costa Rica Zoo,” a guy with a sharp mexican accent says, “Eighteen or older, $4.99, children and seniors, $2.99, babies 24 months or younger, free.”

“Okay, then here is ten dollars. Take change out of that, please.” says Marcella.

She gets handed the change, and then we head straight in for the sloths.

“You got your camera?”

“Yeah.”

My camera is my phone, and sadly when I press the home button, I see a notification from my mom.

Hey, Peru, we have to leave early. Your father is home from the war. Pack your stuff up tonight. Our flight leaves at 7:00 a.m. Luv Ya!

“Look, Peru, the sloth came out!”

I take about 20 pictures, and then I feel sad. My trip is already over. I love Marcella. But I guess there is always a time to say goodbye.

 

Chapter Six: With Love, Peru

After returning home from the zoo, I take my suitcase out from under my bed and take the clothes out of the drawer. I plug up my phone, clean out my backpack, and leave Marcella a gift that I picked up. It’s a little pocket-sized sloth with a camera around its neck. I wrote on the tag, From Peru 2k17.  Underneath it, I wrote a note:

Dear Marcella,

Thank you for expanding my world. I met your friends, and we went to the zoo and saw a sloth. I just know that I’m going to get an A+ on the project. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but you have my number, and I will try to come back soon.

                                         With Love,

                                           Peru Maxwell, 2017

***

Today, when I woke up, I had a pain in my chest. I had to leave, but then on the bright side I could see my dad after ten years.

I give Marcella an even bigger hug than before.

“You are my best friend and the greatest cousin ever!” I say to her.

“That’s not true — because you are,” she says back.

As we leave through the doors of their house, we wave and say our last goodbyes. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I got to do it with someone I love.

 

Freakman

It had rained all night, yet, there was no rainbow.

Well, there was no sun either… but still. I was saddened by the outcome of the storm. It was just sky and clouds and emptiness.

I got off the bus, feeling empty as well, like the lack of rainbows had affected me personally.

Most kids wouldn’t care about something as trivial as light in the sky, but I was not most kids. I felt unfulfilled due to this — what shall we call it? — fate, karma, or just weather. Either way, I was not happy. And school wasn’t gonna change that.

I sighed.

I went up the stairs of the school, seeing all the kids you see in high school. They were, like, beyond stereotypes at this point; they were more like lists of characteristics. I said, “Hi” to my friend Windy in the hall on my way to first period (which, by the way, I was acing), and he waved back.

He smiled at me before some kids snatched his book and binder and started to mess with him. The kids turned Windy’s wheelchair round and round and yelled, “Freak!” louder than the fire alarm. I kept walking. Poor Windy. I sometimes wish they would just leave him alone.

The feeling I felt on the bus returned like a bag of nails to the balls as I again felt empty — wishing I could help him, but knowing I’d actually get hurt if I tried.

I dragged myself through my morning classes. Knowing literally all the answers did not help. I was aching for lunch, though not really aching because I knew soon I would ache for the end of the day.

After fifth period came to a close, I helped push Windy’s chair to the cafeteria. He grabbed a school newspaper from a stack on the table by the door. I didn’t. Now, our paper, The Trenton Community High Gazette, is a real big deal (though, it’s total sensationalist phony crap; they make everything into a big deal… it’s kinda funny the print is in yellow, so they are, like, literally yellow journalism… )

As we rolled up to the lunch counter, I looked over Windy’s shoulder, seeing how engrossed he appeared to be in the tabloid. I tried to see the front page, or part of it, because Windy blocked it before I could see or read the headline.

I asked, “Hey, Windy, so what’s the front page news? Is there plastic in the mashed potatoes again — ?”

“Moon, I-I-I — this is very bad… ”

“Geez, what is up your Levi’s? You look like you just got buried alive. Dude, why don’t we discuss this over a healthy dose of gruel?”

“Moon, the front page is — um… ”

“Spit it out, Winslow. We haven’t got all year… ”

“It’s about YOU!!!” Windy shouted.

“… Me?”

Me? I never do anything interesting! I just sit around all day and complain about things all the time like Garfield.

Windy handed the paper to me. “You and your folks, actually. Just know it’s not the end of the world.”

I skimmed the headline. This was the end of the world.

There was silence. The whole cafeteria froze and stared. I dropped the paper, seemingly in slow motion. The silence continued for another minute. One kid started laughing. The entire cafeteria followed suit. This was not happening.

“Fucker!!!” They all stopped laughing at that. I burst into tears and ran, grabbing another copy of the newspaper out of some girl’s hands on my way to the exit, getting the grubby, yellow ink on my fingers.

In the stairwell, I looked at the photo on the front page. It was of my mom and dad and me as an infant. This was the end of all things. My parents were butt naked covered in tulips, a guitar strap on my father acting as the only saving grace to his decency. I read the headline again: “MOON SHARRIF’S A HIPPIE!!! RARE PHOTOGRAPH UNCOVERED OF HIM AS INFANT WITH FULLY NUDE HIPPIE PARENTS!” Below, in smaller type, were the words: “Read full article by Brad Gently on page 7.”

Brad is my sister’s — I mean, my foster sister’s — boyfriend. If she had something to do with this, oh, she was going to get it.

This photograph; God only knows how it got out of the basement. Annie must have snuck it out and given it to Brad, who works for the paper. The photo was in an album that our parents had always forbidden us from touching. Probably due to the fact that they’re yuppies now, and their hippiedom is far behind them. But, it was long-lived and apparently extreme according to some family friends. Like, our Aunt Margaret said that one summer they slept in an abandoned van for a month and lived on nothing but bean sprouts. They also went to naturalist conventions every year for a decade. In fact, I was born at one of them in 1968. They yuppied-up only recently.

I already knew they used to be hippies. That’s not news. I just don’t want the whole school to know. Now, they’ll be calling me crap like “flower child” and “peace and love” in the halls. Also, it’s a nude photo. Does it get more embarrassing? A little censorship wouldn’t have hurt.

Surprisingly, today’s tabloid escapade is the second most embarrassing thing that my family’s gotten into. Judas Shariff, my grandfather, is famous in South Trenton for his legendary scientific endeavors, especially those that got him tossed into the psych ward five years before I was born. He died a few years ago. My parents tell me not to talk about him.

I heard wheels.

Windy opened the door to the stairwell and called out, “Moon?!”

“I’m fine,” I responded. “What are we going to do? I mean, what should I do?”

“They’re talking crap about you,” Windy said. “More than usual. I would have stood up for you, but you know I can’t.”

We both cracked up.

“Seriously, Windy. How’m I gonna fix this? Isn’t there some way we can go back and make none of this have happened at all?”

“You mean like a time machine?”

Windy and I looked around. “Who’s there?!” I yelled.

I recognized that grizzled voice. Was he eavesdropping on us? I turned to Windy.

“Freakman,” we both said at the same time.

I heard muffled jazz music and snapping as Mr. Freakman came up the stairs from the basement level. We did our secret handshake, and he turned off his Walkman.

Mr. Freakman said, “Yo, kiddo, I saw that groovy photo of your folks in their natural state all over the school. And you don’t like that, do ya?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Do you like Reagan?” I asked him, with a smug look on my face.

“No. Um, no, I do not. I really don’t think you can go back in time. The fact is, this is a pretty gnarly state. This is the way things are. Not worth wigging out over, man.”

“Yeah, Moon, the first step to moving on is accepting the way things are,” Windy offered.

“Would you guys listen to yourselves? You sound like Hallmark cards. This is not some teen drama where things get better in the end. We’ve got to build a time machine.”

They both stared at me.

“And I think I know how.”

There was a long pause.

“Really?” Windy scoffed. He had doubt in his eyes. Then he crossed his arms and asked, “Okay, Tesla, how do you plan on doing this exactly? Time travel has yet to be invented. At all! Not even by history’s top engineers! Let alone you, Moon — you, the kid who is failing biology — how could you possibly… ?”

“Winslow Casablanca, my dear friend, I do have a bit of an ego. I can’t deny it. But I’m not so arrogant that I’d think I could build a time machine of all things without some kind of guide. If I was having delusions of such grandeur, don’t you think I would be in the loony bin also — ”

“So you have a guide?” Windy asked. He really needed to stop interrupting me.

“Yeah, my grandfather tried to invent one. He was nuts.”

Freakman said, “Way out,” as he looked at his watch, and then he turned to me. “Kid, gotta get back to work. Keep me posted about this whole time machine, and let’s do the time warp again.” He turned his Walkman back on and snapped his way downstairs.

The door behind Windy flung open. A girl with short, black hair, wearing a blue turtleneck, burst in. “Windy, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she wheezed. “We need a replacement pianist for The Sound of Music rehearsals.” She noticed me. “Hey, you’re that kid who took my newspaper. Windy, do you know him?”

“Yeah, Lucy, this is my good friend, Moon. Moon, Lucy. Lucy, Moon,” Windy replied.

“Moon? Moon Shariff?” She burst into bombastic laughter. I could tell she wasn’t even trying to contain herself.

I turned to Windy. “I’m gonna build that time machine. I’m gonna follow those instructions precisely. And you’re gonna help me. By Monday it’s gonna be Thursday again.”

When I got home, no one was there but my cat, Ginsberg. I headed straight for the basement and discovered the blueprints hidden in the forbidden photo album where Annie had found the naked photo. I called my friends and asked them to meet me at Ralph’s, the electronics place near the spork in the road. We could get all the nuts and bolts there.

Monday arrived. And apparently Windy was right because we were greeted in the morning by pointing fingers and the words “Peace” and “Love” spray-painted on my locker. After classes had ended, we gathered in the basement near the boiler room. Mr. Freakman joined us and lit up when he saw the time machine in my hands. It was made out of my kitchen phone and the parts we bought at Ralph’s.

He gleamed and said, “You did that out of your phone? Your grandfather… I wish I could meet him… I really wish I could meet him. I’ll open up the slop closet now for our ‘secret operation.’”

“Yeah,” I said. “OK, guys, here’s the plan one last time. We go back to Thursday, intercept Annie in my house with the photo, bribe her not to do it, don’t wake up my parents, and then come back to the present.”

Freakman turned off the lights in the closet and closed the door.

I said, loudly, “Ready, guys?” I reached to touch it and felt Freakman’s hand on the dial. “What are you doing — ?”

The scene turned to black. I woke up what felt like a few hours later. I screeched, “FREAKMAN, WHAT DID YOU DO?!” I felt for the light switch, turned it on, and looked at Freakman. His hand was still on the dial. Windy and Lucy were huddled in the corner. We all looked at Freakman.

I said very slowly, “Freakman, move your hand.” He didn’t. “Now,” I said.

He moved it. I squirmed to the dial. I felt like I did when I saw the newspaper headline. Completely overcome with anxiety. I looked around the closet to find something to confirm the date. If it had worked, was it Thursday? Crap, I didn’t think this through. It was a time machine. It could be any time. I spotted a calendar and snatched it off the wall. I looked for the day when the X’s had stopped. I could not believe my eyes.

Freakman was more insane than my grandfather. Why did he send us to 1964?! We burst out of the closet. I stood up, turned to Freakman, and was prepared to give it to him. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you have to go and ruin our whole plan?” I asked.

Freakman looked very pleased with himself. He smiled and said, “You know they say the best way to learn about something is to experience it firsthand.”

“Are you referring to the newspaper?!” I hollered.

“You bet I am. Come on, kids, don’t you want to see the outside?”

Windy piped up, “You guys are forgetting something.” He turned to me, looking at me like I was an absolute moron. “Did you forget that you told me at least a thousand times over the weekend that the time machine could not travel more than five years at a time? We’re in the sixties. If that’s true, Moon, we’re stuck here.”

Lucy said, “Wait, we’re stuck in the sixties? I’ll get to see Barbra Streisand on Broadway!”

“Well, Freakman,” I said. “This is a fine mess you got us into. I’m not living the rest of my life as a flower child.”

“You were going to do that anyway — ” Windy added.

“SHUT UP,” I bellowed. I realized that we were making way too much noise and had to get out of the building. I took my school books out of my backpack and put the broken time machine in their place. We had to carry Windy up the stairs because there was no ramp from the basement, and then go back for the wheelchair, but we made it outside.

I noticed that the school building looked the same, but everything around it looked like something out of American Graffiti. The cars were longer, and the hairstyles were crazy. Windy spoke up, “I have an idea, guys.”

“What?” I asked.

“If it’s ‘Build a time machine and go back to Thursday to avoid embarrassment but we end up in the sixties,’ I don’t want to hear it,” Lucy said.

“No, Lucy, better,” Windy responded. “Moon, didn’t your grandfather live around here?”

“He used to,” I said. “By 1964, he was already in Bellevue.”

Windy said, “So, I guess we’re going to New York now.”

“Wait, are you suggesting that we ask him to fix it?”

Freakman said, “Wow, I’m finally going to get to meet my hero. You guys are the best.”

We hopped a Greyhound bus to New York City. It looked like it looks in all the old postcards in the tourist shops. Cleaner than New York today. We walked across town to Bellevue Hospital and checked in as visitors — which we technically were — to padded room number 187. A doctor took out a ring of skeleton keys and opened seven different bulky locks. He told us to be careful.

I approached my grandfather. He was huddled in the corner. This was it. He was breathing heavily, and I decided to speak up.

“Judas,” I whispered.

“Are you another doctor?” he asked.

“No,” I said. I didn’t know how I was going to tell him this.

“Who are you? You’re not supposed to come in here without a lab coat.”

I was taking too long. Also, if I messed with this too much, I wasn’t going to be born. I needed to suck it up, and just say it.

I screamed, “Judas Shariff, I am your grandson from the future. This is not a dream. Your time machine works. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you need to fix the machine so that we can get back to the present and so that we can, you know, not be stuck here.”

There was silence. Understandably.

Mr. Freakman broke it, of course. “Can I have your autograph?” He held out a shriveled piece of paper.

I gave the machine to my grandfather. He looked me in the eye. I had never had so much hope riding on one answer.

“Give me two days,” he said. “But come back in lab coats.”

We spent the time to kill in a shady motel in Greenwich Village. Freakman went to places like Folk City and coffee houses, while we tried to do our homework in Washington Square Park. We met some cool people there, like this guy who could put his foot behind his head. He was doing it for money.

Freakman met us in the park and introduced us to this man who looked a lot like Freakman. Considering the turn of events so far, we weren’t actually surprised to hear that he was Freakman, only younger.

We came back to Bellevue in lab coats, completely prepared for everything to go back to normal. Some patient called me “Doc,” which actually felt pretty good. We entered the padded room, and he actually had finished it. God knows where he got the parts, but we didn’t have time for questions. I hugged and kissed Judas goodbye, and he told me to remember him.

We raced back to the Greyhound station, and hopped the bus back to South Trenton. We snuck into the high school and carried Windy down the stairs in the chair.

Back in the slop closet, I asked, “Freakman. Do you want to do the honors?”

Freakman thought for a second. “You know, kids, I’ve made a lot of good decisions in my time. Never have I been presented with an opportunity so ripe like this one. I’m not goin’ back.”

Lucy said, “Okay, suit yourself. C’mon, Moon — ”

“No, wait,” I said. “Who’s going to be our mentor? Luke Skywalker never would have gotten anywhere without Obi-Wan Kenobi!”

“Remember what happened to him?” Freakman reminded me. “Look, kid, you’re never going to get anywhere in life if you hold onto the past. Move on. I’m just a janitor. The sixties hold so much opportunity for me to start over. And you can start over without me.” I started to cry.

He closed the door. Lucy turned on the time machine. The portal started to open. I reopened the door. “Wait, Freakman!” I yelled. “Don’t hug yourself! You’ll blow up all of space and time!”

“Okay,” he said sweetly, smiling. “I’ll try.”

The scene turned to white. I would now live the rest of my life worried that he might hug his younger self. As if I didn’t have enough anxiety.

 

– The End –

 

Seasons

           

Summer

A lot of times I don’t feel comfortable without a coat on. The thought of people staring at my arms and my body is terrifying to me, so whenever I’m going out anywhere I always take a coat. The only bad thing about this is that it only works in the winter. In the spring and summer is when I really feel uncomfortable.

In the winter and in the fall, it is socially acceptable to wear a coat inside because sometimes, it’s still cold even when you’re in your house or the school building. This is mostly because my school is too cheap to actually turn on the heater. And sometimes, our landlord is too cheap to turn on the heater as well. But in the spring and summer, if you go out wearing a coat, then you look crazy, and the people in the street give you mean looks, which is funny because in those moments it is the very thing that protects me from the judgement of others that is making other people judge me. And then sometimes, when I am going to leave the house for a little while and I go to grab my coat, I am scolded by my mother because “it is scorching outside and you will burn in the heat.” Then, she tells me to leave it at home, and I get upset because if someone I don’t want to talk to comes and tries to talk to me, then I can’t just put my hood up and ignore them, so it won’t be as awkward because I can’t see their face.
I think everyone should just wear coats during the spring and summer.

 

Fall

I’m a very approachable person. This is both a blessing and a curse.

On the one hand, I know how to handle myself in social situations, and I have no problems at all when it comes to talking to people at parties and other social situations, since people are always trying to initiate conversations with me, while on the other hand, I hate being approached.

“You’ve inherited my gift with people,” my mother will often tell me. However, I’m not quite sure whether or not that’s true.

I mean — I’m okay with people, but not great. I’d rather not talk unless it’s required, but when it is required, I’ll always provide at least the bare minimum amount of conversation necessary for whatever situation I’m in. I’d rather avoid being noticed, because contrary to common belief, I’m a very anxious person. But not my mother. My mother is a gracious person, who is skilled when it comes to talking to people. She is witty, and interesting, and humorous, and sociable. She is caring and kind and beautiful, and she has the ability to spark up conversation with pretty much anyone. She can bring introverts out of their shells, and she can make the shy ones laugh. Something about her is just so open and inviting, and just makes you want to get to know her immediately.

I’m not that kind of girl.

I don’t go out of my way just to talk to people. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s just the people who are always going out of their way to talk to me.

Except, I have no idea why…

I’m nothing like my mother. I’m not interesting or appealing or witty or talkative. I’m not particularly pretty either. It’s not like I’m anything special — I’m just a short, pale girl with short, dark hair that curls perfectly over my ears. Perfectly simple, perfectly boring. Just a short, pale girl with a closet full of turtlenecks and pastel colors. Just a short, pale girl who likes to draw and paint. A girl who is utterly and painfully short of any personality.

 

Winter

I don’t know exactly what it was that triggered the start of my ongoing three-and-a-half year battle against dermatillomania, but somehow here I am. I’m not sure if it was something I always had, but if I didn’t have it when I was little, then I certainly have it now.

Perhaps one day, I had an especially bad panic attack and in a flustered, anxious frenzy, decided to dig my nails into the bumps on my arms and after coming to the conclusion that I enjoyed the feeling, decided to return to it whenever I was bored or anxious. Perhaps I had found a pimple on my face and thought that the best course of action was not to pop it, but to scratch it hard until it was gone altogether. Or maybe I had just washed my hair and whilst making sure that I had gotten all of the shampoo out of my hair, I accidently came upon some dandruff and by mistaking it for nits, continued to poke around my scalp with my nails until a piece of my skin was picked off. At this point, who really knows?

But it doesn’t matter, because how I developed this disorder won’t make a difference. In the end, I still end up here in some therapist’s office every Tuesday, where they hire some hippie to come and ask me bullshit questions.

If I’m honest, I don’t even know her name.

I never use her name anyways.

Sometimes, she asks me questions about how my day was, to which I answer truthfully, but other times she’ll ask me questions about my “condition,” to which the answers I give her are always lies.

“What triggered you to pick at your skin?” she’ll ask me. I’ll shrug at her and sigh.

“I don’t know,” I’ll tell her, but this is not true at all — not even in the slightest.

I hate telling lies, and I always have, and because of this, I try to avoid lying as much as possible, and when I do lie, I am always sure to at least reveal a little bit of the truth. For instance, there was this one time when my mom baked a tin of banana bread, which usually is quite good except for this one time when it was extremely dry.

After eating a decently sized slice of it, she came up to me and asked me what I thought of it, to which I responded with, “Yeah, it was really good! Just a little bit dry, but otherwise really good!” and she smiled and went on her merry way.

Was her banana bread really good? No, it was just average. But was it dry? Yes. Yes it was. But I couldn’t just say that, could I?

But with this particular question, I can’t even share my answer. My answer will always be overridden. The truth of the matter is that most of the time, I start picking whenever I am bored and need something to do with my hands — specifically during my classes. But if I even try to explain this to the therapists, they’ll never believe me. They always seem to think that me picking at myself stems from anxiety — some deep, dark fear gnawing at me from the inside out.

Except it’s not.

That’s the thing with therapists. There always needs to be some type of ulterior motive — one that more often than not isn’t there.

At this point, I’ve just stopped trying to defend my illness. There really isn’t any use because I always find myself answering the same goddamn questions over and over again, and at this point have grown tired of it. It’s mentally draining, and I’m over it. The cognitive behavioral therapy doesn’t help — not when the therapists try to act like they know what I’m feeling or thinking better than I do myself. Perhaps one day, I’ll find someone who will just listen.

 

Spring

Sometimes, I like to sit with my dog out on the stoop and watch people walk by. My dog is a Pomeranian, and she’s really fluffy, so lots of people stop to pet her because she looks really soft. But some people don’t like little dogs like mine. They’d much rather have a big dog than a small one. I’ve never understood this. A dog is a dog. I like both big dogs and little dogs equally — and if given the chance, I would totally get a big dog, but I live in an apartment in the city so having a Husky or Bulldog isn’t an option.

I like my dog more than I like most people. I can tell Jazzy anything because she won’t tell anyone or think I’m weird and secretly judge me, and I like this. Another thing Jazzy won’t do is get up and walk away from me when she sees the scabs on my face, like that one lady on the bus did after sitting next to me.

When I was little and Dad was still around, he used to play his jazz CDs on the radio really loud in the morning, and then I would get up and dance around the house. Then one day, he brought Jazzy back to the house, and I named her after something my dad really loved. Then one day, Mom found out about the affair. Then, he left. Now I don’t listen to jazz anymore. I still have Jazzy, though.

Lots of days Laura will come to my house after school, and we will sit on the stoop together. She doesn’t like to hang out in her house very much because she has four younger siblings, and they’re always in her face. But today, Laura isn’t here. This is because we had a fight at school today, and she got mad at me.

I had come out of the principal’s office during last period to find her staring at me with her arms crossed. She looked really mad, and that made me upset — so much so that I felt a sudden urge to open the door to the closest classroom, step inside, and lock myself in there so I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever harsh thing she was gonna say to me, but that wasn’t an option.

We walked to the cafeteria together in silence. It was only after we sat down at our usual table that she said anything.

“What did you do this time?” she asked.

I sighed. Why did she have to be like this?

“I yelled at my para,” I mumbled. I hated the paras. They were basically hired to help me one-on-one, but all they seemed to do was piss me off.

She rolled her eyes, “Go on.”

“O-okay, I cursed at my para.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“… I punched my para.”

Laura scoffed, “Really, Callie? Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah!” I yelled, “I am!”

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“She hit my hand!” I protested.

“Callie, she probably didn’t. She probably just tapped your hand to tell you to stop picking, and you freaked out. Jesus, do you have to be so Special Ed all the time?”

I froze. Only seconds later did she realize what she had said.

“Oh Callie… I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t just stop picking. That’s not how things work. Do you think I enjoy picking myself bloody? Because I don’t, and if it was as easy as not doing it, then I would’ve stopped a long time ago.”

It was at that moment that I got up from my seat and left. I ate by myself in the bathroom. I didn’t talk to her for the rest of the day.

So here I am, sitting on the stoop of my apartment, sketchbook and pencil in hand and a dog at my feet. I listen to music as I draw and this time, I do not draw what is in front of me. I draw what I see in my mind.

I do not look up from what I am doing until around 8:00 when Jazzy starts barking. There’s Laura, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Can I… can I sit with you?” she asks.

I nod, and she comes to sit next to me, wrapping her arm around me tightly. We don’t speak for a long time.

“I’m not just a Special Ed kid,” I tell her, my voice hushed to a whisper. She sighs.

“No,” she agrees, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry.”

“I’m a person.”

She is silent once more.

“Yes, Callie. You are a person.”

“Then why am I treated differently?”

At this point, I am crying my eyes out, and she can definitely tell.

“I don’t know, Callie. You just are.”

She pulls away from me, and my arm feels cold.

“Take off your jacket, Callie. No one’s judging you.”

My jaw drops. “How did you know?”

“I’m your best friend, Callie. I’m psychic,” she winks at me, and I laugh. “But seriously. Take the coat off.”

And I do.

 

The Simulation

                   

The Simulation

I wake up on a Monday, the day that wreaks havoc across Malibu International High School, or MIHS for short. On Mondays, some of the students — mainly boys, unsurprisingly — act exhausted, just to annoy the teachers. This usually ends in parents being kindly invited to discuss their child’s behavior in class, or just the typical, “Go to the principal’s office, right now!” But today, everything seems… different. I have a strange feeling. I don’t know what it is, but I just have it.

“Mom!” I yell. But as usual, she has left for work.

It’s not that we are financially troubled. She is just very enthusiastic about her job. That kind of annoys me because it means that she’s barely around, leaving me by myself most of the time. Even on weekends. She works for a newly born scientific company called Malibu Scientific Studies and Collection (MSSC). She usually leaves before I wake up, leaving me to do everything to get ready for the day. I have to get breakfast and prepare for the day. But sometimes, she leaves breakfast out for me on the table (today is one of those days), so I sit down and eat, wondering what today will be like.

***

“Good morning, class,” says Ms. Willmur.

She aptly takes her seat and proceeds to put her blonde hair in the usual ponytail. She praises me every Monday for being “the only mature fifteen-year-old boy in the school.” I start class by turning in my homework: a pre-calculus math worksheet. I get A’s in this and most other subjects. I take my seat next to my best friend Alissia.

“How you doin’ on this fine morning?” she asks flatly.

“Eh, today feels weird,” I reply.

I can always come back to her for advice, whether it be about how to handle emotions or what to write on homework assignments.

“In what way?” she asks.

Just then I freeze. I am unable to move or speak or breathe. I faint, but so does everyone else. All I can see for a while is darkness. I am still conscious, but it’s like I only exist in my mind. I wake up in a dark room with red lighting.

“How the he — ,” I start but I stare at the room — no — spaceship I am in.

The interior is vast; I can’t see either end of the ship. I get out from my… containment pod? I realize that I am wearing headgear, and so is everyone else to the right and left of me. They all look weird. They look almost… alien. Oh god. Please no, I think. I look at myself, and I see pale, almost transparent skin. I can see my veins and my — muscles? I am afraid now. I don’t know what to do. I look around frantically, but I turn around only to find something remarkable.

“Levine, Jack. Please retreat into your pod, please,” a hovering droid says to me.

I just stare at the droid, admiring the tech put into it, before punching it in what I would call the face and running to what I think is the front of the ship. Soon, I realize an alarm goes off, with a corresponding flashing blue light. I’m running fast, faster than a human can run. I look down and see slender feet, like a cheetah’s, but with three large claws for three toes, and they are also slightly more muscular. I don’t know much about speed, but I think that I am running nearly forty miles per hour. I also realize that I have a tail, for balance. I look at my feet again, and they are completely stable, so my suspicion may be true. But to confirm it, I glance at my arms, which are the same length as my legs, if not a tiny bit longer. Lastly, I realize my posture. Hunched, I think to myself. That confirms it. I can run faster, if I go on all fours. I try it, expecting to fail, but it comes naturally. I also don’t have to hold my head up as I do it, as it is forward facing now that I am on all fours. Now, I should be clocking in at sixty miles per hour, but I am barely even trying, unlike when I was on two legs. I push myself forward as hard as I can, now travelling at ninety miles per hour.

“Yeah! New record! Take that, cheetah!” I say.

I finally realize that I haven’t reached the front of the ship and think to myself, How long is this thing?! I stop and go on two legs again. I look behind me but only see a green flash of light that blinds me, and all I see a split second later is black. I awaken in my pod again. I grunt to myself, but instead a low rumble emerges from my mouth, and the glass cracks. It doesn’t break, but it cracks. I do it again, and it breaks and shatters and is blown away from me. Another ability at my disposal. Now I can escape this place.

 

The Escape

I start my escape by playing possum. I do exactly what the other alien things do, which is sleep. My eyes closed, I think about all that I have yet to realize. And then I remember my mother. My eyes shoot open, and I quit playing possum.

“So much for the plan,” I say to myself.

Of course, the alarms go off as I break out of my pod with my “sonic scream,” and the security droids come after me as I run on all fours. Then I notice, all the pods have human names on them. Martha McCannon, I say in my mind. Jones Johnson, Johannes Johnson. I see my old friends in a helpless state, and I feel saddened, but I keep going nonetheless. I run faster, and the names become blurred, but one stands out to me. Alissia Swift. I stop immediately and stare at her seemingly dead body. I am startled when I see slight movement. She opens her eyes slowly and sees me. I give her a confused look as she awakens. She screams… at least I think so; the glass is soundproof. I use my sonic scream to break her out. However, before I can explain anything, she jumps out and starts running away from me.

***

I jump out and run away from my attacker. But as I do, I keep saying in my mind, C’mon Alissia! Face him! Her! Whatever!! But I do not want to. I have been avoiding any contact for… I don’t know how long. So it is natural for my sense of self-preservation to kick in. I stop and turn around to see that my attacker has caught up to me.

I prepare to defend myself, but all he does is scream, “Alissia! It’s so good to see you!”

I am very confused. How does this perso — alien — know me?

So I ask, “Should I know you?”

He appears to compose a look of sadness on his face. “Hey, it’s me, Jack,” he says.

My face instantly brightens up, and I throw my front appendages around him. “Jack!” I scream.

We stay like this for a while, but we both soon realize the droids surrounding us.

 

Trump Tower

April 2017

 

Jason walked right up to me in front of 70 Pine, our designated meet up spot. As always, he was late, and I was early. The sun was going to set at almost eight o’clock, and it was only six, so we were good to make the sunset shots.

“The man, the myth, the legend. Nice to see you, Jason. You ready?” I said.

“You know it. So how are we getting in?”

“Easy. The school right there. I’m friends with them. I’m sure they’ll let you in… just say you need to use the bathroom.”

“Got it.” I pointed to the school and showed him an outline I wrote earlier in art class of how exactly we were going to get in. We crossed the street and walked into the school.

“Hey Marlon, how are you?” I said, putting my hand out.

“Happy to see you again! What you need.”

“Just need to use the bathroom, if that’s okay. I’ve been looking for so long.”

“Of course, just use the one on the third floor.” I smiled and started walking up the stairs, Jason following right behind me.

“Your friend can wait down here,” he said, looking back at me.

“Okay.” I looked at Jason and signalled for him to ask.

“Do you mind if I go wash my hands upstairs?” Jason asked.

“It’s fine… you can go up,” Marlon said.

We walked up the stairs and looked at each other. I smiled and said, “We’re in. We did it. We passed the hard part.” I smiled a big smile and kind of giggled right as we got out of sight of the security. We got to the third floor and passed by the bathroom and kept walking down the school. We saw the exit sign signalling to go to the right. We took a right, and we were in the clear: no cameras and the stairwell entrance right in front of us.

“Okay, put on your bandana.” I took mine out, and so did Jason. He had a blue on, and I had a red one… ironic.

“This is what we’re going to do. Go to the ninth floor and transfer to staircase H. From there we take it down to the fifth, and we’re past the security in the offices, and we could take the elevator down to the lobby. From there, follow me.”

“Okay,” Jason said. We both had our bandanas on, and my hand was on the staircase door handle. I took a deep breath, turned the handle, and walked in. I covered my eyes in front of the three cameras pointed at the door. It didn’t phase me. I just kept walking and kept my head low. We ran up the stairs and arrived on the ninth floor. We opened the exit door and came inside an office area inside the Trump building. I saw the golden elevators, but there was a glass door blocking me from them. We were close but still a mile away. I led him around to stairwell A, and we took it down to the fifth floor. Open sesame! The moment we opened the doors, we saw the golden sheen of the Trump elevator doors.

“Bingo,” I said, jumping up and down.

“Take your bandana off. We’re good. Just follow me, and don’t be afraid to look around. Try to act normal,” I said while laughing. All the pressure released from my body, and I felt calm. From here, it was just the matter of not getting stopped while going into the elevators, but there was no worry for — Bing! Within seconds, we were already at the lobby, and the golden doors opened to more golden decor and white marble floors. I walked out and took a slight right to the elevators labeled forty-five to sixty-two. We walked into the hall and clicked the button to call the elevator. Immediately we heard a ring, and both of our necks swiveled backwards. We walked in and almost at the same time, we saw the cameras staring us down. We turned around and smiled at each other. We were in Trump’s most valuable tower.

 

The elevator was fast, but relative to the tall building, it took a minute or two to get to the sixty-second floor. The doors opened, and we both sighed in relief. The elevator door shut, and we heard the whirring as it went down beneath us.

“Well… we’re here! Look at that view,” I said, pointing to a huge window looking out at the sunset.

“Damn that’s beautiful,” Jason said, staring into the sun. The blue, almost fluorescent sky lit up as the sun started making its way down, turning it orange inch by inch.

“Okay, what next?” Jason said.

“I’ll take you to the highest we can get, but the door to get to the spire is locked. I checked earlier.”

“This has been done before. I’m sure we can find a way.” I looked back at Jason and clicked the elevator button leading to the top floor. It opened up with a loud, creaking noise. It was an old, freight elevator contrary to the new, golden, shiny ones on the main elevator. Again I clicked the highest floor, and it started to go up. The elevator buzzed, and we made our way out. I stuck my head out of a half open window and looked up. We were about forty feet below from the base of the thinning spire.

“There’s the lock right there.” I pointed to the entrance leading to the spire. Jason walked up to the lock and started fiddling with it, turning it, and banging it. We even tried to break the lock, but nothing worked.

“I guess we should find another floor where we could go on the outside,” Jason said. I nodded back. I walked into the stairwell and lightly walked down the stairs. We checked every door on every floor, and everything was locked, but when we got to the sixty-fourth floor we found a wide open hole in the wall. It was dim, and the walls were made of brick. There were loud noises and lights coming from inside from rusty machines that probably have been there since 1930, when the Trump building was made. We walked into the room and saw orange light peeking through the windows. We walked toward it. It was a fully open three-foot window. Just enough for us to easily get in and out.

“Jackpot.” We dropped our bags and jackets and looked out. It was breathtaking and familiar, but it felt as we say in the Philippines, “biten” (BIH-TIN), meaning not enough or that it didn’t hit the spot. We both knew this wasn’t the building’s full potential, and it didn’t really satisfy what we did all this work for. We stayed there for a good twenty minutes and got a lot done. Not a second is wasted when rooftopping. Everything has to be as correct and precise as possible while still being quick and silent. We took photos, Snapchats, and hung from one hand from the side of the building. Just normal things. We were both done, and all I wanted to do was leave. I gave up, and in my mind I knew getting up to the top would be impossible without a pick lock or explosive.

“Okay Jason, let’s go… I don’t wanna get caught.”

“Hold up. C’mon, I have an idea”

“No, we’re going.” I called the elevator and got in. Jason got in and shook his head.

“Silly you.” He pressed the highest floor we could get in again. The door shut, and we were going back.

 

The elevator door opened, and I had a feeling that I normally get while rooftopping. Most rooftoppers have anxiety that when the elevator door opens, a horde of police and security will be waiting there for them. In all honesty, using the elevators is the most nerve-wracking, especially when going down. But that didn’t happen today, it never does. It’s something that happens on YouTube.

“Get your keys out right now,” Jason said, as he walked out of the elevator.

“Stop, that’s not going to work.”

“I’m being so serious. Give it to me.” I shrugged and dug through my overfilled pockets. I felt the rigid ends of the keys and yanked it out. I tossed it to Jason, and he walked over to the locked door.

“This should work.” Jason stuck the key in. It fit perfectly, sliding in with ease. He turned it left… didn’t budge… he turned it right. Didn’t budge. Then he wiggled the key and left just about a hair line out of the lock. Then boom, he turned right, and I heard the most satisfying sound I’ve ever been a part of.

“NO FUCKING WAY! NO WAY!” I screamed.

Jason looked at me nonchalantly and said, “Ladies first.”

I gladly said yes and slowly walked up the spiral stairs. Within the stairs there were small circle windows about 1.5 feet in diameter. I saw higher than I ever saw before. So many things were racing through my head. I didn’t even care if I got caught anymore. This was the most badass thing I’ve ever done. Everyone dreams of climbing the Trump Tower, and I could basically do this in my sleep now. We walked all the way to another metallic, almost brand new, spiral staircase. I saw the bright lights surrounding us pointed out to the city. I knew exactly where we were… we were in the spire of Trump’s most valuable tower.

 

“I think we should leave our bags here,” Jason said. I nodded and dropped my bag down. All I needed was my camera. Everything was setup and ready to go. We started to climb up the rusty, old, steel ladder to the top. I kept my camera hanging from my neck and propped off the side of my back. I tried my best not to let my camera hit the grimy bars on the ladder. The ladder went about forty feet up and got dirtier and rustier the higher I got. When I got to the top, I stood on the bars that went across the ten-foot space. The window out was right in front of me, waiting for me to go through. I held on to the side walls as I waited for Jason to come up. He got up and looked outside the window.

“No way… we are here man. No turning back.” Jason said.

“I know. Is it safe to go out?”

“Yeah, I’m going first, then just follow along. Here, hold my camera.” Jason handed me his camera, and legs first, he squeezed through the window.

“Okay, pass my camera.” I climbed toward the window and handed Jason his camera. He stood out there fiddling with his camera and looking around the sky. He looked up and froze.

“Yo. Yo, grab my camera right now… RIGHT NOW.” I grabbed his camera without hesitation.

“What happened,” I said, as I started to make my way down the ladder.

“No, no, no, stay here we’re fine, there’s just too many helicopters out here. Let’s wait till it gets a bit darker.” He awkwardly squeezed back through the window facing backwards. When he got back in, we both sat on the rusty bars and looked at each other in silence. We sat there slowly relaxing every second. I felt my heart rate slow down, and my thoughts about getting caught slowly slipped out my mind. We were in the roof area for about an hour now and nothing has happened. No cameras, no motion detectors… nothing. I could, with authority, say this was one of the easiest roofs in NYC. We waited inside looking out the window for about thirty minutes. The helicopters didn’t stop, but they slowed down as the sun went down.

“I think we should go now,” I said.

“Okay, hold my camera.” I took the camera and cradled the lens like a baby. He quickly got out to the spire and grabbed his camera. It was my turn, and by God, was I ready. I held on to the top ledge of the window and propped myself out legs first. I looked up and saw about thirty feet up till the end. Never had I been so high in my life, and there was nothing that could top this, so I tried to make the most out of this trip. I took out my camera that was already set up and started firing away on rapid speed.

 

The shots came out beautifully and needed minimal editing. I tried to hang or do some daredevilish stunts, but everything was thin and flimsy and hadn’t been restored since 1930. We walked in circles. The distinct, almost mint green still sticks in my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful, worn out green so close up in my life. You have to see it to appreciate it. I continued to take shots and videos of this mission. But for just a minute, I put the camera down and enjoyed what I wouldn’t have for a long time. The World Trade Center glowed with its smaller buildings, making it seem like a small, utopian village in the middle of other futuristic office buildings which took up the Financial District. Then, you walked to the opposite side and saw Manhattan’s tapering down to the Staten Island Ferry. It was surreal looking down and seeing nothing but the green of the rest of the roof.

“I’m doing it,” Jason said, as he walked toward the ladder leading up.

“Crazy mofo.” He started scaling even higher than the nine-hundred feet we were at. Relative to where we were already at it didn’t seem to make a difference, but the view was beautiful. Jason climbed to the top of the spire as I peered down. He took one candid shot, and I went back to shooting. What I didn’t know was that he took the best photo of me I’ve ever seen.

 

He headed down, and we knew it was time to go. We’d been up there close to two and half hours, and we didn’t want to cut it any closer. Jason climbed down from the spire, and I passed him my camera. I hopped inside the small room back in and squatted on the bars I was standing on.

“Get my camera,” Jason said. I took his camera, and he awkwardly squeezed himself halfway and then got stuck because he was coming out backwards.

“Fuck, what do I do,” he said.

“Jeez, let me help you.” I went across the bars and slowly held him as he went back out to try again. He went feet first and pulled himself in. I gave him his camera, and he packed it away in his bag. I strapped my camera to my shoulder and started climbing the ladder back down. Jason then followed behind me. I packed my camera into my bag and put my light cashmere sweater on. We were back to where the big LED lights faced out. I remember staring at this a couple years before and enjoyed the thought of such a tall, beautiful building. New memories like this always make me appreciate and compare my past experiences.

“Wow, I can’t believe we’ve done it,” I said. Jason looked at me and started laughing about how hilarious and insane this situation was.

“We’ve really done it this time,” Jason said. We were all packed and ready to leave the roof. I looked one last time and started heading down the spiral staircase. On the way down, we saw small, circular windows that gave us the first and last views from the roof. We then came to the end of the staircase and the gate that was opened with my key. I looked back at Jason and looked out to see if any workers were there waiting for us. I took a deep breath and pushed the bar. It was almost over. We walked over to the elevators and took it down to the sixtieth floor, where we would transfer to the lobby elevator. The doors opened, and I clicked the button for the next elevator. We waited for a good three minutes for the elevator to come. By then, we started getting worried about the security catching on. We heard a ring from behind us, and the elevator door started to open. It fully opened, and it wasn’t filled with police… phew. We got in and pressed the lobby. The elevator down was nerve-wracking. I could only think of the worst… getting caught. We whirred down the flights and finally arrived at the lobby. The elevator door clicked open and opened to a full lobby of not police, but gold rimmed chandeliers, and the exit! We took a right from the elevator trying to act as normal as possible. We came up to the door, and it was blocked by red velvet rope. I looked at Jason, and we quickly turned around. This meant we had to leave from the main entrance. We walked toward the turnstiles and walked straight through them.

“Have a nice night, guys,” the doorman said.

We both looked at him and nodded. We walked out and looked at each other with the most “I can’t believe we just did that” look.

“You know what this calls for,” I said.

“What?”

“Mission accomplished Snapchat videos!” We both put on our bandanas and went across the street to a plaza. We did our handshake and stared at 40 Wall. We then parted ways and had to explain to our moms why we came home so late.

 

Shadow Man

I love the smell of the fresh air and the feel of wind gracefully blowing my hair, whipping it away from my face. This is one of the times I feel free. My stress thousands of miles away. Just sitting and looking out across the landscape to where the brilliant sun is slowly disappearing. The strokes of millions of shades of colors sweeping above me and being rushed into nonexistence. I love most of all, the calm that comes with the dark blue, looming sky. It seems like all sounds are scared to move. But I am not scared, but the sounds are. Slowly as the sun says its final goodbyes, I watch as the shadows behind the beams of rocks come alive, dancing in the moonlight. At this moment, I wish that I could control those dancing figures of darkness, bend them to my will. I imagine one leaping into pools of light and taking on a human form to waltz with me. I open my eyes, my concise self never noticing that I ever closed them. I look down, ashamed that I could ever think that something like that could be real. I don’t notice that all is still except myself breathing. Except not all is actually still, the shadows are moving too, aren’t they? My mind wanders again to the dancing figure of shadow. Suddenly, even the moon loses light. Eerie music starts to play. Ups and downs, sweeps of sadness, and bellows of jolly float through the air. I hear little twinkles of laughter bouncing on the wind, the sounds are not scared anymore. They are dark sounds though, meant for the night and the looming, dark blue sky. The sound jolts to a stop, the end of the song or is it just the beginning? Out of the shadows or part of one, steps a man tailored to the finest of beauty. I don’t second-guess myself for a moment, this man is real. A shadow is solemn, this man has sprite, a happiness to each step. He bends low at the waist and unravels a hand for me to take. I tentatively take a step forward and gracefully accept the hand given. The sweeps of sadness and bellows of jolly start up again but at a more soothing tempo. A song meant for me and my shadow partner. Slowly, as if scared, the shadow starts to slide into movement pulling me with it. The cold of the night wind pushes us together, pulling the imaginary strings of a shadow orchestra into submission. The air is warm, radiating safety, and I want to slip in. So, I do. My arms wrap around his neck, and I feel the cold of his hands. I shiver. I lay my head on his chest, my height close to reaching his chin. I hear a heartbeat, this man is real. But I don’t care if this is all a fleeting dream because I know that this moment of solidarity I will not forget. I cannot forget. Shadows are always there.

The shadows beckon like they always do, pulling me in. I refuse to be swayed. Go to meet him, go to meet him, I tell myself. I fall into the will of my mind. Where would he be, the most shadow near, of course. And so I walk the trail to where I first conjured this man. The beams of rocks reach up towards the sky around me, and slowly, I walk into darkness.

 

The End

 

Under This Roof

The door handle slowly turned. I noticed a small fleck of white paint crinkle and fall to the floor, leaving an abyss of gray on the door. My dad had said we would get it redone, but we never did. Maybe when they move in we will, I thought. Maybe we will redo the entire apartment, or even move to Maui or someplace exotic, and then all my memories will fade away with the blowing wind.

The door opened, and I saw them pale in the face, carrying big duffle bags that made them seem tiny. And at that moment, I felt huge. Her awkward “hello” sent shivers through my body as I realized my new responsibility.

She was a tall, dark, and brooding teenager. Her hair was thick and tangled as if she had just been to the ocean. But I knew it wasn’t the crashing waves that knotted her hair. Her eyes were so dark brown that if she said they were black, I would have believed her. There was something desolate about her gaze. Something despondent.

He was younger and lighter colored, and his hair was curled in all different directions. His shirt was sky blue. The blue that makes you want to take a deep breath and go to sleep. His piercing, gray eyes made me want to uncover what lay beneath, but I averted my gaze to a dust bunny floating above the ground. It seemed there was a string attached to it, guiding it somewhere, but that place was unknown.

As they walked through the alcove, the ground lowered where their heavy feet stepped. It was as if the ground wasn’t strong enough to hold the weight of their luggage. One more bag and it would have crumbled under their feet. We reached the room, and for the first time, I realized how much my dad had changed it. My playroom had become their bedroom. I could swear the walls were tan but my dad said white. I think he was pushing it. The bedspreads were a mix of blue and gray, and looked like a Picasso. A painting of the sun hung above the bookshelf. It was truly beautiful but belonged outside, above the blossoming trees and budding flowers. My new stepmother said it was a nice house and a nice room.

I needed space to think to myself, so I went to the kitchen, opened up a drawer, and pulled out a glass bottle. It was hard to open at first, but once the fresh water came trickling down, I forgot about the indent from the cap in my hand. The pure, whole water touched my lips, and I felt it flow down my throat and calm my stomach. I kept drinking until the whole bottle was finished, and I had forgotten that this was the last one.

I decided to lay my head upon my purple pillow and breathe in the deep smell of rose perfume. I didn’t like it. All I wanted was to have a gray pillow with no fragrance, so I wouldn’t feel guilty for getting to stay in my own house while they had to leave theirs. I hoped we could connect under this roof and become a family.

Dinner that night was cold split pea soup. It was dull green and chilled my tongue. There weren’t enough dinner bowls, so I offered to use the ceramic bowl I had made at camp a few summers ago. At first, my dad forgot about it, but when I showed it to him I could tell he was thinking back to the day I brought it home. I said I made the bowl for him and Mommy to share one big spaghetti, like Lady and the Tramp, and then he told me about the divorce. It was like I was standing in the calm ocean, and then an unexpected wave crashed into me, and I went rolling under the cloudy sea, and when I came up for air, I felt a searing pain in my lungs from the salt water, and my eyes could not open, for the salt had blinded me.

That night, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was the wood in a fireplace, just sitting there in the cold, damp night because no one bothered to light the fire.

 

Unique

Unique. That was my name. At least that’s what I thought it was, until my mom told me it was Shellsea, but I didn’t like that name because it was not different and it was similar to someone else’s. Kelisea, Chelsea, Nelsea, like, they are all the same. Mine does not stand out. I wish it did. It isn’t different. It isn’t special. It is just Shellsea. My mom says she gave me this name because I was in born in Costa Rica, and she was thinking about the beach when giving birth to me. The funny thing is that my younger sister was also born with a name similar to mine. Her name is Kelisea, but since we were born one year apart, I guess that’s why her name is Kelisea Anne Cher. But guess what, that is only her first name!!! Compared to what mine is, it’s just Shellsea Diamond Harrison. Her name is Kelisea Anne Cher Wendy Harrison. I recently asked Mom why she did not give me a name like hers, and she said “both of your names mean something to me, about how and why I had you two.” Yeah, like that was a good response!!! But I know what you’re saying, why am I stressing over this? Well I’ll tell you why, but we have to start all the way from the beginning of kindergarten.

So since I started school late, I was one year behind the year I was supposed to be in, so Kelly and I were in the same grade, school, and even class!!! Every year, it was like the same thing over and over again with my sister. One day, in kindergarten, Kelly and I were partners for show and tell because since we have the same last name on the attendance sheet, we were always partners. So we had to come up with an idea of what our project would be. We decided that we were going to bring in our favorite stuffed animal to show everyone why it was our favorite. We went in and told Mom about what we had to do, so we ran to the room and went in the toy box. We grabbed the one we thought was best, but we did not pick up the same one. I grabbed a lion because we bought it from a gift shop when Mom took me to see The Lion King on Broadway for my third birthday, and it was wonderful. On the other hand, my sister took out a white, baby seal that she got in her Happy Meal from McDonald’s. I told her to put it back because mine was better, and I snatched it from her hand and threw it on the floor. She started to cry so loud that my mom rushed into the room and yelled at me in Spanish, which I could not understand yet because I was five, but I know it meant something mean. So she said we would show and tell Kelisea’s animal. I was so mad that night that I went into my room and never came out until it was school the next morning. The next morning came, and Mom dropped us off at the bus stop. I pushed Kelly out of the way so I could sit next to my crush Jackel Hudson, but Kelly still beat me to the seat. I had to sit behind them because there were no more seats in the front. Now I know what all of you are thinking, why do I have a crush already when I’m only five years old??? Well, Jackel was cute, smart, he was in first grade, and because everyone else in kindergarten, first, and second grade thought he was, too. The bus was halfway to the school, and I was sitting next to the window all alone until my best friend Hailey sat next to me.

“Hi, Shelly,” said Hailey. I wanted to say “hi” back, but I was so mad that I did not want to speak to anyone. “What’s wrong?” Hailey asked.

“MY SISTER IS TAKING OVER MY LIFE IF YOU CANNOT SEE THAT!!!”

“Wow, hurtful much? I was just asking,” said Hailey.

“Sorry, it’s just that when we got on the bus, I told Kelisea I wanted to sit next to Jackel.”

“Well, why don’t you go over there and say something to her about. I mean, after all, you are the older sister.”

Okay, so I’m gonna stop you right there, and yes I know the story was getting too good, but why did I stop? Well, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. Hailey actually passed away in the fourth grade because she had lung cancer. She was my best friend for a while, until one day she stopped coming to school. I called her phone a few times, and it went to voicemail. I texted her phone, and she did not reply, so I called her mother, and she did not answer. I started to get worried, so I asked my mom if she could call Hailey’s mom, and she did. Mom came over to me and gave me a hug. I asked what was wrong, and she said Hailey was in the hospital. She had lung cancer. I dropped my cereal on the floor. I started to cry, but then I got up and asked if Mom could drive me to the hospital to visit her, and she said okay. We found our way to the hospital and visited Hailey. I was so depressed that I could barely look at her. She was so pale and weak, and she could barely move or talk. She reached for my hand and handed me a note. I leaned forward to listen to what she had to say.

“Gold is the softest color, it stands out rather than the others.”

She let go of my hand and shut down for good in the calmest way I had ever seen. I tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t. I tried to listen to a heartbeat, but all I heard was complete silence.

I shed tears down my face, but I walked away so nobody would see me. As I walked away, I was trying to think about what those words meant, but I didn’t know, so I opened the note she handed me. When I unfolded the letter, there was a necklace inside with the words Hailey said to me on the locket. Only did I not know that the locket was Hailey’s prized token.

I hid it in my pocket until my annoying, little sister came and said to me, “I am so sorry for you, Shelly. I know how, now that you have nothing of your best friend you…”

“SHUT UP ALREADY GODDAMN, HAVEN’T YOU NOTICED I DO NOT LIKE YOU!!!”

“O-M-G, Shelly I was just trying to comfort you. I know how hard this must for you,” said Kelisea.

“Well I do not want your love and affection, okay? I’m fine. Just leave me alone!”

My heart dropped to the floor. I was in so much pain, and I could not even think straight. I wanted to run away from everything, school, dance, my family and the worst thing of all, my annoying, little sister!!!

A few days passed by, and everyone in the hallways at school looked at me as I walked down the hall with my baggy ass hoodie and gray sweats that I found in the dirty clothes bag. They did not stink, but they had a lot of ice cream stains on them because they were my “Mom-is-always-yelling-at me-and-making-me-cry-so-I’m-going-to-eat-ice-cream” pants. I went into class late, and all of those eyes looking at me started to cry with tears of laughter.

I hurried to my seat as my sister grabbed my arm and told me, “I’m sorry.”

Those were the worst three days of my life, not because of losing my best friend, but because I showed the most terrible side of myself in front of the whole school. But anyways, let’s get back to the story before I tear up…

I looked at Hailey for a second and said, “Oh yeah, why not? This plan…  I mean this does not sound bad at all.”

I got up to go teach my sister a lesson on how she cannot steal her sister’s crush ever!!!

“Oh hey, Shellsea, wassup,” said Jackel.

“Oh hey, Jackel, Jack, Jackieeeeeee, jack-o-lantern, ummmmmmm, I just came to talk to my sister, could you give us a second… Kelisea, how many times do I have to say this? Stop sitting next to Jackel, I like him, and you are ruining my chance of going out with him just like you always do!!!”

“You can’t tell me what to do just because you are older. Stop being a big, old buttface!!!” said Kelisea.

“Well you are a giant babypunk!!!”

“You are a whiny baby head,” said Kelly.

“You are stupid little ba –”

What is going on here?? Kelisea and Shellsea sit in front of the bus, now!!!”

As a few hours went by, Kelisea and I were sent to the dean’s office for the rest of day until Mom picked us up. Mom put us in the car and was mad at us for arguing instead of going to school and making finger paint drawings. When we got home, Mom spoke to us and asked what happened.

“KELISEA STARTED IT LIKE SHE ALWAYS STARTS WITH EVERYTHING. IT’S LIKE SHE DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO CONTROL HERSELF!!!”

“Mommy, I wasn’t doing anything, I was sitting on the bus talking to Jackel, when all of a sudden, Shelly starts yelling at me and I did not do anythinggggggg… ” said Kelisea, sadly.

“Lord, how many times have I told you not to yell at your sister for the tiniest things Shellsea. You are not her mother. Stop doing that,” said Mom so stubbornly.

“O-M-G, WHY AM I ALWAYS THE BAD GUY? WHAT DID I EVEN DO TO ANYONE!!!”

I cried all night, but I made sure that the next day I was going to show everyone that I cannot be bossed around. I will not be bossed around, not now, and not ever!!! But then again, I was being a little dramatic just now, considering the fact that I am six years old, and I had no business of dating, liking, or even being a “tyrant” or so my sister may say. What can I say though, I’m mature and very fast for my age. What I did not understand is the fact that my little sister is some kind of magnet or metal lover that people adore. It’s like I am a giant alligator with greenish, fin tails and nasty, garlic breath, while she is a goddess princess who was made from the most beautiful creation on earth… But who was I kidding, all I ever do is try to make a plan to destroy my sister, but then Mom would ground me for life.

 

A few years later…

We finally got to sixth grade and things were looking up. I was dating Jackel, and I became best friends with this girl named Yolanda and this boy named Tyler. My grades were phenomenal, my school was my empire, and I was their queen. But there was one small problem in my little kingdom. A troll roamed through my town of happiness and her name was Kelisea Ann Cher Wendy Harrison. Everytime I tried to get rid of her, she always came back for more. I could never stop her from ruining my beloved town. But as we were learning about the suburbs and the city, the teacher assigned all of us to get into groups of four to make a project of a giant landscape or a field.

As we all know, Kelisea had to be in my group because of the whole “last name thing,” but I was happy that Yolanda and Tyler got to be in our group because Yolanda’s last name was Hillard and Tyler’s was Hikings. So we all agreed to work on the city; we were going to go different by doing a play instead of how life is in the city. Everyone came by my house after school, and it was actually pretty fun because even Jackel was allowed to come to the house. After we arranged the play, it was time for everyone to go home. As I walked Jackel to the door, he was leaning in for a kiss, and so was I, but unfortunately Kelly was right at the door smiling and staring at us, waiting to make a move. Jackel felt weirded out, so he gave me hug and left. I went upstairs with a pout lip and my feet stomping.

“Shelly, can I tell you something?”

“If it’s about what happened just now, then no.”

“But if it had something to do with someone messing with your relationship, you would want me to tell you, right?”

“Fine, what is it?”

“Jackel’s been cheating on you for two weeks… ”

“With whom?”

“… Yolanda.”

My heart shattered to the floor, my feet started to drag, and my face turned blue… As a couple days passed, I found out that it was true. Jackel was cheating on me with Yolanda, because after recess, I saw them making out behind the staircase, and everyone laughed at me. I thought to myself, I had lost my boyfriend, close friend, and most of all… my dignity. But along with speaking to my very own sister for keeping a secret from me for two weeks.

I shut myself out to all of the world and decided to move in with my dad instead in New Orleans. My priorities were only on school and family. When it came to graduation day in the eighth grade, Dad told me that afterwards we were going to fly back to New York to go to Kelisea’s graduation. I could not believe that I was finally going to see Kelisea again after two years. Even though Mom and Dad were not together anymore, they decided to bring the family back together before Kelly and I started high school.

 

The plane had landed. Dad and I were in an Uber, on our way to the school. As we walked into the building, I saw Jackel at the auditorium greeting people in. I heard he was valedictorian last year and was our alumni for this year. I seen Yolanda at the front of line, talking to Tyler, so I went over to speak to them.

“Congrats, you two. I’ll be in the audience clapping for you.”

Shellsea, O-M-G it’s been two years!!!”

“How are you?”

“I’m good. My graduation was yesterday, so Dad and I flew here to see Kelisea’s.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Tyler.

As Yolanda walked away with an annoyed face, I knew I was the better person because she finally saw what she did not have… a heart. Dad and I walked into the auditorium, and I saw Jackel. He knew who I was, and his eyes glowed as he saw me, but I kept it moving. The ceremony ended, and there was a party afterwards in the gym. Mom told me to go find Kelisea, so I walked around…

I found Kelisea by the staircase, talking to my old teacher, Ms. Hucks. She saw me and walked up to me. She shed a tear and held her arms out. I walked up to her as well and hugged her very hard. My tears started to mess up my makeup and so did hers, both of us with high heels on and our pretty dresses. I could not explain how I felt or what I was thinking. All I knew was that I got my little sister back into my arms.

“I missed you, Shelly,” said Kelisea.

“So did I… ”

 

The Smell

Cyrus woke up that morning without the familiar scent of pine. Even in his sleep soaked mind, Cyrus immediately recognized the change. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes, searching the little room for any noticeable differences. But no, the dresser, the desk, the chair, everything was there. Everything except for the subtle, clean smell he woke to each day. Thinking about it, he didn’t even know where the smell had come from or when it started. Cyrus only knew that it had become the most comforting part of coming home every day. The thought of being in his tiny apartment without it sent a pain through his heart that he didn’t fully understand. Cyrus sat up in bed. He knew, with an almost mad determination, that he would need to find his smell and bring it back.

 

First, Cyrus started in the bedroom, carefully combing through every inch of the space. Papers, notes, letters, the usual. He smelled each one, but there was nothing. Not even a hint of pine. Cyrus moved on to the living room. So many things lying about, not one of them smelling quite right. Kitchen now. Cyrus tore apart his refrigerator, then each drawer. Food and knives laid on the floor when he was done, smelling of everything all at once. Everything except his pine. Heart beating faster, he ran back through the apartment. Maybe the smell lived inside the mattress or at the back of the dresser. Perhaps it hid in the couch cushions or in the space behind the refrigerator. Sometimes he caught tiny whiffs of his scent, like it was taunting him. Or maybe he was just imagining things.

After hours of tearing up the apartment over and over, Cyrus sank down against his front door. Looking around the room, he did not see the destruction caused by his search. He only felt the absence of pine. And with it, he knew that his world would never be right again.

 

The General

As the general took his strides around his base, he smiled. He saw the lieutenants preparing for battle, the cadets screaming at one another to get ready, and the captains going over the strategies one last time. Ever since the last time the enemy knew they were coming and had drastically overpowered them, they had assured each other that they would never experience the humiliation of defeat again. They had doubled their practice time, and, being the general, he had noticed the change. He himself used to be a cadet just like them, so he understood the pain that they were going through when they did their ten-mile run with their supplies on. Over the course of the year, he had come to know each and every one of them quite well, and he was proud. He knew they were ready for battle.

The day had come to take the enemy base. Their country was rooting for them, and they would not let them down. As they boarded the plane and attempted to take the high ground, the general felt a sense of stress unlike any other. When the ground of the plane opened up, and the soldiers started to jump off one by one, the feeling of time started to shift. One second turned into ten, so much that it seemed like an eternity before he was finally able to fall into the field.

As he returned to action, however, the long-lost feeling of the air flowing against his face brought up an old memory. For a while, all was chaos. Gunshots breezed through the air, causing his ears to ring. He even let out a few shots from his gun, though only one made contact. He looked behind him to see his best snipers shooting from a half-mile away. His foot soldiers continued to gain ground, and after a while, it seemed like they had the advantage. That was until they got to the wall. As hard as they tried, they could not break down the barrier that was keeping them from getting inside the base. All the while they tried, the enemy was throwing down grenades at them, ending the lives of too many people. It was at that moment when the general made the decision to do the one thing he never thought he would have to. He was going to have to —

“Kids, come down, and have your dinner! And don’t forget to clean up that pillow fort when you’re done!”

 

The Infernal Names

HER EYES ARE SO GREEN THEY BURN! like the curling pages of a magazine, chemical coating dyeing the flames. The Emerald City ablaze, the serpent’s tongue, the forest floor of the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve sin and sweat. And when you look at me with them, ooh girl, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

Bast twirls hair around her finger, nails cut short and painted red. The hair is not her own, but she knows it as though it is. Knows the exact weight, the thickness — the curls and the straight bits. Cassandra’s hair. Her person almost completely captured by the bounce of it, by the way it falls around her shoulders and down the nape of her neck. Cassandra’s eyes flutter slowly open and Bast falls into them, standing at the top of a well and feeling no fear as her body plunges into the cool water. It would sizzle as she fell in, the water would, sharply contrasting with her temperature.

Sharks leaving trails of scarlet blood in clear, blue seawater.

That’s how it is, with the two of them lying in Cassandra’s cotton sheets. Bast’s little body burning flame intertwined with her clear blue.

They both lie awake, pressed against each other, feeling the way their bodies move as their chests rise and fall almost synchronized. Not speaking, listening intently to the creak of the springs under them as they shift in search of sleep.

When Cassandra wakes up, the bed is empty. She lies still for a moment in the buttery sun, blinking, hearing the sound of a mourning dove on the fire escape. Lost in thought? Deep in a trance maybe? Lots to think about maybe.

Bast’s hair flows long, black, silky. She is wearing only this when she appears in the doorway holding two mugs of coffee, the cat slithering between her legs. “Morning, babe.” Mornings are always these short, simple moments, almost routine, almost repetitive.

The girls sit together on the bed. Cassandra burns her tongue on the coffee.

“Too hot!”

Bast smiles and responds, “Can’t help it.”

They don’t have anything to do that morning, anywhere to go, so they lay in the bed and talk and drink their coffee and burn each other with the hot liquid and with their mouths. The silky light of morning is seeping through the breezy curtains and Cassandra is feeling calm, eyes shut and breathing soft. She feels Bast brush the hair back from her forehead with a warm hand, and Bast kisses her, dark and heavy, flicking her forked tongue between Cassandra’s lips. This burns her more than the coffee, this feeling, and shivers of pleasure run through her, so hot she’s cold. Their hands leave UV prints on each others’ bodies, the dragging of skin on skin, the deep inhales, and sighs it’s so good with Bast and Cassandra it’s so, so good. The hair is getting tangled and knotted now. The eyes are rolling into the back of their heads, turning completely inwards behind closed eyelids, so they can see their brains.

And then Cassandra pulls away, out of breath, not wanting anymore.

“What.” Bast slows her breathing, holds Cassandra’s face in her hands.

“Nothing. I dunno.”

Cassandra can feel how Bast is staring at her, searching for a sign in her face to reveal what she won’t. She pulls away.

Bast swings her feet over the edge of the bed not facing her anymore. “This keeps happening. Like, just lately, but like this keeps on happening, Cass.”

She is silent. Bast snorts a little in frustration like the little pig and gets up, paces around the room, around the island of the bed where Cassandra sits. Her hair is swinging as she walks, her tits too, and everything about her movement is mad. She leaves trails of hot smoke in the bedroom, and Cassandra’s sight is warped like through the steam from a radiator. As she paces back and forth, circling the bed, her face loses its red and returns to normal. She calms and slows her motions. And then she stops and turns to Cassandra and says, “It’s okay. I’m not mad or anything, just horny,” laughing like smoothing over wet cement, blowing it off like the steam over a cup. “It’s fine.”

Cassandra goes to the side of the bed where Bast stands, she lifts herself up and hugs her.

Bast kisses her gently and leaves the room to get dressed. Cassandra touches a hand to her scorched lips, the heat of Bast lingering like anger that hasn’t died out.

 

Kassandra

First, I guess you will want to know whose voice this is. Who is in such a prime, primal position, overseeing the temple and its inhabitants tonight. Perhaps on a balcony or an archway, or sitting over the altar in a special, private box. Or you could be theological and tell me I sit on a cloud spinning stringy tales and playing with one malleable piece of clay. Well. Hoo boy. I guess let’s attribute my knowledge and intellect to the stories passed down to me from all my ancestors and their ancestors. On this night, the door opens a crack which then opens up further and a beam of yellow light is cast across the floor. What does yellow feel like? You choose. Chiclets, sunshine, urine, buttery, lemony sour, whatever you want. Kassandra is yellow as she peeks into the temple, and she is very beautiful. Gold swathed over her, her bare feet stepping over the door frame and then resting on the cool marble. I have done this entrance before, gone from the dirty heat outside to the cool, smooth, white interior of the temple. It could really take your breath away. Arching, vaulted ceilings, everything white, smooth, and hard like teeth or something you could break your teeth on. Columns in all four corners, draped with heavy looking snakes that appear to slither, though frozen in marble. Kassandra walks through the room, passing the sculpture of the temple’s deity. She is walking slowly, examining the walls and statues and tables covered with fruits and crystals and paper offerings that have been dipped in honey. She glides to the front of the temple now, one solemnly bare foot in front of the other. Now, Kassandra stands at the altar. She turns to face ghost worshippers and closes her eyes and her hair flows back from her face as if by a gust of ghost wind. Then she lies down, stretches her body out onto the marble floor, and soon she is asleep.

The corners of the room melt away, sharp angles into butter, and the snakes are slithering low on their bellies surrounding the Sleeping Girl. They multiply, and she is in the center of the ring of snakes, flashes of bright green and their white fangs just like the marble. One draws in close to her face, and my breath catches, fearful for her smooth, dark skin. Its mouth opens, and I can almost see it happen, see the jaw clamp around her cheek and the scarlet blood start to spill. But it doesn’t. The snake whispers in her ear, eyes yellow and unblinking like Kassandra, and the girl’s body shifts in sleep to confirm the secret’s reception. The other snakes move in closer, and even I can hear the hushed tones of their whispers that fill her ears and her dreams and resound in the white temple.

It doesn’t surprise me that I wasn’t the one chosen to be their confidant, Kassandra was always right for these things. Sure, I wonder sometimes what the snakes said to her that night in the temple in the astral plane. But I saw her wake with such madness in her eyes, deep-rooted but rising, that I’d almost rather not know.

 

Bastet

Fraying wicker, cat whiskers, thick, savory milk, sweet scent perfume. Beautiful woman, hot, smooth skin, cold shadows. Long, thick lashes, food-filled belly, big belly laugh, soft, sultry smile. Rock salt melting on the tongue. Scorching alcohol down the throat. Creamy, red blood in the veins, heavy with sodium and iron.

“THIS IS THE WAY WE DANCE!!!” SHE cries out to me in a slur of reds and golds and shimmering, shaking fabric.

I laugh and shout over the music, “I KNOW!!” Her mouth is as big as her face, and she is a vision in swaying arms and hips and swinging, long hair. The boys are following her movements, listening for the sounds of her bells and of her kneecaps clicking together. I am too, of course, but I have been trying all night not to let on. Her face is flushed and sweaty when she finally sits down on the silk, cushioned chair next to me. Her eyes are outlined in thick kohl, her lips a fierce red, and skin so creamy, dark, smooth like something so delicious!

“Don’t you want to dance?” She leans in to yell this into my ear.

I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m no good at dancing.”

She pouts and pours glasses of lemon water for us. “I bet you’re fine. Plus, no one will mind even if you aren’t.”

I know she’s right, but truthfully I am far too nervous to dance like she does, knowing what will come later on in the night. I am grateful for the darkness in this sweet-smelling den, where the air is too thick for Bastet to see how my hands shake. I don’t know how she does it, puts on not only a brave face but a beautiful one. Her teeth glint in the colorful lights as she laughs with the boys.

Small talk.

Not the way she talks to me.

They hang onto her every word like needy kittens and the way she entertains their attentions angers me, so I down the rest of my drink and pull her away from them. Hell, maybe it’ll take my mind off things. We dance for hours. Our bodies are practically melding into one, practically melting into a puddle of liquid butter on the dance floor. And I do stop thinking about it, at least for a little while.

After sweating our souls into the thick air, dancing for hours, Bastet drags me to a secluded room. We collapse into pillows and plush carpet and lie there still for a little while. Then she turns to me, “I think it’s time.” I know she’s right. We’ve been waiting for this moment and any more waiting will be too long. I reach a shaky hand to my boot and pull out a long, sleek blade. She clasps my face in her hands.

“This is right. I promise.” The weight of her breath in my nose and of the knife in my palm is enough to hold me here forever.

“We’re doing this for us, we’re doing this for the Gods, and the Goddesses! Baby, we’re doing this for us.”

I know she’s right.

“Fuck these fucking mortals!” She throws in for good measure, as if I needed more convincing.

Fuck these fucking mortals.

I nod into her glassy eyes where I can see myself reflected upside down and we stand, each concealing our blades within the folds of our skirts. Bastet’s hand is outstretched, almost grasping the doorknob. Right before she touches it the door is swung open. A lovesick, little kitty boy is on the other side, clutching glasses of blood-colored beer. His face is pained and pale, as though he is straining to say something. I take the drinks from his clammy hands, and before he can say a word, we shut the door again. Me and Bastet hold our glasses out to each other, and with a shudder, we swallow the blistering alcohol in one go.

Oh, give us strength.

The last thing I remember doing is heading for the door and witnessing Bastet fall one second before I do. The last thing I remember seeing is the humans crowding into the cramped room, watching us fizzle out with weary relief.

In my sleep I saw HER, balancing the sun on her head.

In my sleep I saw HER, burning in the pits of Hell.

 

BAST and CASSANDRA sit on a couch in Bast’s living room. There is tension in the air.

 

BAST

Cass.

 

CASSANDRA

(she doesn’t look up)

What?

 

BAST

I feel like we should talk…

 

CASSANDRA

Not now.

 

BAST

What’s wrong with you. You’ve been so weird lately.

 

CASSANDRA

Please just stop.

 

BAST

Why?

 

CASSANDRA

Just fucking stop!

 

BAST

(Bast’s face is starting to turn red)

No. This isn’t fair.

 

CASSANDRA

Fuck off, Bast.

 

BAST

Fuck you.

 

CASSANDRA

(under her breath)

Jesus Christ.

 

BAST

I can’t tell anymore if you love me.

 

There is a long pause here. Cassandra is thinking while Bast watches her desperately.

 

CASSANDRA

Me neither.

 

BAST

(Bast jumps up, furious)

What the fuck??? You don’t know fucking either??!

 

CASSANDRA

I don’t.

 

BAST

Well can you figure it out?!

 

CASSANDRA

I don’t know.

 

BAST

THAT’S. NOT. FAIR.

 

CASSANDRA

I know.

 

BAST

When did this happen?

 

CASSANDRA

Not sure.

 

BAST

Why couldn’t you have told me before now.

 

CASSANDRA

I wasn’t really sure until now.

 

Long pause.

BAST

This hurts.

 

CASSANDRA

I didn’t want to hurt you.

 

BAST

Well, you did.

 

CASSANDRA

You have to believe I didn’t fucking want to.

 

BAST

You. Did.

 

CASSANDRA

So what now?

 

BAST

Just leave.

 

CASSANDRA

Bast, please, can we talk?

 

BAST

Oh now you want to fucking talk.

 

CASSANDRA

I’m so sorry.

 

BAST

Please go.

 

Lights shut off as door slams shut, Bast is left alone in darkness.

 

It’s almost like she’s in a bunker or closet or cell or something else small and dark and damp. Black, thick air that you could gather up in muslin and squeeze water from. Her little body reverberating with such fire and power in the corner of the room, right where the wall meets the floor.

 

The Contents:

  • Bast
  • Her bones
  • Her blood
  • A flame that is predicted to grow any minute now

Weather forecast calls for forest fire maybe that’s just what this storm needs.

Storm not wet or gray or foggy

Not marbled, warbled sounds or smells

But a flashing hot vortex, a vertical tunnel.

Arms wrap around her knees, crushing her bones and doing it for the sake of the walls that are gradually scraping across the floor, coming closer by the second. The ember that started in her chest has leapt from her mouth, through the Pearly Gates of her rows of teeth, the kindling of her rage feeds it until Bast is surrounded by leaping flames. The little room she’s in is completely ablaze and reflecting in her eyes, so she is unable to realize the situation.

And then, after blinking maybe twenty-something times, her head clears and Bast jumps to her feet. “Oh fuck my fucking house is on fire.” Her fury is still there you best believe, but now there’s fear of burns and scars and suffocation and also amusement at herself for not noticing the impending disaster until now, isn’t that just like her. She wraps her t-shirt around her mouth and nose and slams the door of the room open, running down the hallway with so many doors, each somehow open, each somehow filled with licking flames. Her shirt is singed from where her hot breath caught in it, her hands that guide her down the hallway leave blazing trails on the walls, and her hair is gathered antigravity like in a comic book falling straight up, and maybe it seems like the source of the heat and horrible smoke isn’t the fire at all, but it’s her?

She bursts out onto the toxic waste, green backyard that’s almost waxy in comparison to the sidewalk out front and backed up against the fence she turns and watches her house. Looking down at herself, Bast notices that her palms are like a mirror reflecting the exact image of the flames like they’re right there in her bloodstream which of course they are. She stands like this, in the acidic pool of grass, watching the fire eat away at her house and the inside of her body.

 

Then the flame coming out of the bathroom window is a hand

The flame coming out of the kitchen is a curved rib cage

The flame in the bedroom is a neck and a head

And the legs are poking out the front door

And Bast is face to face with the face in the living room

pressed up against the window and Bast feels magnetic hot force like no other and runs up to the window. The flames are still leaping and now licking and caressing her, running their tongue across Bast’s body. She feels their hands on her waist and then slipping as gracefully and smoothly as only a natural force can under her cotton shirt, into the waistband of her jeans, all over everywhere until she’s burning so hot that she’s cold. Her heart is beating so fast and so hard in her chest, so hard that it could fly from her body on powdery wings and she could become A dark magicked demon or a beam of light, those sharks or that seawater, a slick, marble temple or a damp, dark room she could be any or none MULTIPLICITY of woman. She and the flames intertwined in cosmic spillover between dimensions

Between planets and surfaces

The cratered holy rock of the moon,

projected so it’s right up against your face pressing on your nose and eyelashes.

From here you can see her kneeling in the space between the stars, one strong calf at a right angle with her elbow resting on it and the other lying flat on the astral plane.

You can see the way she holds her arms so rigid, extra support for the way that she balances the sun on her head.

The two of them burning on the sun’s surface or in the pits of Hell with your favorite cast of characters those so shunned and evil, dipped in the rivers that run red, anointed in amnesia.

 

Between

The floor beneath my feet was vibrating as our small, dirty car rolled down the old, dirt road that led toward the city. It was a gloomy morning. Small droplets of rain pattered the window lightly. There was no sunlight because the fog was too thick to let light reach the dirt road. My mother was in the front seat, the place where my father used to sit, squinting to see the road ahead of us.

My mother’s mind was wandering, I could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t in the car, not mentally at least. She was far away somewhere with my father.

The closer we got to the town, the harder the road grew. It was a sign that cars traveled on that road even though all we could see of them was a ghostly, yellow light shining through the mist. Up ahead I saw a shape. A shape stood still in the middle of the wet road. The shape grew larger and larger.

A truck. The brakes slammed down on the wheels. The wheels slid along the wet road but were unable to get enough friction to reach a stop. My mother let out a gasp. She swerved to avoid the truck, though she would have been better off if she didn’t.

The car began to spin on the wet road. Before I could think, the world was upside down. Before I could understand what happened, the car landed on its roof, and gravity pulled my head against the roof. My mother was unusually quiet, and I knew what I would see before I looked down to see my mother.

My mom stared at me with misty eyes, but I knew she couldn’t see me. She would never see me or anything else ever again. At least not in this life anyway. A dark, red liquid was soaking through her chestnut hair, where her head made contact with the car roof, and out of the cut the seatbelt made on her throat, when it pulled tight.

Pain was all I could feel. Pain in my head as I lay trapped in the flipped car, and pain in my heart as I stared at my mother’s lifeless body. The ringing in my ears was blending with the sirens and the truck driver’s shouts to create a deafening cacophony. I felt the mist in my head fogging the world that I had lived in. My mind couldn’t process what I was seeing.

Several pairs of hands slid me out of the car, which was starting to smoke. It was going to explode, leaving my mother’s body to burn in the wreckage. Something was inserted into my arm and began pumping medicine into me. I heard beeping and frantic voices. I was in a hospital. The same hospital I had last seen my father in. The beeps were getting further apart, and I felt the pain threatening to drown me.

There was nothing keeping me here in this world full of pain. The beeping sped up, and the doctors let out shouts. They began pumping more chemicals into my arm, but I didn’t want to stay, and they couldn’t make me. The last thing I heard before I left was a beep that was longer than the others.

Then the pain was gone, and I opened my eyes. Everything in the room was blurred except my mother’s tear-streaked face as she sat next to my dead father. I knew I’d see them again, but I could tell by the tears on my mother’s cheeks and the grief-stricken look on my father’s face that my parents hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.

 

Two mortal days later…

The school bell rang through my ears. A soft, September wind blew through the playground of the old, red school building that I used to spend my time in.

School children came running out of the door and into their parents’ loving arms. Seeing the parents waiting to greet their children after the first day of school left an empty feeling in my stomach.

I thought of the perfect way my mother’s wavy, chestnut hair fell onto her shoulders and the dimple in her cheeks. The way my father would pick me up and swing me around. His emerald green eyes that shone whenever he smiled at me. My parents were perfect in every way.

But my peaceful thoughts about my parents were interrupted by horrifying images. Images of my mother’s chestnut hair soaked in blood and a seat belt pulled tight around her neck. Images of light draining out of my dad’s eyes as the wires in his arm failed to keep his heart beating. The disappointed look in his eyes as he burst into light and disappeared, followed shortly by my mother.

Both of them just wanted to see me one more time before they left for somewhere I couldn’t follow. I tried. But I couldn’t.

I didn’t know what was keeping me here. When I left the mortal world, it was easy. I just had to let go. But now I’m trapped between life and death. The middle is meant to be a rest stop. People are only meant to come here to fully let go or wait for tired, loved ones to take the journey with them. Then they could leave. But it’s not that easy.

Anger burned hot inside me as I looked at my parents. My parents told me they would never leave me, and yet they abandoned me in the middle. Maybe they intended for me to follow, but I couldn’t. I needed to let go somehow, but I couldn’t, and bad things happen to the dead that stay in the middle.

That’s what happens to people who stay here. They forget. They lose shape, and they forget who they once were and become a shadow. It’s a fate worse than death. I’ve only met one.

The moment my mom moved on, I felt her tugging at me to leave. I felt myself following with her into the unknown, but something held me back. So I stayed here in this blurred reality where nothing living is clear, and the dead only stay for a short time.

When my parents moved on, and I was left alone in that blurry hospital room, watching the nurses carefully lift my limp body and carry it away, a shadow appeared. Its voice was bland, but slightly higher, which led me to believe that it was once a girl, though now any memories that remained untouched by shadow were trapped inside its hair. Just a shadow of someone whose dying wish was to help the other shadows move on.

Is that what I was destined to? The shadow took me somewhere unseen by the living. It told me to wait. But wait for what? To wait to feel my one living body fade into a shapeless shadow and the memories that I hold closest to my heart glaze over and become inaccessible to my mind, or worse? The memories remain sharp in my mind, but when I try to speak them aloud, the words stop in my throat, unable to reach the outside world as I lose form.

I didn’t stay in the house it left me in. I needed to find what was keeping me before I was lost and unable to join my parents. I traveled around my old neighborhood until I found myself here at the old school building that I had attended until my father died, and the money ran low.

The shadow danced in and out of my mind. What had kept it here for so long. Why was it so content on me remaining in the house. Would she ever manage to fulfill its dying wish.

No. Once you were a shadow, there was no leaving this blurred middle between life and death.

People say that once you move on, you start a new life. One empty of the suffering I had to face when I was alive. But shadows fade, and they fade into nothingness. Not even their souls remain. That horrible fate was getting closer to me, and there was no way around it.

 

The Shadow

The machine hooked up to the little boy on the table began beeping faster as the seven-year-old boy’s heart gave one last, unconscious fight for its life. The machine finished its beeping with one final drawn-out beep. The young boy woke up dead and a part of a world between life and death. A world where people come to forget the mortal life.

I gazed into my five-year-old daughter’s eyes as she faded into a world made for souls who fail to move on to their final resting place. Instead, they find themselves as shadows who are trapped and are forced into eternal suffering. Some shadows are unable to move on because of guilt. Some are trapped because they did something in their mortal life to keep them here, and some people wait here for the people they love and wait too long. Now my daughter, the only one I ever loved, was cursed to that awful fate.

The little boy didn’t say anything once he looked around at his blurred surroundings, that once were his mortal life. His face showed all the emotions he felt. His terror at awakening even after he knew he was dead. He was amazed that the unendurable pain he had felt just moments ago was gone and a touch of curiosity at the place he was now in.

His eyes landed on me, and all emotions washed out of his eyes. All emotions but fear. If I looked like the woman I once was, maybe the young boy, who died too young, wouldn’t be as scared. But my body had lost all shape. My short, shoulder length hair was now just wisps of smoke. My feet no longer fixed solidly to the floor. Where my feet should have been was merely hovering above the floor. I was just a clump of dark, shapeless mist. Known to some as a shadow.

A shadow was a soul that was trapped between life and death. Unable to move on until they traveled to a place home to nothing but horrors. I could have moved on to somewhere better, but then I saw a girl, inducted into this world at a young age, and unable to leave because of the member of her family who she never knew but who she was unwillingly waiting for.

This world is wrong. Children shouldn’t have to stop here, and if they do, they shouldn’t have to stay for someone they never met.

In that last moment, before my soul was fully contaminated beyond repair, I hesitated. In that split second, where I could have moved on, I stared into the young girl’s eyes and thought of how they would look as they faded into the land where my daughter was trapped because she waited for me, and I took too long. I took too long to join her. Then I was a shadow, and there was no going back.

“It’s all right,” I tried to whisper to the poor little boy, because I knew the pain and suffering the boy had been through in his failing fight for his life, but the words were lost in my throat. Shadows’ thoughts had to remain trapped inside their heads as they begin to fade.

I reached out my once-solid hand and beckoned for the boy to follow, but my hand was gone. My time between is running out. Still, the boy seemed to understand what I wanted, and he seemed to know my intentions were pure. He nodded.

Some of the dead think that if they touch a shadow they will be forced into our cursed fate. So shadows are forced to spend their last moments before fading being segregated and avoided by our fellows because some foolish mind thought that death was contagious.

My world was getting darker by the second as the wind began to blow my wispy shape through the ghost land that stretched out in front. I would never make it to the place I left the girl. The ghost land was bare and desolate. Most don’t stay here for long. But I could see the final life of a shadow now, it is crowded with tortured souls that are suffering more than they ever did as a mortal.

I once thought that nothing could be worse than the pain of loss, suffering, and injury that the mortal life brought. But the fate of a shadow is much, much worse.

I saw my reflection in the tiny boy’s eyes. I was nothing more than a few tiny wisps of smoke being blown out of focus by the wind. I was fading quickly.

A girl with chestnut hair came floating down the street just as my wisps of legs disappeared. Her emerald eyes met the young boy’s. The young boy that was left by his parents who didn’t have enough money to pay for both a daughter and a son.

The last thing I saw was the girl, who died in a car crash and the little boy, who died fighting an illness that took so many lives and inherited his mother’s chestnut hair, run into an embrace and disappear with a flash of white light, into the peaceful afterlife they deserved.

Then I faded into the world of darkness and pain. The first thing I saw was my daughter, no older than she was when I last saw her, because you don’t age in the life of a shadow. But you also don’t flourish; the strong, healthy girl I once knew was gone, and instead I saw a sleep-deprived and starved, little girl, with large bags under her eyes. Her bones showing up clearly against her thin, pale skin. It was all worth it, all the pain I endured, because I got to be with her again.

 

Human’s Humanity

It is a human’s greatest humanity to see beauty in imperfection. The way that her mouth curves slightly to the left when she smiles. The way that a wave never breaks the same in any place. It’s that happiness that is unique and different to each sadness that follows it. It’s how life can never be just as you want it, and you know this, but you keep dreaming of the perfect one anyway.

I’ve been on this earth for a very long time. I’ve seen all that anyone could imagine, done all that anyone could think of, and been through all that anyone could conceive, as wonderful or cruel as each was. But was it real? I experienced each day without color, loved each person without passion, but still told myself that everything I ever did was right. It is my nature to not except the consequences of simply living with all the things you’re supposed to live with. It was how I was raised. All I can do is watch. I watch you feel, and it makes me sick to think that you’ve seen more, felt more, loved more, been more in one short lifetime than I have in twenty.

You there, on the street. You look at me as if I’m a monster, watching through this soot-stained window as my city burns. But I was cursed. I couldn’t see it. All of those little imperfections that make you so terribly human. All of the beauty in this world is lost to me. So when I lit that fire, you should know that I felt nothing.

 

It was June 18th, 1999

It was June 18, 1999, when Bob lost his first finger. It was an otherwise normal day at Gleg’s Edible Food. The vegetable guy had gone on a “mission to mars” (this was a scam), so Bobby “Ten Fingers” was to do the job. He was instructed to cut the frungis, by Gleg himself. Gleg told him to take the first knife down the rack and then hit the frungis with it until the frungis was thin enough to put on something that looks like a sandwich if you squint.

“When the knife breaks, get a new one. This will happen every ten ‘time inches’ or so,” said Gleg.

Bob didn’t understand what a “time inch” was, but he assumed that it’s about a minute or an hour. It was good for the first 48.09 time meters until he got to a very hard bit of frugis. Every time he’d chop at it, the knife would break and catch on fire a bit. After trying with twenty-three knives in counting, he got Glegs (in)famous “punishment katana.” The punishment katana set on fire and soon the frungis was on fire and then everything was on fire. Then a rocket made out of old car parts, with the old vegetable guy in it, landed on a quite surprised Bob’s left pinky finger. And that was how Bob lost his first finger.

Ten years later came the day Gleg died. Gleg had never been the most lovely looking guy to most. His greenish, brown flesh, black eyes, bull dog/toad like face, and one tusk was “a turn off” and “horrific” and “unnatural” and “holy mother of a cube what is that?!” so Gleg was never one to interact with customers. But June 18, 2009, a strange beast known as a VEVIVALOGALOGANBRIVCALQUINTEZSRABCOONADECRITXIAOPLAVINGRELVALOFEDINVERININIVOLOMORPH or a VEVOLOMORPH (in our tongue). The VEVOLOMORPH was a scaled, black beast. Its back and its head were in armored plates with predatory teeth exposed when its mouth was closed — its body bulging with muscles and eyes glowing deep blue. It ordered the first thing on the menu, which was some fried whatever (a classic middle of nowhere meal), then when Bobby “only thumbs” ran up to the counter, the VEVOLOMORPH smiled a smile that could shake a rock of adequate size and number.

Bob replied, “That will be 1 46.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.”

The creature handed him 34 arembles, after writing it down on a mobius strip and dividing it by zero. It came out to about 1 46.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.0.5, but he kept the change after handing the beast the fried whatever.

He said, “Good day.”

To the VEVOLOMORPH, this was insanely offensive (not to all VEVOLOMORPHs, but to this VEVOLOMORPH). Because “good day” is not “great day,” so he rushed into Gleg’s room and politely explained why he was mad. Bob misinterpreted the intentions of the creature and called the cops (they knew to have someone armed near Gleg’s by now). The cop rushed in. It shocked poor Gleg into a heart attack, killing him.

It was December 29, 1971, when an immigrant (this was Gleg) from central nowhere came to the United Regions of Lacrundest to open up a store — a very store-ly store after buying some unbuyable land from a shady man with a “mars program.” That man opened Gleg’s Edible Food. He outcompeted What You Look At You Pay For and Asderof’s Incomprehensible Meals, but on one bright and cloudless night on September 15, 1972, came the greatest threat to Gleg’s, the FDA… dun dun dun… which is somehow the same as in our world. The FDA had a visit last whenever and gave the first ever G- grade due to ludicrously high number of mutated roaches in Gleg’s. The FDA (or fida) used the new, scorched earth method on Gleg. Soon, a gentleman for the FDA named B-10-9.vrt, who happened to be a killer robot with an old teddy bear for a head, katanas for hands, and a distaste for all things unclean, walked in. The vaguely deformed cockroaches saw B-10-9.vrt and descended on him and quickly were sliced into bits. The robot saw Gleg. It ran at him, firing two katanas (one of which would become the punishment katana). B-10-9.vrt was out of katanas, but seeing as the roach problem was gone, he left…

 

Whirlwind (Excerpt)

 

Entry 11

So there I was, sitting at the poolside, roped up and bleeding. I was shaking with a feverish violence that seemed to come from a scorching hot place, deep in my chest. Right then, I knew what I was going to do. The little voice of reason that lives in the back of my mind was desperately wondering where Grace was. But it quickly became clear that she wouldn’t be back in time.

I kicked my legs through the clear water and saw the tiny, pink streams of blood that flowed from my wounds. I swear I don’t crave pain or any psycho thing like that, but it sort of gave me the same satisfaction that writing did. I was making my mark.

I kept swishing my legs until all the water around me had a pinkish tint to it. Less and less blood was coming out, so I lay down on my stomach with just my arms and head peeking over the edge. I swished my roughed up arms through the pool. But it wasn’t enough, I needed to be fully engulfed. I need to leave everything behind and just be. I knew my pain was real. But I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t even truly experience it.

I just reread that, it doesn’t make any sense. Jesus, that’s the whole point. I’m trapped, and I want to explain why so badly, but I don’t understand it myself. I guess I was trapped, and I guess now I can explain. But sometimes at random moments, I feel this sense of dread, it overtakes me. I will have just left school or put down my book, when this wave of just… just everything I guess, will hit me and send me spiraling.

I took one more rope, and with even greater difficulty, I bound my arms and legs together. A permanent cannon ball. Curled up like that, I felt safe and unperturbed, but it only lasted a second. My stinging arms were beginning to get numb, and the cold was shocking me back to reality.

Then, I got a text. My phone kept buzzing, and it lit up my pants pocket. I figured it was just another missed appointment, another message reminding me what a disappointment I was.

It was Grace:

 

Grace Cameron 5:31 pm

Hey! I got locked out😞… r u still at the pool???💧🙆. Will you let me in?

 

Grace Cameron 5:34 pm

Did u leave? I left all my stuff in there… plz help!

 

Grace Cameron 5:40 pm

Wtf!? I can see ur phone lighting up through the window. Ur the worst! I am standing out here in my swimsuit. I can’t leave like this!

 

Grace Cameron 5:43 pm

LOOK AT UR PHONE. 😵😠💥

 

Grace Cameron 5:49 pm

What are you doing? R u OK? Wtf r u bleeding? Plz just answer me u r freaking me out!

 

If I had seen those messages, I would have rushed to the door and tripped over myself with apologies. Grace would have deemed me a blubbering idiot, but she would be relieved to be reunited with her stuff. She probably would have hardly noticed, much less registered, my wounds and the blood that had begun pooling at the edge of the water. I would have been so ashamed that I had even considered what I was, well, considering. I knew that there were families that were starving. Children without homes. Victims of human trafficking.

Lately, people always seem to be reminding me of that, that there were people less fortunate than I was. As if I didn’t know that. As if I thought I was the most disadvantaged being alive. I think that made it worse. I am a semi-smart white girl from a supportive family. Yet, I wanted to die. I couldn’t justify my emotions. I think if I had something horrible, and I mean truly horrible, going on in my life, I might have strangely felt better about feeling this way, if that makes any sense. I would have been a fighter, but instead, I’m a lazy girl who puts off her school work and wants a quick way out of her tiny problems. It was a vicious circle. I would tell myself that my pain wasn’t real. I didn’t need to pop pills until I fell dizzily asleep because there was nothing to feel bad about. But I did feel bad, I felt awful. I shouldn’t have, but I did.

So I was there with this whirlwind of thoughts spinning around, making my brain hurt, until I decided I was just going to end it. As soon as that decision had been made, I felt another hundred thoughts coming in about why that was the wrong choice and all the heat it would bring me. But then one last perfect, cleansing idea came to me, I wouldn’t be there to face the consequences. I felt it was less of an escape than a resolution, it was my fate. Like my whole life had been leading up to this one moment, and it was up to me to either accept myself and embrace it or be overcome by my fear and let it pass. That’s right, I felt almost courageous for knowing what I was going to do. Some people feared death and it’s finality, but I had partnered with it. Seen how death could enhance my existence and pursued it. I felt… heroic.

I was a fucking idiot. I made up this whole story about how great it was that I was going to kill myself, because even as unstable the foundation of the idea was, I wouldn’t be around long enough to see it come crashing down and hurt everyone around me. At least that was the plan.

 

The Plague

Oh hello there, human…

You shouldn’t have picked up this prison.

That’s what this is, isn’t it.

The more you look at this — thing, the more people die.

Hehe he hee… heh heh, I’m doomed, we’re doomed, nothing you do will stop this course of events, unless you just leave this.

Leave! Just leave this dreadful world!

It’s not going to be a happy ending…

It’s not, it’s not, it’s not gonna work

Hehehehe eheh heh, heh…

This isn’t working, you would’ve put it now.

JUST CLOSE IT!!! Please. Please…

My breath is moving, no… why did you start time.

Only bad will come of this. Don’t let the good moments deceive you, all will die. Just stay on this part! Leave! I can only talk like this.

No… It’s no — not… wor — working… I’ll die soon. Dark forces, they are starting to move… It was all so quiet, so still, so perfect, but now you have started it. You opened the prison of time, this thing.

Why did you open the book? My days… are numbered…

It’s too late, I’m already fated to die… And we’re all doomed… heh, heh he…

It’s all your fault, you opened this, close it…

He hee hee heh… So now the story unfolds. I almost want to watch, see how they all die… Now for our hero’s point of view. As he tells his story…

Don’t enjoy our suffering, remember me though.

Please…

 

Stave One: Mt. Pagos

The last time I arrived here I, Henry West, left with a large graze in my arm. The cold surrounded me like a blanket that took away any sense of warmth. The wind was like a swirling spiral of a fire that burned in its cold fire. The icy glaciers stuck out of the snow, as if the ice was pointing up frozen blades at the peak of Mt. Pagos. The thick fog blocked anything more than five feet away, and if something crept up on you, you wouldn’t know until it hit you and pierced your arm or even your heart. It was cold, it was dangerous, and in the center of the peak, laid an oasis of perfection.

As a warrior and traveler, I stumbled there by mistake. When I arrived, a blue serpent flew into me, its horns stabbed my arm, and I flew into snow. I was back for revenge. Sword and shield in hand, I went into the cave. The ice flew off my body, welcoming a warm cavern, massive in size, and just warm enough for comfort. I saw the creature I had came for. Massive, blue, and with icicles sticking back in a massive crown.

Pagos, dragon of wind, ice, and intellect.

I stumbled back, Pagos roared up to life. It approached me. Its six surprisingly quick and short legs dashing up to me. I felt its cold, yet kind radiance on me. Had it been scared when it saw me with my weapons bare and pointed at him? He showed no sign of hostile intention. I was about to leave and run, when I saw the interior.

In this oasis, there was a small sense of warmth, a luxury compared to the sheet of death that covered the rest of the mountain. There laid three trees, all rich and bearing fruit. There also was a pond. In this pond, two fish laid. In there too, there laid a great icicle, hanging from the cavern’s roof. Despite its appearance, it never fell. The roof was covered in a fresco of blue jewels: lapis, sapphire, kyanite, and tourmaline, shining like stars.

I heard a loud, booming echo.

“Stay, Henry,” the dragon spoke.

I jumped. I had faced bandits, fought scores of enemies, and climbed treacherous cliffs, but none of that prepares anyone for the voice of dragon. It resonates so low, as if it was just sending words into my brain, its sound was like a thousand murmured voices, all put together, just to say one word. It was simply beautiful.

The dragon continued in his speech, “I have been waiting West, a prophecy states you. It shows a gaping crater in the center of Vincent field, in the middle lay a giant beast, surrounded by a destructive ring, shredding the ground. I see you. Save us from that ring of death, but first, enter the gateway.”

As the dragon finished, I heard a loud, hollow bang. I watched the icicle fall and land tilted, forming a bridge up to a smaller carven, almost a gateway. I went in, nervous, yet excited. The tunnel darkened, I pressed onwards.

My trial awaited.

 

Stave Two: Frozen Magic Caverns

The cavern interior was cold, unlike the warm(ish), larger cavern. It had icicles from the ceiling, and they seemed to have holes in them, so one could possibly hoist himself over one. Beyond that laid an ice wall, around three feet. behind that, vision was distorted. I understood I would have to get to the end. I took a step, and the ice fell beneath me, and I fell into oblivion…

***

The cavern interior was cold, unlike the warm(ish), larger cavern. It had icicles from the ceiling, and they seemed to have holes in them, so one could possibly hoist himself over one. Beyond that laid an ice wall, around three feet. behind that, vision was distorted. I understood I would have to get to the end. I took a step, then paused. Haven’t I done this before? I thought. Then I remembered the fall, and all of it came apart. Didn’t I die? I thought, Maybe I could escape the pit… that resets my life and world, I guess. It was incredible magic that I had never seen before. I climbed on the icicle. It quivered, and I climbed from icicle to icicle, as they fell behind me.

I landed on the other side of the hole. Yay, I guess, I thought and continued on. I came upon a strange ancient icy — uh um… thing. It scuttled back and forth, excited, as if it had been waiting for me a thousand years. I approached. It turned to me, and it started to glow with a mysterious, green light.

It pulled out its sword, a blade, a pure, green light.

This sword wasn’t painted green. It was green light, flashing like a star. It looked like a stable sword that was solid, except it was obviously made of green nothingness. It lit up the room, casting green shadows on thousands of words, written on the walls, wrapping around the room like a tomb. It charged. With a quick swipe, the blade pierced my armor. It didn’t appear to have made internal damage, but I burnt. I felt the pain fly through my body, like a thousand needles flying through me. I stumbled back, the ice stopped. I got up quickly, and — it was back at it. I saw it coming at me. Quick thinking and an agile jump was all that saved me from death, or finding myself at the start, knowing this place. I saw the opening, I leapt at it and unleashed a volley of deadly blows with my sword. I watched the energy flicker, and then it just fell apart, leaving only its sword.

I picked it up, and it flared to life. I stared into the green fire, burning like a mystical, green energy. I had seen something like it before, but it seemed so simple, unlike the complicated models of magic. It seemed so modern, yet ancient, like a weapon of an age long forgotten. I continued on, into the foggy cavern, bringing the sword with me.

I pressed on. I came to a long hallway, like the starting one, but empty. In the end laid an altar. A cool dust swirled around. Magic was at its best in here. I could feel it. I approached. I saw the writing. It was ancient. I saw it in the writing. The writing was a strange series of straight lines, right angles, dots, and no curves. In the hall laid mysterious patterns on the walls, like star patterns. I continued on. The writings seemed to speak to me. I heard the stories on the wall. It was a hero — someone at least someone. Three dragons — and one more being. A dangerous beast. A curse. And a picture of someone, placing three gems together, and forming a giant beast — surrounded by a black and red wind. It shook my bones, as if they knew that death would come from it, spreading through the world, like a sheet of death. I moved away, and the feeling subsided. I came upon the altar. On it laid an orb, lazily floating from side to side.

It floated down to me. I stared into the translucent sphere. It was visible and appeared real. But something about it seemed like an object that wasn’t there, as if my brain was telling me was there, putting it into my vision. The color was some strange (yet lovely) mix of purple and black, yet seemed to have many more colors flashing like mice scurrying through it. It felt cold and yet had an almost happy feeling to it, as if it was radiating with thought.

In my hand, the sphere vibrated, as if it felt my presence. It seemed to feel the radiating of my hand. And while it felt like it weighed a pound, it would float up into the air, then come back down slowly, as if gravity had little effect on it. Moreover, it seemed to change in shape: now a perfect circle, now almost a square, then a thousand-edged object, and then returning back to a circle. This was hard to see sometimes, because it was surrounded by a purple smoke, which somehow looked incredibly mystifying.

It flew into my head, I stumbled backwards, but felt no pain. The orb was gone. Into my head. I felt my brain building into a slightly more advanced being. I felt my limbs becoming slightly more agile and felt my body hardening a slight more. I felt stronger.

As I exited the cavern and entered the, well, other cavern, the dragon swooped in. I looked into its crown of ice. In the center, I saw a blue crystal, just like the one that the hooded figure had put with the two others, from the prophecy.

This crystal is my greatest ally and curse. It gives me all of my power but is a burden. The crystal is the Ice Sapphire, and it is proof that I am part of this prophecy of ruin.’

“Bu — but how do I divert this prophecy?” I inquired.

I don’t know, but I recommend doing whatever you can to find the other two dragons, and protect them. Report to Vincent castle, I bid you farewell.’

As I walked away, the dragon flew up into the air, and it left behind a whirlwind of cold yet comforting snow. I blinked, and it was gone through the dragon’s gate, a mystical barrier, which no man has crossed.

As I scaled down the mountain, I pondered about what the dragon said. How the three most divine beings could cause ultimate destruction. It got me worried, and even the smallest critter made me jump. As I headed home, I pondered the prophecy. A dark being that could destroy Vincent field? How could a person like me defeat that? I was a strong soldier, but I couldn’t take on a dark celestial. I guess time would tell how and if I won.

But I never even thought that I created the giant beast.

 

The Absence of Hope

The stars were punch-outs in the blackness above her, sometimes it hurt to think about space. She could think herself out of the earth, through the blue ring of atmosphere and even further beyond, looking down. If she willed it, it was possible for her to imagine herself growing more distant, shrinking, fading into… what? She stopped there, unable to visualize anything more. She returned to the night now, wet grass and a slight frostiness. The flowers were curled into themselves, huddled and chilly, hugging themselves closer. She was damp but decided not to care. She fell back into the cool foliage, choosing to embrace the discomfort. She wished she had someone to share this with. Someone as young and idealistic as she was, right at this very moment. She ached for someone perfect, knowing she was alone. She let herself drift away to think crazy, hopeless thoughts.The stars blinked and remained steady. Now she was only empty and abandoned, the romanticism faded but lingered at her edges. She felt she could cry, or maybe she would laugh instead. Moonlight played in the shadows. She sat up and felt the pressing moisture on the fabric at her back. She wanted companionship, love, a hand to hold, a mind that would absorb her thoughts just as she meant them, spin them with poetry and return them to her. The moment of such youthful, breathtaking, painful joy faded into dim and threadbare sadness. She pushed herself off the grass and began to walk ponderingly towards home.

He could hear music as he lay there in the meadow. He opened his arms and spread out, looking up. He liked knowing he was alone there, far away, he could think silly things but make them beautiful in his head. He loved nighttime in this way, he could be isolated but alive. He felt like there was a chasm in his chest filled with inexplicable elation, he was flying as he lay smiling in the dark. He soared. All the same, he was aware that he wanted someone else here. They could laugh loudly in this place. Recklessly, without abandon. He could see him and that someone else falling into each other, down, laughing, laughing, warm together in the great, wide openness. The music played on. Violins, maybe a flute. Pretty music that dwindled and then surged with his thoughts. He closed his eyes and fell back into himself. His eyes opened, he was opaque again, no longer dreaming. He sat and regarded the world at large for a moment before lifting himself up and cementing himself back into reality.

Carefree. Brimming with wonder. Life was serious now, but she could still appreciate beauty as she always had. It was her superpower. She could endlessly enjoy small things: the smell of home, a petal, sunlight through tall trees. She was an adult, though still young. She had escaped bitterness thus far and probably always would. People around her moved in generic patterns, only partially awake and still sleepy. There was sunlight and people, faint sounds of cars and friendship and leaves rustling halfheartedly. The world was bright and still miraculous but in a solid way. There were no more uncertain fairies brushing by in the twilight, no longer any bursting flashes of happiness to be found lying exultantly in the weeds. She wished now for those things, but there were concrete tasks to be completed, responsibilities to assume.

Sometimes he still heard music, internal snatches when he least expected them. He had grown and matured, but some of his innocence remained. His life was busy and cluttered, like his mind. Some of the poetry had drained from his thoughts. He thought now in prose, at least most often. He had a job and a small, constraining office that looked out on the ocean. It was a cubicle, but his mind often strayed beyond its thin, gritty walls. He was a “real man,” but he frequently felt still like the teenager who had worshiped the beauty in sunlight and the fire of dusk. He was someone who loved old books and read them in big, drafty libraries with muted light fraught with dust dripping through the windows. Even in groups he felt isolated. He didn’t fit with other people. Rarely did he have the time to explore new worlds from the comfort of a large chair.

The air was thin and frozen. Time felt like something silly, but also pressing, as she made her way down the side of the empty highway. The grass crunched pleasingly under her feet, but she wasn’t only a forlorn daydreamer anymore. Mundane things like treadmills and shoelaces and orange juice were a part of her. She could fold back into past buoyant thoughts easily, but in her day-to-day existence she did not. She was still young, not bitter, but she had a yearning for something that was always out of reach. She wore sweatpants and ate tabbouleh salad in the lunchroom, and her imagination livened the monotony of office work in a small town. When she sat at noon every day with her plastic fork and the muddy snow melting outdoors, she would imagine herself away to a forest or on top of a mountain looking into the sea. Everything in her mind glistened with impossible beauty and a faint, sad knowledge that none of it would ever be as splendid and untainted. She knew people thought of her as distant and aloof. She was. She wanted more, more of something. Was she pretentious for feeling this way? She didn’t know. Some days, she still hiked far away from everyone and watched the sun set in the cold. She was happy then but lonely. She had phony friends, but she knew they were fake. It was mutual. She had never found anyone who shared the glory and the grandeur of her inner self. Someone who could understand the flashes of joy she derived from lying alone in a garden or staring out a window at the rain. Life happened, and she lived inside herself.

She noticed only because the sun was dimming. She loved the sun because she could count on it and because it was beautiful. Her sunrises were paler, faded. She thought it was just her imagination waning at first, but then it grew whiter and increasingly washed out. News reached her little office on the outskirts of the world a few hours after it had become cause for panic elsewhere. She heard and put down her plastic fork. Solemn, resigned. It made a small sound on the folding table. She stared and then sat silent as the chaos surged, until they told her she needed to leave to get in line.

The line was much less than that, a messy horde. In corners, people huddled trying to believe it wasn’t true. In town halls all over the world, in schools and parking lots and community centers people gathered. All around them rose the clear bubbles they waited to board, huge, perfectly round, life-preserving prisons. Apparently they’d known for years and had been working out this system. He was angry at first, then frightened, and finally indifferent. It was probably better this way, he reflected, the horror of not knowing was put off until the final moments. It was now more than ever he wished he had someone to care so much about. Someone to comfort and to comfort him, someone to climb into the future with, whatever it looked like.

Now it was haphazard. An escape method was available, it was there to take or leave. Push the green button and theoretically you were safe. People all around him found each other and latched on. They needed to feel that they would not be forgotten. Sparks flew and buttons were pressed. Momentous decisions were made perhaps without thought, but there wasn’t time. Often, choices were unexpected. Familial ties that had worn thin, fraying over the years, snapped suddenly with the shutting of the doors. Heartbreak spilled and tore through millions, chasms opened where before there had been love, trust, kindness. He stood straight, and they paired him with a woman from nearby he’d never met. Strange, how someone could live one neighborhood over, and he didn’t recognize her face. There were only enough bubbles if everyone had two or more people. This was it, and he was oddly emotionless. The doors closed, and her hand came down on the button. The bubble clicked and rose into darkness. They were alone but together, and he pressed his face up against the side. The end.

Except, of course, it wasn’t. As they lifted away, she was silent. The earth grew fainter, and the pain inside her swelled. The world, her world, with its breezes and smooth stones, its flower petals and warm sand that could stick between your toes. She missed rivers already and forests and beaches, mountains and the jungles she had never seen. It all looked so tiny to her. She felt tiny, miniscule. Why bother to build a bubble. She couldn’t possibly live without snowy mornings or the sound of raindrops falling on wet leaves. The smell of a lake in nighttime or the feeling she had sitting high up in a tree. But living she was, inexplicably. It didn’t feel real anymore, but it was. The world drifted from view and she realized now that she was crying. Space unfolded itself before her and now she was in the midst of something she had imagined forever. It was nothing like she’d thought, but it fulfilled all her wildest dreams. Everything was bigger, actual, so much less abstract. She cried in earnest now, guttural sobs that racked her body and propelled her to the curved floor. It fit her body perfectly but the unresponsive glass beneath her could never compare to dirt, or grass, or sand, or layers of decomposed forest. It was artificial, nonliving forever.

“Well.”

“So.”

She pulled herself to her feet, and they stood side by side, looking out. She imagined their silhouettes. There was light inside but outside only obscurity. She didn’t know how, it emanated, not piercing their surroundings at all, simply existing. The bubble shone dully in its own glow. She thought of what was going on out there, in space, that there was so much she was unaware of. She thought of what had happened somewhere in the distance, she no longer knew where, and then she decided to stop thinking.

They stood until they broke, and then he cried while she comforted until she couldn’t not cry anymore. Then he held her until they were sobbing together as one. They sat and drowned in common grief, mourning their lostness and the absence of hope that they both felt so sharply. Up here, they were so detached, so incredibly isolated, but now they also had each other, they were two people who so completely shared the same experience.

For days, there had been a glow from some eerie distant world, their own but no more. They were here now, and that was behind them. The glow seemed to settle into itself then, to subside and taper before it melted out of sight completely. Like a puppy getting ready for bed, the waning sunlight began brighter and gradually its energy drooped until it had vanished calmly and they were left in darkness. There was still a pale and cloudy light that radiated from inside the bubble. They were deserted now.

The reality set in. It was hazy at first, surreal. Then the awareness hit them, but still they remained in their own misty worlds of isolation and forgotten dreams. Did survival truly matter any more? What was the point of continuing to endure living if you could only meander through darkness full to brimming with stories to tell no one would ever hear.

They decided together without speaking that they would simply live until they couldn’t. They didn’t ration or conserve. Somehow they were able to breathe. They didn’t cry anymore. They didn’t talk. Once she opened her mouth as is if to say something, but it closed after a split second of heavy expectation, and she retreated once more into her own mind. Hours later, or days or a year or a lifetime, a fragment of a poem stumbled across his lips. It was accidental, a mistake from another existence, but it was a rock thrown into water. After the poem, there was quiet. She stared.

“I.”

“Oh.”

“Do you?”

“No! Yes!”

“I’m…”

“I’m so.”

“I know.”

“Are you?”

She nodded.

“I’m glad.”

“It’s beautiful up here. Sad. I’d always imagined it would look like, well, not quite like this.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“It’s real up here, not a dream. I can’t — think myself down.”

Something from outside grazed the bubble. She took his hand, and they stood together, like on their first day. The glass of the pond trembled and broke, and then the two of them struggled to retain the air to make their thoughts into language. Words tumbled into sentences that were strung together like precious beads on a necklace into paragraphs and then pages. Words upon words that crowded into and on top of one another. The ink of broken silence blurred as they twisted sound into meaning from where before was only stillness. They shouted sometimes because they could, and then they whispered until they couldn’t articulate words. It was a release, an explosion. A torrent of suppressed emotion that had been kept hidden for no reason at all. But here it was, here they were. Trapped, but free nonetheless. They talked first of the past, of what they had left behind, what they missed, and what they hadn’t realized was important. Of people and places and the indescribable indistinct quality of clouds. Once, he sang. She clapped, and the sound of her hands against one another in the midst of infinity was at once intimidating but independently perfect. They discussed poetry, art, literature, elite, and perhaps supercilious forms of enjoyment before they spoke of simple joys one had encountered like little buried treasures in the past world. Something new surfaced in the bubble now, a small bit of happiness had dripped its way into being. With this later followed companionship, affection, tenderness, and eventually love which was expressed and then explored as the two of them glided silent between the stars. It was just what she had hoped in an entirely unexpected setting.

Finally, there was someone on the other end of his thoughts. As a teenager, when he’d lain smiling in a moonlit meadow, he had taken himself seriously. Later, but still so far away from the present he had reflected, slightly chagrined but still faithful. It was funny to him that now in this situation, so strange and unlike any place he’d ever envisioned, somewhere where his life chances were so slim and escape could not be considered he could be so gloriously happy. The pieces of his own individual puzzle seemed to fit into place even if the smooth, outside edges would never be configured. He’d always been told to put the corners together first and then fill in the center, but here he could break the rules recklessly. The whole puzzle might never be complete, but he had some parts connected and the section of the image he could see now was almost too brilliant already.

It felt like she could fly, like the bubble had opened, and she could spiral through space. That was the problem. She wanted to skyrocket, to leap and bound through a wide open space. But they were shut in here, closed off, stale. The worst was that it would never be any different. They would stay like this for as long as forever lasted. She wanted room to dance, room to spread out her soul knowing her emotions could reach into faraway places before she herself could get there. At the very least, she needed to feel that the possibility of change, or variety or escape was remotely a possibility. But here she was, surrounded by nothingness. Sounds echoed in the bubble, but she wished that when she dropped something, the outside would be affected too. She hated that her surroundings were so cold and oblivious, so impassive and untouchable. She had wanted children in her time spent on Earth, but that was just another door this new life had closed for her with the pressing of a button. She had wanted kids, so she could raise them in the past world, she could teach them how to tell wildflowers apart and how to skip stones. How to appreciate butterflies or the smell of the forest or the sound of other people’s happiness. It was unthinkable, bringing someone new into this settled existence of blank space and numbing insignificance. She needed at least a glimmer of a potentially different reality. But that candle had burned down long ago and was stiff with congealed wax. Up here, there were no matches with which to relight it and no way to get any more. What she truly wanted was hope, and hope was gone.

Still, they were not jaded. Love made them buoyant, but they knew a change was necessary if they were to retain their sanity. Then again, why was that such a concern? A decision was reached after endless discussion. They turned it over and over as they continued to float through eternity. After a while, it seemed the only option.

It took days, weeks maybe. Measures of time were unimportant now, the concept of the Earth’s revolution around the sun had vanished with both of those celestial bodies themselves. It was risky, but was it riskier than the hasty decision they had made before, idealistic, uninformed, naive. It was dangerous, irrational, enormously stupid. They cut a hole. Plastic sawdust piled at the floor. They took turns sawing at it with whatever small tools they could find. The absurdity of the risk elated them with its being so absolutely out of the ordinary. They had found human connection in each other, but the expansiveness of life had disappeared. This ridiculous alternative terrified them with how singularly enticing it was.

Her turn was the last. They had cut a rectangular groove in the thick plastic so deep that if moderate force were applied to it, it would give way. She shook him by the shoulder, gently, but with an urgency that was simultaneously meaningless and present. He came awake slowly.

“Now. It’s ready.”

This registered. He blinked the sleep away. It took him a moment to remember where he was, even after so many instances just like this. They walked to the rounded wall. She looked at him. There was half a smile on her lips, but her eyes were wet. He looked back, and his throat felt stiff with helplessness, resignation, regret, love, anticipation, anguish. Flutes played tremendously in his head, the violins reached a panicked crescendo. The space outside seemed to pulsate with everything pent-up that could never happen. Together they pushed the worthless piece of plastic into the extreme. It fell noiselessly into the void, pathetically flimsy in the depths of the universe. He had always thought that in books, when people’s lives flashed before their eyes, it was just fantasized wordplay, but he could see now all the nights in the cold, the people he had known, the characters he had resonated with, and the dreams he had cherished. She nodded, and they gripped hands as they flung themselves wordlessly into the outside. There was a sigh — of relief, elation, gladness, pain, or sorrow and then they were gone, forgotten. The black dust and the stars rose up to greet them. The open bubble still bobbed through the boundlessness, not above where they had fallen but simply somewhere in relation to them. The existence of everything continued as it had, and with a plunge into the unknown, two people who had lived so vividly were instantaneously erased. Somewhere a star exploded and elsewhere a planet turned on its axis, slowly, methodically, spinning unceasingly over and over itself, unnoticed and undisturbed.

 

The Golden Disk

I remember the day they discovered the time capsule.

They first described it as a white, bowl-shaped contraption containing a golden disk. We didn’t know what it was and where it came from. Scientists studied the disk and eventually determined how to operate it. And then the sounds started playing: unfamiliar rhythms and tunes. We couldn’t identify what the sounds were or what they were trying to tell us. Then we decoded images revealing a species that could have resembled us — but with smaller eyes and heads and bigger mouths and ears.

I think the images of the species were what really frightened us. For so long, we had thought we were the only advanced civilization out there.

I was only a baby when the time capsule was discovered, but I remember the day like it was yesterday. I had grown up watching the revolution unfold among us. Soon it felt like everybody was picking a side. Either, you were on the side that chose to ignore the golden disk, or you were on the side that wished to do something about it.

 

Cosma!

My mother’s voice runs through my head, interrupting my thoughts.

Please come down and eat.

I put down my touchpad and stroll into the kitchen.

Good morning. My mom smiles at me, communicating her thoughts telepathically. A plate of food sits on the table, and I gratefully oblige.

My father walks into the room. Hello Cosma. Journaling again, I see.

I finish eating, and Jamaya approaches, handing me my bag. Jamaya is our robot; every household on Merona has one. She cleans our home, cooks our food and does our laundry.

Jamaya hands me my vitapills. The history books tell us that in ancient times, sickness and disease used to be a main cause of quietus. Now, these two little pills I take each day protect me from every virus and illness on the planet.

I swallow my pills and leave for class.

At school, I meet up with my friends Palia and Rasha. The recent violence and riots on the streets have led many parents to keep their children home from school.

Cosma, did you listen to the news this morning? Rasha glances at me worriedly.

What is it? I reply.

There was an uprising on the other side of Merona. President Loyola warned that the revolution has reached an unprecedented peak.

I catch sight of a boy sitting under a tree. His name is Arkin, and there has been a rumor going around that he is one of the regressives. The regressives still practice religion. President Loyola outlawed religion decades ago. He said it held us back from innovation. I’ve never conversed with Arkin, but I’ve heard the rumors.

Rasha nudges me.

Isn’t he strange? What is he still doing here? He should be at home lighting candles and worshipping statues.

Rasha smirks, and I smile.

After school, my friends and I gather in Palia’s den and start working on our history reports.

There is something satisfying about enjoying the company of my classmates, and I feel grateful that my parents haven’t removed me from school.

After a while, Palia speaks.

I have something to show you.

Her tone sounds serious, and Rasha and I glance at her with concern.

Palia pulls up her touchpad and reads something. Her pupils turn red, and I know that she is using the neuroplayer to generate energy.

I look around for whatever information she has produced. But, I don’t see anything. Then, I hear it: a slowly rising crescendo of sound. I stare at Palia in surprise.

The sound gets louder, and then it recedes. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel something tugging at my heart. The sound is satisfying, and it somehow makes me feel happy.

What is it? Rasha asks. I know she can feel it too.

It’s from the golden disk.

I turn to Palia in shock.

My dad’s friend obtained a copy of it. We’re not the only ones who have heard it. Many in the arts world have heard it too.

What is it? I question.

It’s called music.

Music. The word seems strange and unfamiliar. Yet, there’s a part of me that longs to hear more.

The sound changes. It is no longer lilting; now, it is fast and turbulent.

Isn’t it incredible?

Palia, you could be in serious trouble if anybody finds out about this, Rasha says. Palia’s expression changes suddenly.

I know.

We listen to the music until it is time to head home.

Be careful, I tell Palia as I leave.

Two houses away from home, I notice the federal guards. There are dozens of them patrolling residential streets, their dark outfits discernable in the light sky. My pulse quickens as I wonder what they are doing here. One of them approaches me.

What are you doing out?

I’m on my way home.

President Loyola has issued a curfew because of the uprisings. Nobody is allowed out after 49:00.

I scan my brain for the time, only then realizing how late it is.

As I hurry home, the street lamps seem brighter than usual.

The next day in class, everyone is discussing the curfew. I notice that there are even less students here today; we are down to eleven. In history class, the teacher shows the daily announcements. President Loyola stands in front of a podium.

Citizens of Merona, I am urging you to be safe. We are arresting more and more rebels each day. The announcements cut to an image of protesters in front of the Grand Palace. Rasha rolls her eyes, bored. President Loyola reappears.

It has come to my attention that there has been a breach in security. Classified information regarding the golden disk has been stolen and leaked. The golden disk has been deemed a hoax, instituted by rebels to cause turmoil. President Loyola sighs dramatically. The only way we will get past this is if we trust each other. The announcements end, and the class erupts into fearful conversation.

A classmate named Domini scoffs, How could the rebels have planted something like this?

Others agree. How can they dismiss the golden disk like that?

It is no secret that most of my classmates have parents employed in the arts, and we recognize the fallacies in President Loyola’s statements.

I glance out the window and notice federal guards outside the school gates. I feel safe voicing my beliefs within the walls of the classroom, but outside many of us worry about saying the wrong thing for fear of putting ourselves in danger.

For many years, President Loyola was a savior. He created jobs and maintained peace among the different groups in our planet. But, the time capsule changed everything.

I spy Arkin in the corner of the classroom scrolling through his touchpad, and I can’t help wondering what he thinks of all this.

Class, please calm down. Let us continue with today’s lesson. Even our teacher looks troubled. As she begins the lesson, I wonder how many students will be at school tomorrow.

Upon arriving home, I find my father hurriedly shoving clothes and belongings into a bag. My mother sits next to him.

Father, what is going on?

Cosma, I hoped that you would be at your friend’s house.

I stare at my father, concerned by the serious expression on his face. I know that his highly secretive job in the Department of Space Research has involved contact with the golden disk.

I have to leave. I may be gone for a long time. It’s for the best. Your mother will take care of you.

Why? What has happened? I am confused. Is this about the golden disk?

My father’s face turns pale.

I’ve heard it, I tell him.

Cosma, you cannot tell anyone about that. He sighs. I made a mistake. The government plans to destroy the golden disk. I made a copy of it, and now they are after me. It’s not safe for me here anymore. I have to go into hiding. Please don’t worry about me.

I stand there, not knowing what to say. My father finishes packing and before I know it, he is gone.

The door shuts firmly behind him, and I look at my mother and Jamaya. Our family is a lot smaller without my father.

My mother tries to comfort me.

Time passes, and our classroom dwindles down to six. Domini doesn’t come back.

One day, I am alone working on my touchpad when I receive an anonymous message instructing me to go to the flypod racks. The message is mysterious, and I am intrigued.

I stand by the racks, and an instant later, Arkin approaches me.

Hello. Can I talk to you? He scans the empty school grounds anxiously. I can’t help feeling a little apprehensive. I am surprised he still attends school.

I know where your father is. I can take you to see him. You can trust me. We must travel by flypod.

I am bewildered and don’t understand what connection Arkin could have with my father. But, the earnest expression on Arkin’s face reassures me.

Arkin unlocks his flypod; it is orange with blue stripes. He hands me a helmet. A moment later, we are in the air heading south. Arkin is a safe pilot, and I get the feeling that he takes this specific route often.

The traffic is light, but I notice that there are more government patrol flypods than usual.

Arkin checks his right mirror, and I notice his expression change suddenly.

What’s wrong?

I think we’re being followed, Arkin responds.

I look over my shoulder, and there is a white government flypod trailing us.

Please pull over. The patrol agent signals from his flypod.

Hang on, Arkin warns me.

Before I realize what is happening, the flypod dips abruptly and starts to rapidly descend.

What are you doing? Pull over! I scream. Arkin ignores me, and the flypod plummets even lower. We are flying too low for safety. I can see into the windows of buildings. Arkin, you’re going to get us killed! My heart is beating fast, and my fingers grip the seatbelt tightly.

The government flypod doesn’t drop to follow us.

Soon, we are flying above an uninhabited part of Merona. Below us, I can see dense forests and grassy hills.

Arkin, where are we going? I cannot see any other flypods in the sky.

We’re almost there, I promise.

We land in a grassy field at the bottom of a hill.

Arkin fastens his flypod to a tree and covers it with foliage until it is no longer visible. I glance at the sky; it will be dark soon.

Our feet crunch heavily in the grass as we climb the hill.

We both look up at the sky as it explodes into a fiery red and orange. The sunset looks even more beautiful at an elevation. We stand still, awed by the sight.

Arkin, can you tell me what is going on?

I am not prepared for what Arkin tells me. My father has been hiding out here with other dissidents, building an apparatus to send a signal back to the civilization that sent us the golden disk.

Above us, the darkening sky is already sparkling with emerging stars. The crescent moons are tinged with a saffron haze.

Do you think they are doing the right thing? I ask.

I do not believe that we are alone. The spirit that lives in you and me is the same spirit that lights the sky. The civilization that sent us the golden disk reached out to us for a reason, and we must respond. We are all dust of the same creation.

I ponder Arkin’s words. I had never thought about my life that way. I realize that Arkin comes from a traditional way of life that now seems quaint and old-fashioned to most of us on Merona. But, his words are strangely reassuring and somehow bring meaning to what is going on.

Arkin tilts his head skyward and closes his eyes. His face is calm and serene, and a stillness hangs over him.

Is he praying? I wonder. I have no experience with prayer and stand silently.

Then unexpectedly, a memory of the sounds from the golden disk fills my mind, a plaintive music stirring in me an intense longing for something indefinable.

Arkin opens his eyes and takes my hand.

Come.

We arrive, and I am astonished by what I see.

The apparatus is positioned on the hilltop, obscured by a canopy of trees.

A small group is gathered. I don’t know how to describe the object; it is magnificent and resembles a giant metal dish.

Welcome, Cosma.

I know without looking that it is my father.

His arms envelop me, and I rest my head on his shoulder. I didn’t know if I would see my father again, and I instantly feel safe and happy.

I am sorry that I left, but I hope you understand.

And I do. I know it will take time to catch up with my father, but I respect him for his dedication to what I now know is right and necessary.

Somebody presses a button, and an antenna unravels from the apparatus.

It is decided that the signal will carry cryptic words from the golden disk itself, an acknowledgement to the other civilization that their message was received.

I know that we are doing the right thing for Merona.

Even before the revolution, there had always been something missing in our lives. We have accomplished so much, but something has been lost over time. I hope that one day we will find it again.

In the face of the revolution, I am stronger than ever, and I feel a profound respect for the unknown that for so long I had been taught to disregard. I admire Arkin for keeping his faith, and I feel I have been changed in some way.

I smile, content to watch the cosmos from afar.

***

On the other side of the universe, Dr. Peterson yawned sleepily and sat up in his chair. He had accidently fallen asleep monitoring the radio dish. The scientist rubbed his eyes and peered groggily at the screen.

It was only the slightest difference: the parabolic pattern fluctuated unsteadily, and the waves stretched wider.

After decades of working in astronomy, Dr. Peterson knew the unvarying pattern of the radio waves by heart. And, he knew exactly what anomaly he was looking for.

His hands shaking, Dr. Peterson rushed to input the data. He waited for the analysis from the machine. The screen came alive with the words.

Per aspera ad astra.

Dr. Peterson stood frozen in place for a long time. It seemed almost incomprehensible. Then, he thought of the Voyager Spacecraft launched back in 1977 carrying the Golden Record.

“My god,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “They’ve responded.”

 

Darling

The doorbell jingled as a woman and her daughter entered the cafe. They did not look at all alike.

The daughter was short and chubby and seemed to waddle instead of walk; the mother was tall and lanky, each angle from chin to elbow sharpened to a point. The woman wore a close-lipped, businesslike smile as she strode up to the counter. A pair of metal-framed glasses balanced precariously on her sharp cheekbones, the lenses immaculately clear. The girl followed behind, close enough to tread on her mother’s heels.

“How can I help you this morning, miss?”

“One black coffee please,” the woman replied curtly, without a single glance at the menu. She had already pulled out her wallet when she noticed that the girl had pressed her face up against the glass case of pastries, mesmerized by the colors. The woman’s pale cheeks flushed suddenly and furiously, as if she had been slapped, “…and a pastry,” she added. She smiled somewhat embarrassingly, thin lips peeling back to reveal sharp teeth.

“Sure thing, miss. Which would you like?”

“You heard her, darling. Which one would you like?” The woman bent down to be at the same height as her daughter. “Do you want,” she squinted through her glasses at the menu, “a slice of cake, or a cookie? Or perhaps a brownie?” “Darling?”

The girl turned her head and stared up at her mother with big, blank eyes, then turned back to the glass case. The woman noted with a little shudder that the girl had already left several hazy, smudged handprints on the glass. With a sigh, the woman straightened herself and gave the cashier a terse smile. “A piece of cake, please.”

“That’ll be $4.89, miss.”

The woman exchanged glossy credit card for a paper bag and cup, warily eyeing the spots of grease already forming on the brown paper. She took a step back from the counter, carrying the bag, when she nearly tripped over her daughter, who had been silently standing close behind her. As the mother regained her balance, her daughter only stared at her silently with big eyes. The thin eyebrows of the mother suddenly twitched as something flashed across her eyes, quick as lightning. She pressed the bag firmly into the girl’s hands. “Darling, please, stand a bit further from me. You always get in my way.”

 

Heart Flames

The cold, dry air blew through the forest. The trees swayed from side to side, occasionally dropping twigs or leaves on the hastily built campsite. The concoction of the sounds from the day quietly dissolved into the thin, night air. The only noise in the whole forest was the sound of the fire crackling and the wrinkling of the piece of paper I clutched tightly in my hand. The sparks from the flame were almost as bright as the stars in the night sky.

I quickly scanned the paper, stopping over certain phrases. I traced the picture on the paper with my finger as I looked at the fire. The girl was only seven or eight and had innocent, sky blue eyes. Her blonde hair was tied back in two, thin braids. She was clutching her left elbow, obviously not feeling comfortable, but her gentle, half-moon smile was the most enticing feature on her fair-skinned, gentle face. I examined the words written over her head, and my eyebrows went up. The paper read: Wanted: Brynn Cooper. For theft and embezzlement.

Jason walked over and sat down next to me on the log. He took one look at the picture and burst out into laughter.

Spinning around, I gave him a nasty look. “What do you think is funny about any of this?”

Jason ran his hand through his cherry red hair and smiled. “At least no one is going to recognize you.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. “They should’ve used an older picture,” I giggled. “Nobody is going to believe a little kid did all that.”

“Of course they won’t, you’re almost fourteen,” Jason got up, “and you had better hair when you were seven.”

“Hey!” I smacked his arm playfully. “At least it’s better than your Wanted picture.”

He rolled his forest green eyes. “Welcome to the club.” He threw on a red sweatshirt with stains and holes. He turned around towards the shelter we built out of sticks and mud. “Hey Brynn, are you comin’?”

I glanced back at him. “Nah, I’m gonna stay out here.”

Shrugging, he climbed back into the entrance

I faced the fire, watching the flame fall and rise. The thick, smoky scent and sudden, red flares were comforting in the dry, cold forest. Looking at the paper, I felt a sudden pang of sadness. Control your emotions Brynn, I chided myself, don’t go wishing things that will never happen.

Sighing, I tossed the wrinkled, half torn paper into the flame and got up to leave just as something caught my eye. In the flame, I saw a faint image. I took a little step closer and immediately stepped back. It was a face. A very familiar face. The same face I would see if I looked in a mirror or a puddle. Nervously, I padded closer. Yes, it was definitely that face, but she was different. Her blonde hair was neatly combed back instead of flying all over her face. Her blue eyes weren’t glazed from exhaustion, they shone bright and carefree. Her clothes were clean clothes, not dirty and speckled with dust.

Who are you, I silently demanded. She didn’t respond, but she started laughing. I felt my face grow warm. Don’t mock me, I glared at the face in the fire. She laughed, and I saw another familiar face emerge.

Her eyes were sky blue, but in contrast, her curly, dark hair was as brown as fudge. Her light body was wrapped in a sleek, dark red dress that complemented her figure. Even seven years later, I could reach deep into my memory and remember her laugh.

“Momma?” I gasped. I inched forward so close that I could touch her face. I never saw her so happy. All those years that I had stayed in that miserable house, she was always crying or yelling, one or the other. Smirking, she hugged my reflection close to her chest.

I felt my eyes dampen. I was faintly aware of a tear silently streaming down my face, but I didn’t wipe it away.

Control your emotions. Control the flames of desire.

Control the flames inside of you.

The two figures turned as the flames shivered. I saw a masculine face emerge, with a carefully trimmed mustache and an almost bald head. He had chocolate brown eyes and his eyebrows were raised almost as high as mine were. I didn’t know what to think. Horrifying images of that drunken man swinging a chair at the lights, smearing mud all over the house, keeping me tucked in a closet for hours. My father had changed.

They looked so happy, they laughed and hugged each other. In reality, that never would have happened. Kissing Momma on the cheek, Dad hugged me tight. I felt tears pouring out of my eyes as I lifted my finger to touch. It was so dangerous but so close. I shouldn’t be wanting things that would lead to disappointment. A life full of disappointment.

How do you control the flames inside of you? How do you control something that you want so much?

Slowly, carefully, I brought my finger up to the flames. The fire licked my fingers playfully, as if inviting me in.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Control the flames. Don’t do it.

I wanted it so bad. I can’t control my emotions. I can’t control the flames. I can’t stop wishing for a life that was gone.

Inching forward, carefully…

SPLASH! Water drops sprayed onto my eyelids. Blinking, I watched the steam rise into the air. Feeling a cold hand jerk me backwards, I spun around. “Jason! What are you doing?”

“Saving your life. Thank me later.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“No. What’s wrong with you?” Jason looked at me quizzically. “You were gonna stick your whole head in there.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“What were you doing?”

Shuffling my feet, I looked down. “Okay, this is gonna be weird. But I saw my whole family — honestly! I did! Don’t give me that look,” I glared. “But they were all so happy and — ”

“And?”

“I wanted to join them. They were all so caring and kind — Jason! What’s the matter?”

Cold eyes stared down at me. Jason crossed his arms, and his mouth was drawn into a snarl. “Never say that you want something,” he growled, “that is impossible to get.”

Jason’s gaze hardened. “Silly expectations and worthless aspirations leads to disappointment,” he murmured softly. “You and I know that better than anyone. You have to control your emotions. Control your emotions. Control the flames of your heart’s desires.”

Control the flames of your heart’s desires.

 

The Story About the King’s Bad Day

Once upon a time, there was a lion, (also known as the king for the citizens, the husband for the wife, and Dad for the cubs). There was a lioness, (also known as queen for the citizens and Mom for the cubs and wife for the king) and two lion cubs. One was named Alex, and one was named Sally. They were both twins, and their age was seven.

It was story time with the cubs and with their dad.

“Today, I am going to tell you a story that actually happened with me,” said the lion with his deep voice. Before he told the story, a pet dog named Sugar came and sat on the king’s lap. The lion started, “Once, when I was a little kid like you, I didn’t listen to my parents. Then I was very stubborn. I didn’t listen to anybody. I thought I already knew what I was doing. But one day, my mom and dad told me not to go to the dark forest. There are some scary creatures there, and they love eating children. But I thought too arrogant of myself and said to myself, ‘Why can’t I go there? Don’t Mom and Dad think I’m bold enough? Am I not going to be the future king?’ So I went inside, and there was a large cave, and in there it was pitch dark. So I went inside, and I saw a big tiger there looking at me and circling me. I was scared, then suddenly I realized why my mom and dad told me not to go there. They said it because it was to protect me. I felt really sad. Then somebody came and took a vine and was swinging towards me. He grabbed on to me and roared to the tiger. The cave shook, and the tiger went away scared.”

 

“Dinner time, kids!” called the mom.

“Not now, Mom, we want to hear more of Dad’s story!” they both whined.

“You better come now, otherwise no dessert,” called Mom.

Sugar the dog came right away and was sticking out his tongue ready for food.

“Go Alex, go Sally. I will tell you more about the story next time. I bet you don’t want to miss dinner. We got a surprise!!!” their dad said.

They ran down quickly to see Mom.

When they got to the large, colorful diamond room, then they both said, “What’s the surprise, Mom?”

“I won’t tell until you eat your food,” said Mom.

 

The next month, it was summer. There was no food, no puddles of water, and it was very, very hot. The savannah’s sand was very hot. Whenever somebody put their paw (foot) in the sand, it would burn. And in the morning, you could hear the birds chirping, and you could see everybody trying to get some shade. After the humid day and without a catch of food, a cheetah came up to the king. Sugar barked at the cheetah. The cheetah told the mutt to pipe down.

The cheetah said, “You and your family look really hungry, sooooo I’ll give you a life supply of meat.”

The lion thought he was seeing stuff, so he rubbed his eyes, but he still saw the cheetah. He roared, and fire came out of his mouth and said, “Where did you get this ‘life supply of meat’?”

The cheetah was scared and said, “I am only here for a reason, I’m here to make a trade. I got the meat from New England.”

The king was confused. He asked, “What trade do you want from me?”

“I want you to give up your home, and give me your house, and I’ll give you a life supply of meat,” the cheetah said.

 

The lion was discussing it with his family and said, “How do we know if this a hoax or not?”

All the lions were thinking, and Mom had an idea.

She said, “Let’s trick him, and see if he acts strange and runs away.”

Then the lion said, “How do I know if you’re not tricking me, why would I give up my home? Give me a good reason!!! And by the way, why do you want my home?”

“Ummm, because I need it for my family.”

“Where is your family anyway?” asked the lion. “And why don’t you get a home over there? If I don’t get an answer, soon things won’t be looking good for you.” The lion roared.

“I think I should be going now,” said the cheetah, smiling.

The cheetah ran as fast as he could, but the lion caught up to him and said, “Are you a criminal?”

“Why would I be a criminal? What makes you think of that?” the cheetah said, nervously.

“Yup, he is a criminal,” said the lion.

“How do you know, Dad?” asked Alex.

“Because he is running away,” said Dad.

“Oh,” said the lion.

“We’ll take him to the police station, and they will take it from there,” said the king.

So they took him to the police station, and the police station was run by animals who were all tigers which made them look tough. The king was a little scared.

He told the police, “Here is a criminal. He wants to steal our home.”

“Thank you very much, King. We were looking all over for him. He is an escaped criminal. Do you want a reward of money?”

“No thank you, police officer. I already have too much money.” He went back home to see their home not there.

The king was very mad. He was so mad that he breathed out fire and said, “WHO DID THIS!!!” He saw, with a glimpse of an eye, a towing truck with his house and told the driver to stop the truck. But the truck kept on going. The lion was so mad that he tried to breathe fire to burn the truck down, but the truck was going too fast. The driver stuck out his tongue and the king saw his face, and it was another cheetah!!! When the lion saw this, he ran 100 miles an hour and stopped the truck with his own bare paws. He said to the cheetah if he didn’t get out, he will eat him in one bite. So the cheetah came out and acted innocently. But when he came near the lion, he ran like the wind and tried to get away from the king. He knew that he can run fast but can’t run for long. He wasn’t looking in front of him, and he bumped into a pole. He was really dizzy. By then, the lion caught up to him and pulled him up his head and asked him, “Are you the brother of the cheetah, and what’s you and your brother’s name?”

The cheetah replied, “Yes, I am the brother of the cheetah in jail. My name is Razor, and my brother is called Fred.”

The lion said, “Why are you and your brother trying to steal my home?”

“Because both of our family doesn’t have a home. So we are stealing yours.”

“But why don’t you steal another house? And why does it have to be my house? And why don’t you have a home?”

But by the time he asked all those questions, the cheetah ran away and surrounded the lion with cacti, and he drove off with the truck. The king was so mad that he breathed fire, and all the cacti burned down. And he tried to chase the truck, but the cheetah put the metal to the pedal, so the king couldn’t catch up. But the king knew that if he kept on distracting him, he won’t be looking ahead, and there was a curve right ahead of him.

So when the lion waved to the cheetah, the cheetah was asking to himself, “Why is he waving to me?”

Then he saw in front of him that there was a big curve ahead of him. But it was too late. He dropped down, he clasped his hands together, and he was praying. When he finally touched the ground, he was very, very dizzy. Luckily, he didn’t get hurt. He only got a few bruises. There was the king out there waiting. He got tired, so he got him out himself, and the police were standing right near the truck. The Tiger police apprehended him.

The lion asked, “Why are you and your brother running away from me and stealing my home!”

The cheetah replied, “Because we want to steal homes, then sell them, and make a fortune!!!”

The lion said, “That’s just crazy!! All for this!!! Take him away, police officers.”

“NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTT!!! I WON’T EVER DO IT AGAIN!!!” the cheetah cried.

“I’ve heard him enough. Take him away,” said the king.

The king went back home and was murmuring back home, I hope there isn’t another brother!

So he went back home and saw his cubs running towards him and said, “Mother is lost! Mother is lost!! We can’t find mother!” They both yelled.

“Oh my gosh, why do bad things keep on happening to me? Where was she when you last saw her?” the lion said.

“We saw her last at the kitchen cooking lasagna… ”

“Mmm, that sounds yummy. But we have to stay on the topic on saving your mother. Have you seen the person who took your mother?”

“Yah, we think it’s the cheetah that we saw first.”

“WHAT!!! I thought he was in jail, or did he convince the police that he was innocent?”

“But that is impossible unless the police is on the cheetah’s side!! The police did seem really suspicious.”

“I think we should go to the police station and investigate. Maybe your mother is there.”

So they went to the police station and saw their mother behind the bars.

The king roared, “LET MY WIFE GO!!! ON WHOSE PERMISSION YOU ARE PUTTING YOUR QUEEN BEHIND BARS!!!

The police was jingling his keys and was laughing.

“Why wouldn’t we prison our so called ‘queen’? Our boss wants to rule this kingdom. He sounds like a way better king then you. You don’t take care of your citizens!! He said that if we put the ‘queen’ in jail, then he will treat us fairly.”

“Why are you doing this? He’s probably tricking you, so he can be king! Fine, I admit that I was a bad leader. Please forgive me, and I will treat everybody better. Also, you have to give me back my wife. Who is this ‘boss’ of yours?” said the lion.

“He, well I don’t really know. He just has a mask over his face,” said the police. “Wait, you are working for a boss who you don’t even know,” asked the lion.

“Well, yeah,” said the tiger.

“Come on, if we team together, we can live together equally,” said the lion.

“Okay, sounds like a plan to me,” said the tiger.

“So first, let my wife out of jail,” said the lion.

“Okay.”

“Thanks for cooperating, police,” said Sally.

“Now we have to trick this boss of yours. But how?” said the king.

“I have an idea,” said the tiger.

So once the boss came, he said to the tiger, “l got a new plan to get rid of your king.”

“Okay, let’s hear it,” said the tiger.

“So let’s make a quick mmmooovvvve,” said the boss when he saw the lion appearing.

“Move, right, but what move?” said the lion, grinding.

“Oh no. What are you going to do with me?” said the boss.

“Well first, who are you?” said the lion.

“I am a snake,” said the boss snake.

“Okay, but why do you want to rule the kingdom,” said the police officer.

“Because I want to rule and become famous,” said the snake.

“Okay. So police officer, take him away,” said the lion.

“Well, I do deserve it,” said the snake.

 

After a long day, their dad played baseball with Sally and Alex and their mom, who was safely back home.

The End

 

Dimension

A dark-haired Girl with pale, lifeless eyes, no older than seventeen, but with a countenance hardened beyond her years arrived here around six months ago with no expectations and no purpose. Fate had steered her path in a single direction: one blackened by tragedy; soiled by betrayal; eased only by cynicism and shabby expectations.

“Here” was a massive room; yet, for all its spaciousness, no furnishings filled the void of white walls and stark, faintly marbled floors. The sole breach in the room’s sterility was a striking set of doors, centered to the front wall. Though the room was clearly designed with a sharp, contemporary eye, the doors had an incongruous, traditional style — an elaborate ornamentation of unfurling metal skillfully placed over the seeded, glass windows and an outer arch composed of four, curved panes that added grandeur while directing soft light throughout the room. Copper knobs plated with metal motifs adorned each door, their intricacy undoubtedly attracting the eagle-eyed attention of both architectural connoisseurs and everyday onlookers. Within the room, the elaborate doors were most distinct for the aura they radiated — one of welcome and warmth; the feeling of sunshine on a harsh winter’s day.

A hazy image of an impressive manor materialized in the Girl’s mind. She had once stayed there. With smooth, stucco walls, a tiled roof the color of sunset-lit desert sand, and rich, wooden features highlighted by warm, ambient lighting, the mansion held an immense appeal. Its interior, though a motley of different styles, was just as stunning. Three occupants had shared this manor with her: a dutiful father, a nurturing mother, and a sweet son. The Girl paused her mulling briefly, realizing that it had become a household of two.

It was the mother who had picked the Girl up. She found the Girl abandoned in a musty, cramped storage area filled with various, unwanted things — old mannequins, costumes, bizarre-looking kitchen contraptions. The Girl vividly remembered the man who had shoved her there — she had coined him the nickname “Pattern Man” because he always paired revolting articles of clothing. Once, he wore a hideous flamingo tie, a gray and white checked shirt, a houndstooth double-breasted blazer, and matching houndstooth pants. He was eccentric, yet quick to judge others by appearance: a complete hypocrite. After one look, he had deemed the Girl “weird” and hid her in the storage box. Not that the Girl cared; rather, she was glad to be shielded from his hideous outfits, and amused by his arbitrary judgement of her. Many people were usually startled by the Girl — they felt her jarring gaze penetrated their souls. The mother was a rare exception; upon seeing the Girl, she clapped her hands with delight and immediately brought the Girl to the manor.

The mother was a young, beautiful woman with clear, blue eyes and silky, auburn hair; however, creases had begun lining the corners of her mouth — she was overspending her smiles for her family’s sake. The father loved his wife, the mother, for far more than her looks, but the Girl quickly learned that the mother was his second priority at best.

Their son, still young, was only six years, but quite clever. Upon first sight of the Girl, he was startled, and said, “she’s like an ‘Elf on the Shelf,’ but not happy… always watching, and not necessarily in a good way.” The mother chastised her son, and told him that the Girl must have a story — one that explained her demeanor.

The Girl had grown slightly fond of the mother; she thought that the mother understood her and was ready to listen to her story. However, the Girl lacked the myopia to believe such innocent happiness would persist in her future and the household’s.

Within a few years of the Girl’s arrival, the mother, possessed by some potent force, bolted away from the household, taking an impressive sum of money and her beloved’s inky black Mercedes. She had shamelessly discarded her family to quench an avarice for freedom, and splendor within that freedom.

After the mother left, the father had furiously expunged the manor of everything she cherished, including the Girl. He disposed of it all on the manor lawn.

The Girl had nowhere to go after she was cast out. Occasionally, she would glimpse snapshots of the fragmented household’s affairs: the cruel way in which the father blamed the son for the mother’s madness, the broken way in which the son developed during his most critical years, the destructive way in which abandonment had slashed unhealed scars on both the father and the son. It was an unfortunate, but expected, reaction.

The Girl languished for longer than she could remember, sitting on the browning manor lawn. Each day, despite varying weather conditions, was no different to her — except one gloomy afternoon when violent rustling from the unkempt palms caught the Girl’s ears. It continued until suddenly, out leapt a scraggly man. The man was wearing a grimy newsboy cap and various layers of sack-like clothing, their colors indistinguishable due to filth. He scampered to the pile of discarded things near the Girl and ruffled through, pocketing several fistfuls of jewelry.

“Well, yer an interesting thing, aren’t ye?” the man gleefully grinned to himself after finally noticing the Girl. He grabbed her and darted away from the household. The Girl tried to quell her rising curiosity about the scraggly man and what he wanted with her. He had beady, black eyes, a mousy, chin-length tangle of hair, and large ears. Perhaps he would be a good listener. The Girl’s optimism quickly extinguished as she realized reality could never possess a person trustworthy enough to listen to her tale. Each person she had met had been spoiled by vices; even this man was a criminal, for he had both trespassed the property and stolen items of considerable value from its grounds.

The scraggly man ran for days, resting periodically, until he reached a bustling market mishmash of colorful pop up tents and weathered stalls. The Girl felt a repulsive surge in her throat from the commotion of hawking vendors and the unabashed haggling of crowds. Unperturbed, the man wove through the swarm and halted at his desired stall.

“It’s been long, my friend!” The stallkeeper greeted the scraggly man with a tilt of his black-banded fedora.

“I foun’ some goodies that might interes’ you!” responded the scraggly man, eager to lay out the ransacked items. As he unknotted a fist-sized bundle from which gem-laden jewelry spilled, the Girl glanced at the stallkeeper, expecting to witness a detestable, cunning downplay of his enthusiasm. Instead, she traced the stallkeeper’s line of sight directly to herself.

“I’ll take the lot for five thousand dollars,” the stallkeeper hurriedly proposed.

“Tha’ won’ do. I got ‘sepnces, you know? Throw in an extra fif’een hun’red and you got yourself a deal.”

“Fine,” The stallkeeper was uncharacteristically anxious to settle a price; he employed none of the typical merchant beguilement. He shoved a mass of twine-bound bills at the scraggly man, who, after swiftly squirreling it away under his newsboy cap, disappeared into the mob. Turning towards the Girl, the stallkeeper began surveying her with raking eyes, hoping his boss would consider her a valuable find. His boss was a museum patron who naturally took an affinity to pretty and peculiar things. She’s really got a piercing look about her, the stallkeeper thought. She’d, at the very least, interest my Boss.

The stallkeeper took long strides to his car, and placed the Girl and his briefcase in the backseat. Here I go, yet again, thought the Girl. How tiresome! Fate has cursed me to ceaselessly be circulating, searching for a worthy person to listen to my tale; searching to no avail.

A gentle creaking echoed around the massive room, bringing the Girl back from her memories to the present. Light splayed across the marble floors as the imposing, wooden doors began opening. In all the time the Girl had spent in this room, never had the doors opened. Her curiosity was aroused. A man holding a large key ring emerged first from the doors, followed by a steady stream of people.

Aline was excited for today. Her grand-papa was taking her to a wonderful place — the new museum. Visiting museums, especially art museums, was Aline’s favorite activity. She eagerly got dressed for the day’s outing, testing different outfits before settling on a flowy, white dress and sandals. Grabbing her blue, leather knapsack, she rushed to the apartment’s front door, anticipating the arrival of her grandfather. Disappointed by a bare hallway, she called out to her mother, “When is grand-papa coming? I can’t bear to wait any longer!”

“Any minute now, dear,” her mother patiently replied.

Aline flopped on her bed and sighed, her mind teeming with thoughts. The newscast mentioned the museum’s first exhibit a lot. Perhaps it’s an enormous sculpture? Or a fresco? That would be impressive!

Though the front door knocker was nearly inaudible from Aline’s room, she caught its tapping and ran to greet her grandfather, a slight old man. He embraced her in a firm, loving hug. After kissing her mother goodbye, Aline cheerily clasped her grand-papa’s arm and set off to the museum: a mere fifteen minute walk, but to her, an eon had lapsed before they finally arrived. She skipped up the wide steps, ready to enter the museum.

“Grand-papa, look at those magnificent doors! And those doorknobs! How interesting they are, with all those beautiful patterns in the metal… come on, hurry, Grand-papa!”

The old man chuckled at his granddaughter’s enthusiasm and shuffled up the marble steps to meet her. Together, they entered the museum and into a massive, bleak room.

“How strange. The sign announces that this room holds the first exhibit, but there isn’t anything to be seen! Oh! What’s over there?” Aline bounded to the left wall of the large room, her grandfather struggling to match her pace. On the extensive wall hung a lone painting, no larger than the L’Innocence print that hung near Aline’s bedroom. The plaque beneath read: Exhibit 1- Cecilia.

“Aline, I’ll be waiting for you at the next exhibit. There seems to be some fantastic sculptures there,” her grandfather called.

Aline hardly heard him; she was too intently focused on the piece before her.

“So, I suppose you’re Cecilia.” Aline gestured to the painting. “Cecilia, you look a little disdained and sad. I wonder what happened to you… ”

The Girl recovered from the surprise of the doors opening. By now, several hundreds of people had stared expectantly at her — all of whom seemed either disappointed or puzzled. Now, before her was a dainty girl. She wore an airy, white dress that complimented her soft features.

The Girl had a premonition that this child — Aline, was it? — was one who could listen to her story; she seemed unsullied and attentive. For the first time in ages, the Girl spoke.

Aline’s eyes widened. She heard a voice in her mind, faint at first, but now distinct. Was it — could it be — “Cecilia?” Aline asked out loud, astonished.

“Indeed, child. That is my given name. Now, be silent and listen closely — I have a story to tell you. I am now a painting; however, I once was alive — I grew up with a family and partook in typical activities as you do now. My parents were wealthy bourgeoisie and the subject of jealousy among my father’s siblings.

It was a stormy night. I was of nine years and was having trouble sleeping — thunder scared me. My mama went downstairs to our kitchen to heat honey-milk for me, while my papa read me tales from story books beside my bed. He chose to read Little Red Cap — cruelly befitting — until I fell asleep to the soothing sound. A few hours later, agonized sob-screams awoke me. I cradled my pink, velveteen teddy in my arms, clutching it for comfort as my small frame trembled with fear. The shrieks continued, interspersed with unintelligible words; some I could make out as protests — “NO… STOP!”

The voice was unmistakably that of my mother’s. With my heart pounding, teddy clutched to my chest, I padded over to my parent’s room — peering through the door, which was slightly ajar, I witnessed the most gruesome sight. I was petrified with fear.

In the bedroom glinted a blood-spattered dagger, wielded by my father’s own brother — my uncle. My eye followed the dripping dagger down to the ground, where my papa had been sliced at the throat. Near him — kneeling in his blood — and wracked by sobs was my mama. She was trying to reason with my uncle.

My uncle opened up my papa’s dresser, knowing that he kept a gun there — a gun my papa would never use on family. He slunk over to my mother. Steadily looking into her eyes, he raised the gun to her forehead. My mama had discerned I was near; her last words were addressed to me: “Cecilia, forgive this. Do not hold a grudge against others.” Her advice failed to register.

I ran away from the door, ran away from the house, ran leaving everything I loved, until I reached town. Dawn was just breaking. I sat on the front steps of a dreary looking bakery and wrapped my arms around my legs, trying to keep warm. But the cold still stung me. And so did the tears.

Fortunately, I was able to fall asleep for several hours, awaking to a jangle of keys and the words of “Who do we have here?” from a plump, middle-aged woman. I couldn’t trust her — couldn’t trust anyone, but of no other option, I followed her in. She asked about my parents. I said nothing, only shook my head. She patted my back, went next door, and came back after some time.

“My neighbor has agreed to take you in. He is a phenomenal artist and a man who I trust very much. Follow me next door.” I followed her to the neighbor’s loft-home. It was a single, large room flooded with papers and art supplies and paintings in various stages. There were scant furnishings — not much more than a bed, a work table, and a sofa.

The artist himself was a queer-looking man; he had narrowed eyes and a thin, black moustache. I stayed with him for three years, and over those years I grew increasingly suspicious of him. Something about his paintings seemed odd; as if the subjects were trapped… one that particularly disturbed me was of a frog. It had bulging eyes and four limbs spread so far apart it looked like it was undergoing an invisible quartering.

New paintings always appeared in the mornings; I never saw the artist painting in my presence. One night, after feigning sleep, I attempted to watch the artist. He had prepared his paints, his canvas — this one was about a poster size — but wasn’t painting anything. He suddenly turned on his heel and beckoned for me to come. He knew I had been watching. I walked slowly, terrified.

“Cecilia, it’s your turn to be painted.” He motioned to a stool. “Even though you never trusted me, I know you experienced betrayal. And I know that will forever influence you in shunning any person you deem flawed. Cecilia my dear, you may not understand this now, but every person has their imperfections. I cannot allow you to walk in a world for which you are not ready.” He repositioned me against the canvas. I became a rag-doll from fear, limp to his intent.

“Now, now, I’m not going to hurt you. Sit up straight, dear.” With a wicked grin, he began murmuring some nonsensical chants.

I awoke from a hazy stupor. Was it a nightmare? I tried to leave the artist’s eerie house by running to the front door. I couldn’t move. I tried again, in vain. Nearby, the artist sadistically watched.

“Now Cecilia dearie, I’m sure you’ve realized you cannot move. You may wonder why: O-ho-ho — it’s because you have become my newest masterpiece! You have been turned from a human to a painting! You cannot speak, except by telepathy. You will age and grow in the frame of my masterpiece. I’m doing you a favor; you can now observe the unscrupulousness of humankind without experiencing its hostility,” he chortled.

So, Aline, that is my story. For the past several years, I aged in the frame of this two-dimensional painting and was passed among people — a mother, a vagrant, a stallkeeper, and countless others: and not one of them was virtuous. They all had vices; they were unfit listeners — how could they understand the magnitude of human evils? How could they understand the betrayal I experienced? But, finally, I met you.

You may go now, child. Your innocence was my outlet for my emotion; now that I have exposed your mind to human treachery and worldly horrors, there is little you can do for me.”

Cecilia’s voice faded from Aline’s mind. Aline looked up at her, a newfound melancholy dimming her once-bright face. Pressing her eyes closed, Aline slowly breathed in and exhaled. With renewed fortitude, she met Cecilia’s despondent gaze and vowed never to become like her. Aline would choose to see the light in others; to forgive the darkness they might hold. After all, people are multifaceted: they have their strengths and their shortcomings, but in the end, it all constitutes their dimensionality: making them real and human — in a way a painting could never be.

 

Elsu

Elsu woke up, like every morning. Hungry. Living in the winter pit houses during the harshest winter that he had ever experienced. The pit actually proved to be quite warm. He had dug the fifteen-foot pits with his tribe right before the storm hit. He got up and tried to find some food still left from before the storm hit. He found some small birds but nothing much. Unfortunately, the hunters could not find many animals while hunting this winter, so it was a challenging life.

He remembered running through the forest. Shooting his bow at everything that stood in his way. He was so carefree. He never thought that this day would come in his lifetime.

The only food source that they currently had was some soup and bread made from the acorn meal that was stored underground after the last winter. But with the tribe growing bigger, and the food supplies getting shorter, it was no longer a reliable food source. They needed to find food. And fast.

Elsu’s name translates to “flying falcon.” When he was a kid, Elsu was said to be very adventurous. He watched with wonder, as the hunters walked into the forest to hunt deer, black bears, elk, and fowl. The hunters were strong, fast men. Capable of shooting a running elk blindfolded. Just by hearing its footsteps! They used bows and knives to kill the animals. And ran so fast, they were a blur.

While Elsu’s mom was making clothes for the tribe, she remembered Elsu coming up to her and asking if he could hunt with the hunters. Not wanting to disappoint him, his mom gave him a little bow, and some of her friends dressed up as animals and had Elsu shoot them with an arrow that had a stub.

His mom remembered Elsu’s face that day. Filled with excitement, that made her smile.

But now that smile was gone. Replaced with a steely gaze as she fought to keep up with the tribe’s demands for clothing during this winter.

But like a brave falcon, Elsu was determined to save his tribe from this harsh winter.

Like every morning, Elsu woke up and went hunting with the hunters of the tribe. He managed to find a couple of small fowl. But he knew that they wouldn’t satisfy the tribe. He needed to do something about this winter problem. And fast. Elsu recalled an ancient tale about a dragon at the top of the Serra Peak.

This dragon was once a murderous beast. Destroying everything in its path. Until one day, one of the elders, Elsu’s great grandfather, successfully tamed the dragon. He said he would let the dragon be free. On two conditions. The dragon would not destroy their land anymore. The dragon would also warm the earth with its breath, allowing the Miwok tribe to live through the winter. But the dragon had not warmed the earth at all this year. The flowers were withered. The trees’ branches were breaking. Something must be wrong.

Elsu would go and find this great beast. And see why it was not warming the earth like it did every year.

As they were heading back to their tribe, Elsu distracted the hunters by throwing a rock into a nearby pond. Assuming it might have been salmon, the hunters ran to the pond. Hoping to be able to get it before it swam away. Elsu then ran in the opposite direction. He ran through the trees. Hearing his tribe yell for him.

“Elsu! Where are you?” they shouted. “Come back!”

His best friend yelled for him, “Elsu! We need you! Don’t go!”

But Elsu continued to run. The tears started pouring from his eyes. He could not stop. He was on a mission. A mission to save his tribe.

Elsu climbed up the mountain. The once plentiful deer and elk. Gone. All the crops that the Miwok had once thought was a reliable food source. Gone. It had been two days of no food and very little water. If he didn’t find this dragon soon. He, and his tribe, would perish.

But then. He saw it. An opening in a seemingly endless number of trees. Elsu ran for the opening.

At last. He had found the dragon.

A blue-and-green-scaled dragon. As big as a Redwood tree. And probably stronger than one, too.

It seemed… wounded. As if something had attacked it the night prior. It could barely muster a tiny ember. Its life force was faded.

The dragon looked at Elsu. As if to say, “No. Don’t come nearer. It’s too late for me.”

But Elsu wouldn’t listen. He ran towards the dragon. As he was tending to the dragon’s wounds, he heard a low growl come from behind him. He turned around. And his eyes widened.

Standing in front of him. Was a giant black bear. When the elder tamed the dragon, to ensure that he did not harm anyone else unless necessary, he took out the hate in the dragon. And turned it into the form of a black bear. The bear was not as big as the dragon. But Elsu could see why the dragon had lost against it.

Its claws were as sharp as arrowheads. Its fur smooth.

The animals weren’t there because the dragon was suffering. They weren’t there because the bear had eaten all of them!

The bear stood up on his hind legs. And roared. Elsu was about to become this bear’s next snack.

Elsu rolled to the side as the bear swiped at him. Its magnificent claws barely missing Elsu’s chest. Elsu took his makeshift spear and drove it into the bear’s stomach. The bear howled in pain. But didn’t really seem all that fazed. It was going to take more to kill that bear.

The bear turned around and kicked Elsu in the stomach. Knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying into a nearby tree. Elsu’s entire body ached from the impact. But he had to keep fighting.

The bear built up a charge and then attacked. Charging straight for Elsu, but Elsu jumped on the bear’s snout and jumped over the creature.

The bear turned around, confused on Elsu’s current position. So confused, in fact, that the bear ran straight into a tree. It let out a bigger howl than it had before. Elsu had struck a second hit.

The bear turned around. To find Elsu, standing there. Minor scratches and some cuts. But mostly unharmed. The bear let out a deep growl. And charged at Elsu again.

Elsu didn’t dodge in time.

The bear slammed into Elsu’s chest. Knocking the wind out of him and sending him spiralling towards the ground.

Elsu hit the ground with a thud. Unable to put up a fight.

The bear seized his opportunity. And struck at Elsu.

Inches from Elsu’s face, the bear collapsed.

Elsu looked up. And instead of seeing a giant claw. He saw a blue- and green-scaled head. The dragon had come to his aid. Elsu looked up at the creature. It was still bleeding but had just enough strength to let out a giant, red-hot flame.

Elsu tended to the dragon. And in a couple of days, the dragon was back to its old self. One day, the dragon bent over. Allowing Elsu to climb on its back. He knew he had to return to his tribe.

Like his name always suggested, Elsu flew back, like a falcon. The wind in his hair. He felt free. He felt some warmth when before, there was no warmth at all. He was greeted by familiar faces. And instead of seeing anger. He saw pride. Elsu had saved the tribe.

The season continued on as normal. But Elsu felt a little more proud of himself. When all seemed lost, he had saved his tribe.

He wondered if anyone after his tribe was gone would be able to tell this tale…

 

Soul-carved (Excerpt)

“If any one of you ladies stole my gods-damn peppermints, I’m going to give your spellbooks to the gods-damn witch hunters!” The tired voice of Tallulah Hemmings — the strangest young witch in all of everywhere, as her biased mentor put itrang out across the deck of what looked to be an oddly shaped pirate ship, tumbling its way across the waves with an eccentric grace.

Her cutlass swung through the air, a nightmare of ruin and sturdy metal, as a witch of tides sheathed her sword post-practice.

Waves crashed over the ship’s sun-bright hull as it cut its course through the sea, the daydream light washing across the invisible sizzle of magic that spread its warm, salt spray across the deck of the ship.

Tallulah leaned back against the rail, her form a plain sketch of pencil and ink, and awaited her crewmates. Around Tallulah, magic rippled, invisible to all but the few who understood the crackling feeling of harnessed something that swirled around this entire ship in waves almost as thick as the water that carried it.

Another ship neared, one Tallulah had been watching for the past couple of hours as it had approached to scope out the witches’ own craft. A black sail adorned with a carefully woven skull-and-crossbones snapped in the wind high above the arriving ship’s deck, which gleamed with seawater against the sun of the clear day. Tallulah cocked her head to the side, the golden beads strung into her dark braids catching in the breeze as it passed a hand through her hair.

Pirates. There would be trouble soon, then.

Finally, Tallulah thought. She’d been listening to the first mate’s off-key rendition of an old war ditty for the past four days and could use a little bit of battle.

In her hand, a daisy bloomed idly under the care of its furious bearer, its petals stretching out too quickly through the air. Tallulah grimaced down at it, her face contorting around unremarkable features made for lying, and tossed the daisy as far across the deck as she could manage. Her eyes, the lines around them smile-worn from her years adrift, turned toward the sound of heavy boots on the deck as the ship’s botanist appeared from below.

Duchess Duchess Walters, the ship’s widowed gardener, had been named by her unfortunately status-obsessed mother before going out and finding herself a Duke, which had landed her in this predicament. Now, the woman herself — twenty-three and a childless widow after the War of Four, a disaster that had ended several years ago after sweeping across many realms of the larger universe, the Estate — clomped onto the deck with an easy smile.

“Sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound as if she meant it. “You know how Katie gets about sweets.”

Duchess leaned against the rail and took the packet of seeds Tallulah had been holding, pouring them into her palm and watching as the petals spread out against her fingers in a reaction to her murmured spell.

“If you could get some water up here, that would be much appreciated,” she said, though it sounded more like an order to the lower-ranked Tallulah. “Once the pirates come at us, all their cargo’s gonna be in the sea and getting that out of it won’t be worth the effort.”

“Right,” Tallulah replied, snapping out her hands over the rail and letting them rest high above the waves. Tallulah concentrated, let magic flow through the little mark that had been etched on her shoulder many years back, and watched as many, many, many gallons of water floated up, up, up, over her head as the salt washed out of them and the ebullient water turned clear as glass. The weight didn’t crush her, but Tallulah let air hiss between her teeth as she distributed the water into ten empty barrels near the hatch to the cabin.

“They’re headed over,” she said, and a wisp appeared at her side. Tallulah turned to watch Nerina, the ship’s guardian spirit. The girl had appeared as the manifestation of the Soleil, the witches’ ship, as such spirits sometimes did when a ship had a surplus of magical residue. Tallulah had eventually grown accustomed to the disconcerting feeling of being able to see the girl only out of the corner of her eye.

Nerina, a freckled spirit, had a face that was quiet, too old, and shimmering with all the unpredictable beauty of the ocean itself. Her hair — pure white, though she never looked older than fourteen years of age — tangled in the wind behind her as Tallulah turned to face the spirit (or at least turned to face her as much as it was possible to face something that wasn’t technically corporeal).

“Neri,” Tallulah greeted her. “They’re going to attack?”

“They only see three people on board,” Nerina replied, her voice stuck in the space between sound and feeling. “Of course they are.”

“How many?”

Nerina dropped out of reality for a second before reappearing, her form buzzing as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings. “A couple dozen. No magic — at least, none that can’t be solved with seawater.”

Duchess tossed a daisy overboard, and the trio watched as it plummeted into the grey-green waves, the white foam swirling around it as the pale flower disappeared beneath the surface.

“Let’s smoke some pirate bastards,” she declared, tucking the empty packet of daisy seeds away. “Up for a competition?”

“If I take the ship down, I get my peppermints back,” Tallulah announced. “If you win, I’ll take over kitchen duty for the next three nights.”

“Deal.” They shook on it, magic zinging from palm to palm to seal the terms, and the trio stood shoulder-to-shoulder as they watched the pirate ship rumble over the waves to meet them.

Tallulah let them get close enough to almost bump into the starboard side of the finely-polished witch ship. But she knew the captain would be angry when she awoke from her midday nap if even a scratch had appeared on the hull of the Soleil, so Tallulah held out a hand at shoulder height and let a wall of water strike up, smashing timbers before the pirates could slam into the boat.

Witches… the pirates should have paid closer attention, because even though the Sol’s witches didn’t advertise, there were warning signs. Perhaps the ghostlike girl who flickered on the deck, or the garden that inexplicably grew across the wooden planks, or maybe even the pointy hat Duchess had donned for the sake of propriety.

Tallulah had never put on a pointy hat, propriety be damned.

“Neri,” Duchess warned as the ship broke unsteadily through the wall of water.

The spirit shrugged and spun in a tight circle, her pale hair fanning out around her like a dancer’s gown as she turned and turned and turned, a barefoot ballerina on the polished wooden planks of the Sol’s deck. Around the pirate ship, a whirlpool opened up, swirling into existence as sailors clutched the rails and a hoarse captain shouted orders.

Finally, finally, he noticed the pointy hat.

Ah, uniforms. They got one into and out of situations, blending in and standing out. People saw the uniform, not the face.

For witches, that wasn’t always an advantage.

The pirate ship, huge and hulking compared to the smaller but flashier Sol, collapsed onto its side as Neri fluttered out of existence, her daily minor miracle spent and her energy as drained as she would let it be. A wave, giant and white-tipped, crashed across the deck, washing pirates overboard as Tallulah’s gaze settled upon the thing she most hated to see: prisoners.

“Duchess,” she warned, hand drifting toward her cutlass as the pirate ship began to sink beneath the waves, wood melting into the perpetual ebb and flow of the ocean’s power.

Her friend winced and closed her eyes, muttering one of her chants under her breath as something began to glow in the heart of the sinking ship. The mainmast of the pirate ship lit aflame, a bit of it already under water, hellfire burning across it regardless of the ocean waves that tried to douse the flames.

“Damn,” Duchess cursed.

“You owe me my gods-damn peppermints,” Tallulah replied, double-knotting the laces on her thick, leather boots and hopping nimbly onto the railing. “But since Neri’s technically the one who sank it…”

Her friend grinned and tapped four fingers to her forehead, a mockery of the military salute the witches’ employers used. “Go be a hero.”

Tallulah replied with a variety of increasingly colourful words about exactly what she thought of heroism, but the ocean wind whipped her voice from her mouth as she plummeted to the ocean and the hellfire that burned underneath the water. The sea neared her, hard as asphalt from such a height, and Tallulah let the marks across her body roar with the magic in her veins.

She dropped to a mast, though not the one that Duchess had accidently lit with eternally burning fire, and felt her boots slide across the slick wood. A struggling pirate, toothy and desperate, latched a hand missing a thumb around her ankle. A skull and crossed red roses — the mark of a witch hunter — burned on the back of his hand; many pirates had such people on board because one could never be too prepared when it came to avoiding witches.

“Please,” he said.

“I hate that word,” she replied.

She couldn’t tell whether the water on his face was the ocean or his tears, but he whispered, “Please.”

“You’re really not helping your case,” she replied and glanced over to a raft that huddled against the hull of the pirate ship. He’d live, even if he didn’t really deserve to.

So Tallulah shook her leg free from his grasp and jumped, higher than a human could have, as a mark on the side of her neck tingled and sent the breeze to carry her over to the prisoners tied to the rail. As she flew — though it couldn’t really be called flying by any means, even if that was the best term for it — Tallulah produced the cutlass from her belt, a sword she polished too much that she now swung back as the ocean slicked her face with its spray, and the prisoners began to dip beneath the surface.

They had been tied with the sturdy rope Tallulah knew firsthand was used by pirates, the group of bedraggled people uncomfortable and panicking as wave after wave of unforgiving ocean washed across their faces.

Tallulah landed on the rail above them, slicing her blade through the rope with minimal effort, and then waited for the prisoners to disband. Beneath her feet, the metal rail slipped against the soles of her boots and suddenly Tallulah felt herself falling down, down, down as her stomach dropped with her to the surf.

And then a wave pulled the prisoners up, up, up, buoying the men and women she had saved to the deck of the Sol as Duchess exerted control over the ocean and pulled the sodden group to the sun-warmed wood of the deck.

The witch floated after them, doused with seawater from the wave, and landed on the railing.

Tallulah coughed, her well of magic barely depleted, and leaned an arm on the mainmast of the Sol as the pirate ship disappeared beneath the waves, several overcrowded rafts floating across the sea aimlessly as their angry occupants cursed the Sol and its witches.

“Get them belowdecks,” Duchess declared, though the request hadn’t been addressed to the sopping Tallulah. Nerina appeared, worn as old cotton, and she smiled as she took a man by the elbow and pulled him away, followed by the dazed crowd of sea-soaked prisoners.

“Ugh,” Tallulah announced.

“You’re getting clumsy,” Duchess replied, her voice singsong but almost stern underneath.

Tallulah just glared. “I’m tired, not clumsy.” At her side, an orchid bloomed, pink and white spreading through the flower as the scent reached her nose and blocked out the ocean breeze with its heady sweetness.

“Perhaps, perhaps. You still have a weakness for prisoners, though. And you were practically merciless with that pirate.” Tallulah detected an ounce of pride in Duchess’s tone, the small lift of the chin and settling on one hip that hinted at her satisfaction at a job well done.

“I’ve got my own reasons for hating people who take prisoners,” Tallulah reminded her, voice lighter than her meaning was meant to be. “And is saving lives all that wrong?”

“We’re witches,” Duchess declared, her warm tone booming across the deck. “By the laws of nature, much of what we do is wrong. Those prisoners should have died today, along with the pirates, and our boat should have been at least badly wounded. But the prisoners lived and most of the pirates did, too, and we’re fine.”

“Tempting nature to kill us before we can even find the witch hunters,” Tallulah bit out through a light chuckle. “I’m liking this already.”

“You always loved beating the odds.”

The magic that swirled around the boat brightened a bit, shimmering into almost-existence like a ghost reluctant to be seen. From high above dropped a bird, some brand of loud ocean thing, but it shifted and landed on human legs as it hurtled to the deck. A woman, blonde and dark-eyed, stood from her crouch, leaning back against the rail next to Tallulah and Duchess. She had a face hardened by bitterness and time, but she smiled a greeting to her protégé, Tallulah, before leaning her head back to glare at the sun as if it had done something to personally offend her.

“Hey, Katie,” Tallulah greeted her. “What’s up?”

“Good job with the pirates,” her mentor replied. “Those Evergrove idiots couldn’t even do that, but you’ve got the control.”

“They’re not idiots,” Tallulah retorted, but her voice had weakened over the years she’d spent pushing her point with Katie. Evergrove Academy, a school that favoured the magically gifted, was loosely considered the ship’s employers and even more loosely considered their friends.

The school trained people with magic, most of whom were unlike this boat’s witches in everything except species. Those with magic had been split into two categories long ago: those with calibers and those without them.

Calibers, or special, specific abilities (like water manipulation, telekinesis, or controlling life itself), allowed people to make the magic a part of them — one that was like an extra limb — without training, without spells and with minimal effort to bring it out.

The disadvantage, of course, was that their magic concentrated so strongly on their calibers that all other magic they learned was weaker, therefore, Evergrove students trained their calibers instead of the whole other well of magic they could have been drawing from.

The witches of the Sol fit into the second category of magic users. Like the others, they had magic passed down to them by their ancestors, but they lacked the concentrated calibers others had and therefore required years of practice and training to even begin working with the magic in their blood. The greater variety of spells they could use, however, often felt as if it made up for that natural disadvantage.

Often, but not always.

Tallulah leaned her elbows on the rail again, her gaze hardening on the horizon, where a city had begun to bloom as quick as the daisies Duchess has been nursing for the past few minutes.

“Where to next? You never tell us, Katie.”

“I think it’s supposed to be a surprise,” Duchess replied for the silent, apathetic navigator Katie, seating herself precariously on the bow. “Rips in the sea make it more convenient, I guess, to switch between the realms. Thank gods we didn’t land in a desert realm or something again — it’s lucky the oceans tend to blur together. But I’m not sure where we are yet.”

The rips, small sections of space that had been warped to accommodate realm-to-realm travel, were most common out on the open sea, which was why Katie preferred sailing between the group’s various locations.

“I’m betting on Saltstone City,” Duchess said. “I know the captain wants to go home.”

“Evallia,” replied a conspicuously soft voice from the doorway. The sound of the highest heels that could be gotten away with among practical witches on a ship echoed across the wood, the pale blue hair of Jax, the ship’s medic emerging from the shadows of inside. “I’ll put five on it.”

“Five on Saltstone,” Duchess replied, twining the daisy’s stem between her fingers as it grew larger than she had intended, a mammoth of verdant green, swollen white, and yellow pollen.

“Five on Sora,” Tallulah interjected carelessly. “Have you ladies been noticing the slightly strange colour of the waves and the direction they’re flowing? Sora’s distinctive that way.”

Katie whapped her on the back, the frowning curve of her face proud as a lioness. “That’s it.”

“So they spotted witch hunters in Sora?”

“Our sources rarely lie,” Jax reminded her. “And I’d like to think that Katie knows what she’s doing, Tallie.”

“Don’t call her that,” Katie chastised. “It doesn’t sound witchy enough.”

“Would you prefer for me to call her Lulu?”

Katie snorted, trailing a hand across a vine that curled around the ship’s wheel and watching as tiny purple flowers budded and then bloomed along the stem, condensation beading across a chilly glass of water.

“She’s just jealous because she’s called Katie,” said Duchess, swatting Katie’s hand away from the vine. “I don’t think any number of occult charms or pointy hats would make her feel like a real witch.”

“We’re on what’s basically a pirate ship that we’ve turned into a floating garden, and we sail from realm to realm, keeping wars from breaking out,” Katie replied. “I don’t have to have a cool name.”

“We’re not pirates,” Jax said, her soft voice slightly sharper. Her eyes didn’t exactly rest on Tallulah as she said it, but they flicked close enough for her friend to know the words were meant to be a reassurance for Tallulah and a warning for Katie.

“Of course not,” Katie bit back, slinging her legs over the rail as she balanced high above the water. “We just take the loot from bad guys, right? Because selling flowers and petty tricks can’t sustain seven ladies and their…covert endeavours. So we’re heroes now?”

Tallulah winced and leaned back over the rail, far away enough from her companions to warrant worry that she’d fall overboard. A wind — her favourite element of all four, even though she was technically a sailor — buoyed her up, up, up, and away from the crew of the Sol.

“I’ll be back soon,” she announced, but the wind whipped away her words as it whisked her high above the mainmast and through the sea-stained winds.

 

InsertTitleNameHere

John came from a long line of fishermen. His family made its living off of selling fish. Until, one fateful day, John’s father was killed by a crab he had fished. John’s father was fishing and got a bite on his hook. He began to pull. It wasn’t easy to catch. He was then pulled into the water by the two ounce crab. John was distraught that his dad had been killed.

To this day, John had tried to hunt all crabs into extinction. John had been able to track the majority of the crab population to a small, unnamed, uncharted island in the Pacific Ocean, using advanced, tracking tactics like tracking their cell phones.

John arrived on the shores of the island, after taking a boat from the airport. He then dragged the boat onto the island.

John wanted to build a house that was so big that it covered the entire island of InsertIslandNameHere. He wanted this because if he built a house like that, he would have power over all the crabs near the island, and he would have a house big enough for the one thousand crab-eating goblins that he had adopted. However, InsertIslandNameHere was so small that if someone built a house around the entire island, the island would be squished by the house, and then the house would sink. Sadly, John did not think about that, so the house sank to the bottom of the ocean. When John finished putting his house on the entire island, he decided to have a snack. He then remembered that he left his snacks in his bag and that he left his bag at the airport, so he had to swim all the way back to New York. When John got back ten years later, he saw that the house had been taken over by crabs.

John wanted his house back. John had to find a way to get his house back from the crabs that had taken it over. John first tried to get rid of the crabs by using some crab repellent. He dropped the crab repellent on the house, but none of the crabs left the house. When John went down to get the repellent can, he realized that the crab repellent actually was a spray that manipulated your brain waves and made you feel crabby. This made the problem worse because the crabs were now very crabby.

The next thing John tried was to tell his crab-eating goblins to eat all the crabs underwater. When he did this, the goblins went underwater and began chasing around the crabs. The crabs ran and ran and ran until they were far away from the island, but then the crabs WRAN instead of ran, which stands for Wireless regional area network, which is another phrase for Wi-Fi. When the crabs WRAN, they turned into Wi-Fi, so the Wi-Fi was all used up on the crabs. This meant that the Wi-Fi for the goblins stopped working. Because the goblins were robots, when they weren’t connected to the Wi-Fi, they stayed still and did nothing. Then all the crabs teleported back to the router in the house, which was where the Wi-Fi was coming from.

After John saw the crabs in the house again, John was thinking about giving up. Nothing he tried would work. Even his favorite crab-eating goblins couldn’t do anything. Just when John was about to spend ten more years swimming back to New York, John saw a message in a bottle. He became excited and wanted to know what was inside. When he opened it, he saw an ad for a Red Lobster restaurant. After wondering why there was an ad in a random, glass bottle, he realized that the founder of Red Lobster made a fortune off of killing and selling lobsters. He figured that if Red Lobster could do it, he could. John decided to continue his hunt to kill all the crabs.

With his renewed sense of determination, John tried to lift the island back up to the surface of the water, so all the crabs would jump back down into the water. To do this, John invited his friend named Kneel Footweak, who used to be an astronaut that landed on the sun. Landing on the sun gave Kneel Footweak superpowers. Kneel Footweak’s superpower was fire hands, so his hands were always on fire, and he could never put out the fire. This meant that when Kneel Footweak went underwater to lift up the island, the fire on his hands began evaporating all the water in the ocean. John realized that if Kneel Footweak evaporated the entire ocean, then the house would be on the ground, and all the crabs would die. So after ten billion years, the ocean was completely drained, and John finally got his house back from the crabs. Then John used the house as a tourist destination and made a restaurant, called “Orange Crab,” and lived happily ever after with his one million dead crabs.

 

798

798 could still feel the scalding breath of Krohn, his landlord, on the hairs of his neck, but he was a Sentien, so he could be hundreds of feet behind him without 798 ever knowing. In the cramped apartment, he ran, though the possibility of such a distance was barely even possible. Sentiens were one of the many beasts from the surrounding landscapes that were forced into an urban environment due to pressure from governmental resource agencies. They were one of the better-off species, but you couldn’t say they were doing as well as most.

798 didn’t have the will to look back either, and it wasn’t just because there wasn’t going to be any aesthetically pleasing sights there. After his escape, Krohn would be glad his building at least had insurance, if nothing else. Row upon row of microchips barely poking out of hulking rectangular boxes, known to the world as Digimail receivers, blurred past 798 in a neon frenzy. They funneled him towards the once-ornate Portal to the outside world, and his ScanChip couldn’t have been more tightly gripped.

But there was a scrape. And then a claw. A thick ooze began to cover his leg, unmistakably coming from Krohn’s coagulant-producing pores — an intoxicating, dripping, suffocating ooze. 798 cursed himself for not remembering that evolved Sentiens never forgot their primitive ways. He trudged through the alien slime, but the more that he tried, only greater amounts seemed to appear. His face poured perspiration, and his throat became a dry, heaving pipe. The Portal was so close — and then he felt Krohn’s three ugly fingers descend upon his leg. 798 stopped. There was no use in fighting, but he didn’t want to look behind him at a face that said, Guess how high next month’s rent is going to be. He didn’t need to. The face came to him, or what Sentiens regarded as a face. It was as ugly as his failure of an escape.

Krohn heavily inhaled, and his grasp turned into a grip that demanded attention. “Seven.” A raspy exhale, followed by a rather desperate intake of air. “Nine.” The scales felt as if they were sliding into his skin, constricting his calf and making 798 wonder how such a feat could even be possible. He groaned in pain as Krohn released the full power of a Sentien’s morning breath upon him. “EIGHHHTTT.” It sounded like some sort of curse, the way he put it. “Your rent will always catch up to you, and so will your good buddy, Krohn, you Kirdral-”

798 was just as astonished as his landlord was, yet he was still too paralyzed to even say a word. A stop in the middle of such a sentence was something no one did just because they felt like it, especially not an angered Sentien. The malicious grin disappeared from his face, and his tight hold on 798 went completely slack. He began an obnoxious stroll down the dark halls of his high rise. Krohn looked back on his shareholder with a distaste that was anything but pitiful, and merely said, “Have a nice time getting yourself out of that.” And then he disappeared.

He did get himself “out of that” (with some improvised scraping), and now he was in a slightly better position (lying on his mattress, staring up at the Feels 2.3). The square machine had created a mixture of mostly conflicting deep scarlets and throbbing blues, and a rich violet where they met. 798 sighed with annoyance. Why did he ever spend his money on such a poorly-manufactured piece of marketing? He flipped to the sweaty crater his body had made in the cot, where the only color was darkness.

Just like the visual display engulfing his illegally-zoned Cube, though, 798’s thoughts persisted in a dance of deception. His income rudely side-stepped in front of his location, which was having a passionate argument with his horrible job, and his lack of knowledge marched in front of them all, trying to prove its superiority. But Krohn’s surprising behavior from earlier that day stole the show, doing cartwheels and leaps at the very tip of the stage, crying out to be seen. It was a disaster.

798’s mind decided to file through all of the possibilities of what the morning’s rather odd conundrum could have meant. Krohn could have just choked on a piece of something that had contributed to his usual mouth stench, or maybe he didn’t want to offend his delicate relationship he had with his tenants. Almost immediately, 798 pushed away those thoughts, though — Sentiens were widely known for their ability to digest mostly anything (something that particularly disturbed 798 from time to time), and Krohn cared about his tenants about as much as his diet. As long as Bits were being handed to him at regular intervals, he could be almost as happy as he was back in the wilderness. 798 forced the nagging thought into the back of his mind. He secretly hoped that one day, Krohn would be as irrelevant as the Feels 2.3 itself.

798 slogged his way through the morning routine. He shouldn’t have been, of course, for he was already going to be late to the factory. There was still a few sick hours on his side, though, and 798 was willing to sacrifice them even if it meant being demoted. The closer to being kicked out of the system altogether, the better. It meant a lower employment ranking in his Status, but not as detrimental as quitting.

798 had already gone through the high-rise’s facilities rooms earlier that morning, leaving him with nothing to do but stuff his DigiCard into his pocket, grab his Serellian knapsack, and head onto the balcony. There lay his Board, concealed from the public by an InvisiDome. He had had an InvisiFilm installed in his retina, making it so that only he could view inside of the Domes he placed. His sneakers, one by one, gripped the polished metal. 798 braced himself. The Board’s straps automatically connected, securing him to it and revving up the mechanical components. And then he was off, floating into the cavernous depths of the great web of a city. 798 didn’t even take note of his balcony entrance, wide open to the world.

The civilization of Krenst couldn’t be described in one word. It was the home to not thousands, but millions of intergalactic species, sprawling with their own unique types of homes, businesses, and entertainment (the last one usually required an extra amount of searching.) Bridges spanned from sector to sector, providing various modes of transportation for wherever you were going — but it wasn’t as if there were no questions asked. Not only Krenst, but the entire galaxy as well had one go-to policy: no ScanChip, no cigar. Virtually anywhere or anything required the small, easily forgotten piece of technology to be had.

798’s city made anywhere or anything look small, though. With its limitations, Krenst made almost anything that a five-year old could imagine possible. Among the many topics that the metropolis advertised were skyscraper-high travels above it via glass tubes, buffets of alien cuisine that you could swim in, and even a chance to challenge another city goer with the latest MechSuit. You would often find this out through the gargantuan holograms spanning the height of a high-rise, or the occasional shady character down on what Krenst inhabitants liked to call the “forest floor.”

All of the sudden, 798 had arrived. Speaking of advertising, he had to get back to his job: essentially a delivery boy/salesperson for the exotic snack company widely known as Kekutama, nothing even subtly impressive. Their company bore the mascot of an all too-happy human, put into a caricature that blushingly held out a pile of their popular kekutens. 798 despised it. He easily folded his Board into a pod no larger than his head, having arrived at the docking place for employees no less than a few krenektiks ago — Krenst’s way of tracking the time. He easily dropped the Board into his bag, which suctioned itself around it. 798 approached the welcome desk. It shone with a dull office light, but a startlingly bright pink face appeared via swivel chair in front of him. The face’s name was Yannik, and 798 had always dreaded the day when he would be greeted by her.

“Hi! And who are you then, young man?”

The condescending tone was dripping with cheeriness and an overdose of high-and-mightiness.

“Rayn Herron, Yannik.” 798 made sure to stress the last two syllables.

“Ohhh. Why it’s the delivery boy, isn’t it? Well, you can just head on over to the SpecScan as usual, honneyyy…”

798 visibly cringed at the end of the remark and barely nodded his head as he relieved himself at the nearest SpecScan. He held his ScanChip at the ready, glad that he at least didn’t have to exchange conversation with the grim face of one of Kekutama’s minimally-paid guards. The assembly line made its way into 798’s vision as he dodged the other workers around the bends and in the hallways, eager to receive the best deal he could get for the afternoon’s handouts.

A sharp left revealed the dull, low-ceilinged expanse of the Kekutama factory. For all of its public glory, there wasn’t much else to say about the company rather than the eccentrically toxic taste of its most popular snack. Two red signs hung by chains as low as they could go without hitting any of the employees: Shipments and Deliveries/Promotions. Several identical kiosks stood beneath the second one- each with its own cheery, bubbly vendor that gave you about as much attention as any passerby on the forest floor did. Just like Yannik, 798 thought. But that was what he always thought.

After he had received the kekutens and all of the sales promotion they could stuff in his face, it was a quick trip for 798 out of the factory. He had a suggested order for deliveries, but when he saw that the first one was nearly out of his sector, it immediately delivered itself to the nearest incinerator 798 could find without getting off of his board. He hugged the barely wrapped box next to his ribcage. It was lighter than his payroll.

His first destination, he decided, would be Trenkle — only a quaint, tucked away district like itself could cheer him up and out of the mood he was already in. It was an easy ride on the Board, one that made him wonder why the others didn’t get one themselves. It was a queer thing in itself, but today he particularly wondered about it. As he made his way through the entanglement of manufactured metal that was Krenst, 798 thought more deeply than he ever had about it — why did the other workers seem to just drone about, delivering their packages along the same route every day that he worked with them?

He was reluctant to push something else to the corner of his brain, but he couldn’t avoid the pressing reality of his job. He felt as if the thoughts were ready to burst out at any moment of their hiding places, if he didn’t get around to actually considering them sooner or later. 798 rarely spaced out on his delivery trips. They required a lot of attention, and a single wrong turn could mean anything from a head first crash into a building window to one into another Boarder. Neither was pretty. Yet here he was, the recent haze of his thoughts beginning to dissipate and give way to the immediacy of his location. 798 recognized the travel-by-air sign to Trenkle, but not his surroundings. The buildings were still towering, the bridges continued to be long, and the people around him ceased to be polite in the given way that Trenklites are. None of this should even be remotely true, 798 thought. Then again, he had never taken the time to explore the district as much as he could. More InfoScreens appeared, in many manners of size and importance, and they all unmistakably told the same story. 798 could be no closer to where he needed to be. With a sigh, he swooped down below to the avenues of the supposed Trenkle, but this was one more thought that begged not to be pushed away. He paced towards the nearest gold-printed set of letters he could find. More often than not they meant a Unit building, and 798 prayed that his mentality would be saved. He brushed through the grim crowd, and peering into the shining doorway the hopeful words Trenkle 879 illuminated his eyesight. He nearly whooped in excitement. The Portal guard looked strangely at 798, and inquired with a stony face, “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to show me your ScanChip.”

“Oh! Um, I mean, here it is… sir.” 798 awkwardly reached into his knapsack, struggling to produce the square card in a fashionable manner. “Here it is, sir, I mean, here’s my shtipcan… ” he blurted nervously, then mentally scorned his stupidity.

The guard raised an eyebrow that managed to peek above his opaque glasses. For a second, 798 wondered why the guard would even need them — only one of the planet’s three suns was visible on an overcast day like today. Then again, maybe it was just another one of those strange “security measures” Krenst buried the authority in.

“Mmmm… a satisfactory. Well, it’s viable. Reason for entry?” the guard pushed.

“Well, sir, I’m a delivery boy for, um, Kekuten, you see.”

798 held out the grubby packages and tried to glorify them as much as possible, but he would have to find a better title than delivery boy sooner or later. The age label suggested by Kekuten’s workers annoyed the Krong out of him.

“Okay then.”

798 wondered what those mysterious eyes were doing behind the film of the glasses.

“Proceed to entrance.”

He confidently inserted his ScanChip into the scanner and waited for the light of the translucent box to flash green. But the ScanChip just stayed there. It was almost as if it was frozen in time, transfixed in the machine, never to be processed. 798 waited for the comfort that the access of his ScanChip gave him, but none came.

He scratched his neck nervously. “Huh.”

He looked at the guard for consolation, but only received a harsh and suspecting glare, if sunglasses could be harsh and suspecting. 798 gulped, and the saliva almost refused to go down. And when the scanner made the buzzing denial of a defect, it didn’t help his look when the saliva went the other way up, sending him sputtering and red-eyed in front of the guard.

“I-I’m so s-sorry-”

The guard cut him off. “Get out. Now.”

“Sir, p-plea-”

“I said get out!”

But before the guard could practically push 798 back onto the sparkling, well-kept streets of a so-called Trenkle without his delivery boxes, a magnificent lady appeared in the Portal.

“No need, sirs. I’ll be taking the boxes.”

She had on a flowing sapphire-and-ivory dress and was wearing heels that 798 could’ve sworn were cut from pure jade. She had a deep black complexion, darker than the pure of midnight, and milky white eyes with perfectly piercing, green eyes set in the middle. Her hair was a bush of perfectly manicured, springy curls just as black as her skin. 798 was lost for words. He blinked a few times to see if maybe he was in some sort of haze, but every time he did so, he was only more taken aback by her beauty. She looked at both of them with pursed lips that twisted into little upward corners at their ends. The guard saluted her.

“Miss Moise.”

She was royalty, except she didn’t even need the crown. The lady returned the greeting with a nod.

“Robert,” she said curtly, then stooped down to pick up the boxes.

For a second, 798 thought maybe he was staring at her for a little too long, because she stole a glance directly at him, and her pupils seemed to slice into his soul. But then she went back to the boxes, and almost stepped through the portal, but halted in front of it.

“Oh,” she said. “And thank you, Rayn.”

It was like 798 had fallen off of his Board in the midst of a Channel, tumbling down to the city’s common streets with a sudden lurch. She’d said it as plain as day, too — his very own first name. 798 would’ve run after her, babbling like a madman. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever have the words to do so. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he did notice one more thing about the mysterious woman. On her ebony heel, just as it was lifted from the jade of the sandal, he saw three ivory numbers inked in stern contrast: 346.

798 ran from the establishment with a ripping ferocity, tearing through the throng of supposed Trenklites and onto the Channel release dock. He practically threw the Board on the metal and immediately commanded it to hover. He stepped on the machine before it could even analyze the order. Without thinking, he headed to the nearest restaurant entrance, pushed himself onto the landing pad, and laid down. He breathed, once. Twice. And then three times. 798 was about to indulge in what all this could possibly mean for the meager four years of his life he remembered, but the monotone voice of a Zitza employee greeted him from the Channel-Serv speaker behind him.

“Hello, how can I help you today? Don’t forget our newest special, Zitza Twirls. They come in flavored packaging!”

Startled, 798  spoke the first thing off the top of his head. “I’ll… um… I’ll have a Zitza Pie Special.”

798 was so frazzled that he forgot to even say please. He could almost imagine the anonymous employee raising her eyebrow behind the customer speaker.

“Mmkay, head to the Zitza-Serv counter and pay 15.5 Bits. Thank you. Next customer?”

798 sighed. Did he even have the money to pay for such an item? He scrounged his pockets, producing 10.2 Bits in a heap of multicolored squares, circles, and triangles. He could use his ScanChip account, but that would cut into his meager savings from his Kekuten income once per krenek. His job. He did have to get back to that, didn’t he? 798 was startled by the blaring voice of a customer behind him. The voice seemed to barrel towards him in boastful rage.

“Hey, c’mon, man! There’s more in this city than you!”

Taken aback by the throatiness that accompanied the statement, 798 didn’t have to force himself to move forward to the Zitza-Serv counter. A hologram of what was probably the woman behind the speaker appeared in a grimy Serv’s uniform. “Produce method of payment into receiver, and wait for order to appear.”

The lady’s hands seemed to be working at something unseen beyond the holoscreen, and 798 guessed that his pie hadn’t exactly been receiving the most thought before he had come to the counter. Oh well. The holoscreens gave Servs an eternity to work on the actual meal and talk while they didn’t have to appear in the flesh, probably causing for some “You’re fired!” worthy material.

He glanced at the rectangular edges of the Scan Chip and thought about what he would have to make up for using it for the pie. He shouldn’t even be buying food during work hours, especially not when lunch had already passed. He reluctantly inserted it into the receiver, wincing as the numbers were displayed boldly in red lettering on the display. He hadn’t even known that he’d already had a negative amount due in his account, and this sort of deficit wasn’t exactly helping.

Before the machine could lock onto his ScanChip for further examination at the counter, 798 ripped it out of the receiver with blood rushing to his ears. They couldn’t find out, not now, not now, not now. Suddenly, a steaming sack of extremely low-grade Zitza appeared at the counter.

“Thank you for your business. Sir, could you insert your ScanChip?” The Serv pushed in an assertive voice that 798 was nearly taken aback by.

But 798 had already snatched the bag, hopped on his Board, and zoomed out of the filthy building, not stopping to be reprimanded by the Zitza-Servs. He didn’t stop until he was out of what he thought was Trenkle, the business of the city behind him, and only the barrier between him and the Outlands. His heart rate began to slow, and he stopped near an unoccupied fence of a Registrator. He finally tapped the Board with his foot once, lowering it to the ground. 798 stared mindlessly at the bright, glowing screen of the Registrator.

“Registrate yourself today and enjoy a spectacular wilderness safari filled with wonderful animals and experiences in the Outlands!” the speaker below the Registrator’s screen blared out, amplified by the silence of this part of the city limits.

On a day like today, only a few schooling groups would come out here on some city-sponsored trip, but other than that, there was barely anyone that could find the time to come into the Outlands during the Krekten. During the Krektend, however, the Registrators were practically glitching out because of everyone that was pushing in front of one another to get to the next Outlands transport. What the Registrators didn’t tell them was the surprising percentage of animals that were illegally imported and didn’t actually live in the Outlands, nor the nearly abusive tactics that were used to keep them from wandering off into the wilderness.

798 suddenly remembered his Zitza Pie and, without thinking, scarfed it down. He hadn’t noticed how cold it had already become, or how hungry he had grown during his incredible escapade away from his work. Remembering what he had really set out to do in the first place — actually deliver Kekutens — he checked the CNow on his wrist. 3:46. He nearly choked on his Zitza. He immediately stuffed down the rest of it the best he could while rushing his Board’s reboot system, and was zipping past Trenkle’s limits in record time. Not that he’d ever tried to before. He’d never been this late for the daily collection of unsold Kekutama boxes, which also heralded him being passed through the SpecScan again, which didn’t spell out satisfied for Yannik and the rest of the employees at the Kekutama facility. When one of them was the unlucky one to have to stay behind just for a single worker that wasn’t on time, there was no doubt that they would report it to the head managers immediately. 798 was already 46 Krentiks behind.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, mister?”

That was just one of the many retorts that whizzed past 798 as he broke every speed limit ever to exist on Krenst’s many Channels. There were only twelve more of them to pass before he reached the main drag that the Kekuten facility was located at, and he didn’t want to see himself waiting for a stoplight anytime soon. Almost like karma, a flashing red strobe appeared immediately above 798’s head, but he took no notice of it, not wanting to think of the consequences. But as soon as he heard the wailing siren behind him, and the authoritarian voice of a Channel Surveyor, he knew his wrong.

798 quickly surveyed his surroundings. From here, there were a few alleys he could duck into, but they would only stretch out his escape from the Surveyor, not prevent it. And then he remembered. Left on Krenst Main, three Channels forward, a right on Fourth Street, and then another six channels forward. There’s a cove for the Outlandish, an old bar that the locals go nuts for. Go in there, where the cops won’t. 798’s mind was still hazy and unfocused with the memory of the employee he had met so long ago, and struggled to remember his name. A red nametag flashed across his mind. A light turned green. The Surveyor’s voice got louder, and louder, and louder, until it seemed that they were shouting directly into 798’s ear. Hi, my name — 798 started in the direction of the Outlandish, blankly. Is Ris — a turn on Quick Street. A honking vehicle in front of 798’s face. — Car.

Riscar.

Hi, my name is Riscar.

There was a blinking Outlandish sign in front of 798’s in jagged, unruly letters. The Surveyor was practically mectometers away from 798. He dashed inside without thinking, blending in with the outside crowd, and then disappeared into the dark, dark, alleyway.  

The Outlandish wasn’t actually in the alleyway itself — it was to the side, with the identical logo sprawling above a decrepit door frame. 798 entered and wondered immediately if the Outlandish was even an actual place. There was nothing where he was standing. Just nothing. It was nearly pitch-black inside, save for an actual candle standing on the simplest nightstand 798 had ever seen. The candle burned with authenticity and not the harsh glow produced by the blaring displays of the outside world. It held down a curled, burnt piece of what looked like parchment, which was halfway covered in a puddle of wax. There were some names on the parchment, none of which 798 knew. A voice came from the midst of the darkness, startling him and raising the hair on his spine.

“So you want to get into the Outlandish, punk?”

 

The Savior

I realized that this world isn’t lasting forever. In 48 hours, this world would go crazy and end.

***

Suddenly, I realized who had saved me from the falling bridge. Yesterday, I was jamming to my favorite song, and suddenly, everything fell. I flew out of my car. Holding onto the cracking piece of the bridge, questions flew across my mind. A warm hand grabbed me. He pulled me up, and I was deeply breathing on the side of the bridge. I turned around. I was going to thank him and give him everything I had. But when I turned, I just saw a suspicious figure, tall with long, straight, brown hair, running away faster than the speed of light.

The wind was blowing in my face. I got back up and just replayed everything of what happened in my mind. So unexpected and fast.

I was slowly walking back. I heard the loud, scary ambulance sound and police officers calling and reporting damages. There was CNN at the corner of the bridge, talking into a big speaker. I walked past them, looking around, searching for my savior. I saw many black figures, and I didn’t know which one it could be.

That day, I ran back home, and I started to think about how I could find him.

The next day, I went to Central Park to cool off. I never realized until hours later that there was a girl next to me. She was the exact height and width that I saw that day. The hair matched perfectly.

I started to talk and start off easy, until I mentioned what happened. She was shocked and took her bag and ran away. That was the last time I saw her. I guess she wasn’t the savior the day I died. Neither was anyone else.  

 

The Rebirth Cycle

It started again. The rebirth cycle started again. Once a month, I change into another person. Different age, different height, different me. And now I am a girl, Maria, sixteen years old and living in Ohio. High school called something like New Ohio High School. I’m scared. Whatever happens, love or friendships, after a month, it’ll all go away. What did I do to deserve this? Anyway, I’m tired of this cycle. It has ruined my life in every way. I have to go, go and start this new life of mine.

***

On the way to school, I tried to avoid everyone I could. And everyone did. I looked down and never looked up to anyone. I pulled my hoodie over my head, and I sat down, silent and invisible. Feeling invisible felt good, no friendships and no love ruining my life.

“Hey, are you new?” asked someone over my shoulder.

The voice sounded sarcastic and scratchy. I turned around, and all I saw was a body full of glitter. The earrings, clothes, and lip gloss. I laid my head back into the fold my arms were in. I sat there, not moving for long enough, until she asked me again in an angry voice. I lifted my head, trying my best to keep my anger down and not let my anger make my magic out of control. The lights went out, and the teacher locked the door, assuming this was some lock down. But I knew it was my powers that turned off the lights. After my anger fled away, the lights started to flicker back on. I looked up, acting surprised so that no one assumed it was me. We all went back to our seats.

Ms. Johnson pointed to the board and started to gabble about science and chemistry. I looked back because I felt something hit my head. I heard snorts and giggles from Ms. Glitter Girl. I looked behind me, and I saw a lined paper crumpled up into a perfect, round ball. I opened it up, and there it was, written in pretty, pink cursive.

 

Don’t think I don’t know it was you who made the lights go pitch black. Have a bad day. Sincerely, The Best.

 

I ripped it up and threw it into the trash can. This boy walked over to her. I noticed his beautiful, short, curly, black hair. His blue eyes matched his precious smile. I looked down, and my hands fidgeted on my desk as I overheard his sweet, angelic voice.

“Why would you do that? I know what you wrote. You don’t even know her!”

I quickly turned my head, trying to hide my smile as the girl gave me this ugly face and rolled her eyes at me. The boy whispered something too quiet. I couldn’t hear. When he was finished, he looked at me. I wanted that moment to last forever. Our eyes met. He smiled. I smiled back. It felt special and unique. There were so many words I could put into this moment.

Ring! Ring! I stood up, as everyone else did, and I grabbed my stuff. I quickly ran to my locker. I shoved all of my chemistry books into it before they could fall out. I had to get home before anyone saw me. I went outside, and I hid behind the thin pole at the far corner of the school. I opened my backpack, and I whispered into it, “Bring me home.”

As I started to fade, I overheard his voice again saying, “You dropped your–”

He stopped and stared at me as I started to fade more. I closed my eyes as I hoped he would forget about this tomorrow.

As the next day began, I wanted to forget him. I hoped he would definitely forget too. I looked down and pulled my hoodie over my head. I went to my classes and glanced at the normies on the way. Folding my arms tight, side by side, I couldn’t stop but stare at him one more time. I tried to avoid any questions from anyone who came my way. I went into class and put my bag down. I looked around. Everyone was staring at me and the boy’s empty seat. I was scared and shocked, but I didn’t let it show. Halfway into class, he came rushing in and stared at me, not talking to me but just staring at me. I stared back at his dreamy eyes.

 

Imperfect

Prologue

A large, clean, white box sits in the middle of a deserted, gray street. It lets out a wail, and my hinges squeak towards it. I open it, and inside is a wailing child, but where a second tiny arm should be, a clean stump is there instead. I turn away. The government will hunt and kill her for her imperfection. It is a crime to be less than perfect. You could pollute others. I run the calculations through my computing system. Her chances without me lie at 0.06%. It isn’t worth it. I could be stripped for spare parts if I’m found! I take one last look at the box, and my sensors pick up a tablet. I pick it up and read.

 

This child is Lilli Morris. If you take her, you will receive a payment of 1,000 sars a month. At age 14, deliver her to lab 3.51. At that time, she will be perfect as a test subject for our weapons. Make sure she is fed and raised the way a rebel child is. This will be immensely helpful to your beloved government. Failure to do so will result in death. A tracking device has already been planted deep into your system C-13. Remember the reward will be extensive.

Signed,

Jessica and Harry Morris, Chemical Weapons Department

 

I do a scan of my anatomy and locate a tracker right next to my motherboard. Any attempt to remove it would cause me to shut down. I do a second scan and find that the tracker has explosive content, a kind that could be remotely controlled. Well it seems I have no choice. I scoop up the child, and the box and creak away to my workshop.

 

Chapter One

She peered out of the open window, looking down at the uniform, bleak buildings. No one would notice a girl leaning out the window of an abandoned church. Maybe before they would, but not now.

It was rare to see anyone looking from their screen, treacherous even. With each country’s government controlling all media and personal devices, there were hardly any independent thinkers left. And those few were forced out of society, usually they formed some sort of underground society, but those never lasted for long. She sighed and slipped on a pair of worn leather gloves and slung a bag with many pockets over her shoulders. She climbed out of the window and jumped down onto the neighboring roof, landing on practiced feet. She sprinted as if afraid of something towards the horizon. She stopped on one roof and ran to the side of the building. She grabbed the handle of the fire escape like she had done a thousand times. She swung down and climbed wearily down the metal ladder. She slipped off one of her gloves, revealing a robotic prosthetic. A metal device clicked out of her arm, and she inserted it into the lock. The window slid open. Catlike, she crawled into the drab, gray apartment. There isn’t much risk of getting caught here, she thought. At this time, all the inhabitants would be enthralled in social media, sucked into a world of machines and pixels so distant from reality that there was hardly need for sneaking. They were all so enveloped in worlds of celebrities and surveys, game shows and contests that they were hardly human anymore. However, the government cameras could be anywhere, so one could never be too careful. She snuck into the kitchen area and opened the fridge. She had to take small pieces of different things, lest the inhabitant should notice. She checked to make sure everything was in its proper place. Then she slipped out of the window, unnoticed, using the silver instruments to lock the window again. She ran along the roofs and went down yet another fire escape, this time to ground level. Checking over her shoulder, she loosened a pothole cover on the street and went down a rickety ladder and called out “Independent.” Suddenly lights turned on throughout the dark hallway, and a door slid open. The creak of hinges echoed through the hallway.

“C-13,the girl called.

“Hello, Lilli Morris, how is your prosthetic arm doing?” a robotic voice responded.

A robot stepped into the light. The robot had a metallic body dotted with rust, and as it walked towards the girl, it was clear its joints were the cause of the creaking.

“Fine, fine. How many times do I have to tell you, just call me Lilli!” the girl protested in fake annoyance, “and grease your hinges, they’re all creaky!” Suddenly, Lilli’s voice turned serious. “Have you received any information about them?”

A hint of desperation was in her voice.

“Lilli Morris, are you 100 percent sure that you want to hear the information I have received?” The robot paused. “All indicators show that they did abandon you,” C-13 said, a hint of compassion crept into his robotic monotone.

“No, I want to hear!” Lilli declared stubbornly.

“If that is what you absolutely want, then come on,” came C-13’s reply.

A sliding door opened onto a makeshift garage of sorts. An entire wall was crammed with monitors and keyboards and complex hacking equipment. C-13 flicked a switch, and with a buzz, the monitors came alive.

“Here is the information I have on the whereabouts of your parents.”

Lilli held her breath.

“They are working for the government in their secret base located in sector 15, Lab 3.51. They are both working as scientists, developing chemical weapons and poisons for the conflict between the United confederation of 50, and the Rebels.”

“Wait, they’re working for the government?” Lilli exclaimed, shock embedded in her words. She knew of the horrors the government had inflicted upon anyone who was different. “No, that can’t be! They’re probably being held against their will,” she said defiantly. “I must find them!”

“My calculations indicate that due to your stubbornness and desire for human contact, I cannot do anything to stop you,” C-13 pronounced sadly. He handed her a nano display. “The coordinates are here… Goodbye, Lilli Morris,” C-13 said sadly.

She ran out, and C-13 looked at her, a flicker of regret crossing his robotic gaze if that was possible. She ran to the fire escape and swiftly climbed up. She ran along the roofs and slid down into the open window of the abandoned church. She shoved a few belongings and some food into a bag then picked up a small hologram. She fingered it gently, running her fingers along the display disk, staring down at her parents. Lilli slung her bag over her shoulders, ran up onto the roof, and broke into a steady run. No one cared enough to see the girl running across the horizon.

She stopped for a moment, taking a break from the steady jog she had maintained for the past hour. She leaped down into a alley and a voice greeted her.

“Another useless human lifeform. What a waste of space.”

Into the light emerged a faded, gray humanoid robot with aperture eyes and a disapproving frown. One of the robot’s legs was longer than the other, and the resulting limp echoed around the alley. Step, thunk. Step, thunk. Step, thunk. To Lilli’s surprise, the robot flickered. Noticing the look of shock on Lilli’s face, the robot explained.

“I used to be able to turn invisible. However, I am in low power mode, so it comes on and off. The human who made me didn’t put the right protection on my motherboard, so I caught a virus and have a personality glitch. Apparently, I’m an ‘Insufferable Pessimist,’ and I have a ‘misplaced sense of superiority.’ So this genius decided ‘let’s chuck him into the not yet finished garbage chute,’ which is basically a free fall,” he gestured to his creaking leg. “Anyway, my name is P4-94. What’s your name? It’s not like it really matters. It’s not going to delay the inevitability of the pathetically imminent death that is the fate of all humans.”

“Lilli,” Lilli responded cautiously, annoyance seeping into her voice. “Hey, do you have hovering capabilities?” she asked, a hint of an idea wandering into her mind. “Oooh, and do you have GPS?”

“Why would you care?” the robot responded.

“Oh, well, that leg looks like quite a drag.”

“So?”

“Well I think I just might be able to fix it.”

The robot scoffed, but the apertures of its eyes widened with hope.

“You see I’m fairly confident I can fix it but only if you promise to take me to a location I have interest in going to.”

The robot scoffed again. “Fairly confident?? I doubt your imprecise human fingertips could handle a task half as difficult as my leg.”

“Have you got any better options?”

“Well, I suppose not. How far away is this ‘location’ of yours?”

She pulled out the nano display.

“That’s quite a destination. I have a deal for you. If you fix my leg, then I will take you to your destination. However, if you leave me in worse shape than I’m in, I get to strip your nano display for parts. Does your tiny human brain comprehend?”

“Yes and deal. What model are you?”

“I am a T-498jh_ladfnvK humanoid model. Roughly 367.492% better than the average human.”

“Alright, P4-93, let’s fix you up.”

She rolled up the sleeve and adjusted her prosthetic. She wiggled her metal fingers and opened her bag. She laid out an array of tools. She grabbed P4-93’s leg and sprayed it with black liquid. She adjusted and readjusted, drilled, and turned. When she finally stood up, the robot’s leg was gleaming.

P4-93 sighed. “Well you managed not to implode the entire block, so I suppose that’s an accomplishment.” The robot took skeptical steps. “Well it does seem to hold up,” P4-93 admitted.

“So,” Lilli pushed. “We had a deal.”

“Ah, well, we are only blips in history, less than milliseconds in the time of the universe so I suppose if this implodes and becomes a disaster of epic proportions, it won’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Insert your nano display here.”

Lilli’s heart leapt, but she remained calm. She carefully inserted the nano display, taking care to memorize the coordinates to her future.

It had been three days since they had first met.

“How long till we’re there?” Lilli asked.

“I told you five minutes ago! Is your tiny human brain so miniscule it can’t retain a simple thought?”

“Oh be quiet,” Lilli responded halfheartedly, but she was used to P4-93’s constant criticism of her human functions.

It was hopeless arguing with him. She might as well rest while she still could. They were flying through deserted streets, and there was hardly any chance troopers would find them.

***

I laughed.

“This device is not meant to produce laughter,” C-13 said as a small, feathery machine tickled me.

“It’s tickly,” I laughed, practically rolling around on the floor in mirth.

“Come on now. It is time for sleep. You know it is scientifically proven that having 10 hours of sleep will help you function at your best.”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I said, my eight-year-old face scrunching in annoyance.

I jumped into a small bed pod and landed on an old mattress.

“Night C-13.”

“Have a good night, Lilli Morris.”

 

“Lilli, Lilli, wake up.”

“What?” she said groggily

“Troopers!! Lot’s of them!” P4-93 screeched.

“How did they find us?! We haven’t had troopers on our trail this entire time, and you scanned this neighborhood!!!”

“The only possible explanation is a tracking device. Oh well, your miserable existence will finally be ended, and your soul will float aimlessly through the cosmos for all eternity.”

“Shut up! Nobody’s dying! Quick, turn invisible!”
“It will do us no good. Woe. WOE!”

Lilli watched as a net fell over her and P4-93.

“Any attempts to resist will lead to immediate incineration,” a trooper shouted through a megaphone.

Lilli stared at the net encircling them and rolled up her sleeve, revealing her prosthetic, gleaming wickedly in the gray light that mingled with the flashing lights of the troopers vehicles. Shink. Blades zipped out of Lilli’s arm, and she grimaced. A certain determination filled her, and she slashed through the net in a singular motion. She advanced towards the guards.

“STOP RIGHT THERE.”

She kept going. She leapt forward, memories pushed themselves up from the darkest parts of her mind, kindling the already roaring fire that consumed her.

 

“GO AWAY! STOP! DON’T TOUCH ME! You’ll spread your imperfection. Don’t you see you’re ruined.” the little boy yelled.

I crumpled. I just wanted to be friends. I looked down at the stump that had always been a part of my life. The little boy said I was ruined. Am I ruined? Am I diseased?”

“Lilli! I told you stop trying to play with other children! They’ll only hurt you,” C-13 chastised.

“Okay,” I sniffed, and I let myself be led back to the only place remotely like home.

 

Lilli stared down at the red stains on her arm and then shifted her gaze to the trooper on the ground before her, a halo of blood framing what used to be a face. She froze, shock running through her. She felt a net enclosing around her once more, this time feeling the cold, metal links that made up the nets for those who were dangerous, rebel imperfects. The bulletproof links showed who she really was. A murderer.

She stared at the bars encircling them. She sighed. She had only made their situation worse, and P4-94 knew it too. But underneath her anger, she couldn’t stop thinking about the trooper’s wide, surprised eyes, disbelieving, not comprehending her blade slicing through him.

“What is it with you humans? Always killing each other!!” P4-94 said half-heartedly.

“Not now, P4-94,” she murmured, both menace and defeat in her voice, and even the robot knew to back off.

“Alright, on your feet,” a trooper yelled, smacking the bars of their cage. “You are being transported to a laboratory to be tested upon. Any attempts to resist will lead to sedation.”

She sighed. She couldn’t do anything. They had bound her arm, so she couldn’t use any of its features. Lilli and P4-94 were shackled and led in a line of other shambling convicts. They were led onto a transport plane and were placed in cold, metal seats with built in shackles. The plane lifted off, and the prisoners sat in stifling silence, the only break being the shift of bodies when the turbulence got bad.

It went on like this for hours when finally, a voice called, “Alright, get up!” and the seats lurch forward, causing yelps from all of the human passengers. Lilli could tell P4-94 was scoffing at their “weakness.” Troopers quickly filed in, each one taking a prisoner and leading them in strict lines.

As they walked outside, Lilli finally realized it. She might never meet her parents. She stared sullenly at the brick building she was being marched towards, and she glanced up. There she saw it. Large pristine letters reading Laboratory 3.51. That was her parents’ laboratory. She really was going to see her parents! But why was she going there from jail? It didn’t matter, she concluded, and she gestured discretely to P4-94. He looked up, and she could tell he recognized it. She marched forwards happily. She couldn’t wait to see what was inside those doors. Her parents! Someone who understood her. People who loved her. The doors opened smoothly, and she craned her neck, trying to get a good view. She was marched towards a long line of people in front of a large glass tank. Their grimy faces and angry eyes gave them away. They were rebels. They looked terrified, but she hardly noticed. She stood in line, her eyes seeking out anyone who looked remotely like her, and then she saw them. A man and a woman, with the same charcoal black hair as her, in immaculate lab with ID cards. Dr. Jessica Morris and Dr. Harry Morris. They walked up to the tank and opened it. They gestured for the person in the front of the line. A young boy, no more than ten.

“No need to be afraid,” Lilli’s mother cooed as the boy took a few shaky steps towards the tank. “There we go,” Lilli’s mother said, and slammed the door shut.

Lilli heard a lock clicking into place.

“Clear. Release the gas.”

Lilli’s father pressed a button, and green gas filled the tank. The boy screamed in agony, and through the cloud of gas, she saw his skin melting off of his bones, his blood bubbling, and pooling at his feet, his voice fading into gurgling. What used to be a human body was flailing around in a desperate attempt to escape this horror. Lilli couldn’t watch. Why weren’t her parents doing anything? This was clearly some horrible mistake. She turned to them.

“Great results, the increase in acid is definitely working!”

“Yeah, this is a sure success.”

Lily gawked. She had been frozen, but now she jerked into motion. She sprinted towards her parents.

“MOM! DAD! It’s me, Lilli! what is going on?!” she exclaimed.

“Troopers, get her back in line,” her mother ordered, recognition flashing through her cold eyes.

“I’M YOUR DAUGHTER!!” Lilli screamed.

“You’re no child of ours,” her parents spat.

As troopers dragged Lilli back to her spot in line, Lilli’s eyes filled with hatred. Her mind was racing. White hot rage consumed her.  

“P4-94 get ready to run,” Lilli hissed, and with one quick motion, she ripped off her prosthetic, revealing a small button. P4-94’s eyes widened. Lilli pressed it and threw it towards her parents. She grabbed P4-94 and ran, glancing behind her to watch her past go up in flames.

 

Diary of a 1700’s Girl

     

12/3/1775

Williamsburg

Today is my birthday! I’m turning 12! My name is Elizabeth Port, but people call me Beth for short. I got this diary from my mom for my birthday. My family is the middling sort. My father is a blacksmith. My parents’ names are Mary Port and James Port. I have two older brothers. They are named Joshua, who is 17, and Tomas, but everybody calls him Tom, and he is 14. I’m going to write this diary like it’s a story and explain everything about my life because sometimes, I think that someone might read this in the future.

My father inherited the house that we live in from my grandpa. It is made of brick, and it has actual windows! The inside of the house has a downstairs and an upstairs, and it has open fireplaces in almost every room. It has one in the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms, and the dining room. The upstairs has three bedrooms, one for my parents, one for me, and my brothers share a room. The middle floor has a living room with a couple of chairs and a small table in the middle. The dining room has a big table in the middle and chairs all around it. We eat ham, fish, apples, peas, beans, lettuce, onions, carrots, potatoes, squash, and corn. We drink tea, milk, coffee, wine, apple cider, and beer.

The bedrooms have soft feather beds and curtains around them. There is a necessary bathroom behind the house. My mom has a kitchen garden, and I have to weed, water, and plant in it. I also have to chase away the rabbits that come. We grow peas, carrots, corn, and lettuce. Also, we grow herbs and some plants that she thinks are good for medicine. Remember, my father inherited this house, but we didn’t have the money to buy it if it wasn’t ours. Girls and women wear a shift, stockings, stays, petticoat, pocket, outer petticoat, and a frock. It takes a very long time to get dressed. Almost every morning, my mom and I go to Market Square. There are fruits and vegetables, eggs, milk, butter, crabs, oysters, sheep, pigs and chickens, and also pottery. We pay for it all with Spanish silver. There is pence, shillings, and pounds. Sometimes after we go to Market Square, we go to Chownings (CHEWnings). Chownings is a tavern.

I used to go to school, but I had to stop because the teacher said, being a girl, I had learned enough. But my mom still teaches me a little bit of something every morning. She taught me how to read and write. My brother, Joshua, is going to William and Mary next year. My dad wants Joshua to be a blacksmith like him, but Joshua wants to be a lawyer. By now, I’m sure you are wondering if we have slaves. Answer: we do not. My entire family thinks slavery is wrong. So that’s pretty much my life. Oh, and one more minor detail, the war has started. A couple of years ago, in Boston, they dumped all of their tea into the harbor, and it was called the Boston Tea Party. And a couple of years before that was the Boston Massacre. I’ll explain more later.

 

12/5/1775

Williamsburg

So, people have been growing more and more restless and annoyed because of taxes and other things. So, we started a war! I didn’t do a very good job of explaining that, but I hope you have the general idea. I’m going to Market Square soon, so I am going to write this quickly.  Yesterday, we got invited to my friend’s birthday party, and it was amazing. She is very rich, so they had all sorts of food and things to do. There were six different kinds of meat and apple cider. Then, for dessert, there were pies, cakes, candy, and a thing called a trifle, which is a rich cake made of a jelly roll, custard, cream, rum, and wine. Also the children sat apart from the grown ups. It was so fun. Well I have to go.

 

Later…

Today, when we were in Market Square, I saw a slave auction going on. My mom steered me away from it. I asked her why anyone would be so cruel as to sell human beings.

She said, “Beth, I don’t know. Most people don’t think the way we do. When you grow up, I want you to fight for what is right. I want you to become an abolitionist. And the best way to tell other people that slavery is wrong is to become a teacher.”

And now that’s all I want to be.

 

12/6/1775

Williamsburg

I have heard about unrest in different parts of the thirteen colonies. I heard gunshots! I was in the garden, and I heard them! It’s really scary. Joshua went to William and Mary today to see what it was like. He really liked it, though I don’t know if we can afford it.

 

Later…

My mom bought me some clay at the market, and I can draw with it. Here are some of the colors: red, yellow, green, light blue, magenta, and blue. I have already drawn something with them. Anyway, I have big news. Joshua got into William and Mary! We are so happy for him. I saw another slave auction. I HATE THEM!!! Tonight, my mom and I are going to make a huge dinner for Joshua. We are going to have: (drinks first) beer, tea, and apple cider. And then to eat, we are having: peas, ham, carrots, corn, and potatoes. But right now, I’m bored. I think we (my mom and I) are going to a tavern today for lunch. I’m really excited. I haven’t been to a tavern in years! We stopped going when taxes went up. But today, we decided to go. I need to go now.

 

Later…

Right now, I’m in the cargo part of a ship.

Here’s what happened. It’s close enough to Christmas that there were Christmas trees and wreaths all around the tavern. We went to the tavern and walked inside. It had candles all over the place and Christmas trees in the corners. We got led to our table and sat down. In taverns and homes (like ours) they have metal cups, plates, and silverware. A waitress came over and asked us what we wanted to eat.

“I would like ham, and cornbread, and peas as one side, please,” I said.

“I don’t want anything,” said Mom.

The lady nodded and walked away.

“Mom, why aren’t you getting anything?” I asked.

“Because I’m not hungry, and I want to talk to you,” said Mom. “Your father is going to Great Britain with a couple of other people who are going to ask the king to lower taxes. He is going on the ship that leaves tomorrow.”

I gasped. “Why?” I asked.

“Because the taxes are really getting to be too much, and it doesn’t seem like it’s affecting us, but it is, and it’s going to be very dangerous because of the war.”

I stared at her. The waitress came up to our table and gave me my food. I felt sick now, and I didn’t want to eat anything, but I didn’t want Mom to feel bad. Suddenly, we heard a gunshot! We looked around and saw Redcoats (Britain’s soldiers) walk in. A waitress walked over to them and asked if they wanted a table. They waved her away and walked into the tavern.

“Is James Port here?” asked the leader.

I looked around at Mom, but she wasn’t there. I looked back over at the Redcoats, and I saw her talking to them. I walked over to them and heard what they were saying.

“There is no James Port in this tavern. But I do know where he lives. He lives on…”

I moved away from them then. I couldn’t believe it! The Brits were looking for my father! I wonder why? When my mom came back, I asked her why they were looking for him. She said it was none of my business, and I should eat my food so we could go home. So I did. When we got home, Mom went straight to my father’s workshop to talk to him. When she came back, she was extremely pale.

“We have to go,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because your father is in trouble. Get your things together.”

I went to get my clothes and saw a gun pointing into the room. I screamed and ran to Mom.

“Mom! Mom! There is a gun pointing into the hallway window!”  

She ran to the window and stared.

“Quick, get ready to go. Now!”  

I ran to my room and grabbed a couple of cloaks and a bonnet, and a bag with some of my toys. I ran to Mom, and we ran out the door.

“What about Joshua and Thomas?”

“They will be fine. They are in school.”  

We ran to my father’s shop and found him packing some things.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

We nodded, and we ran out.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To the ship that your father was supposed to go on.”

As we were running, we heard a crash of thunder, and it started to pour rain. I groaned and started to run. When we got to the port, I was muddy and wet and really cold. I realized that only my father had a ticket! I was going to ask Papa about it, but he waved me off. I was silent for awhile. He looked at the ship. When he waved for me to follow, I walked over to him.

“Where are we going?” I repeated.

He put his finger to his lips, and we walked over to one of the guards. We waved, and he nodded at us. Papa looked around quickly to see if anyone was around, no one was. We ran up into the ship and went down as far as we could.

So now I’m in the lowest part of a ship headed for London. Then we are going to go to France to get away from the people who are looking for Papa. I’m really scared.

 

12/16/1775

We’re here! London. It smells like wet horses, and I saw someone empty a chamber pot onto the street. I saw a man, who had an eye patch and a crutch, stagger towards us and ask Papa for money. Now we are in someone’s house. Papa says that it’s a family who he knows from college. They don’t have any kids, so they were very happy to see us.

 

12/17/1775

I slept in the guest room by myself! I was so scared! I don’t like being by myself. We left the house today, and we went to an inn for lunch. When we left, I saw a person talk to a soldier in a red coat and point to us! I told Papa that, but he waved me off, and we kept walking. We went to another person’s house. This time, it was my grandma! I saw a picture of someone on the mantelpiece, and it looked like Mama. I asked Grandma if I could have it, and she said yes.

 

12/21/1775

We are in France! We took a boat a couple of days ago! We are looking for a house to stay in right now, so we are staying in a old, dingy abandoned house. But I love it here! Everything is better. And Mama thinks we will have a house by Christmas! I’m so excited. It’s beautiful here. It started snowing yesterday, and Mama and I had a snowball fight! It is getting cold in the abandoned house, though. We got baguettes at a cafe once, and they were so good! I loved them! There is a really big place where people are selling Christmas trees! When we find a house, we are going to buy one! I found this letter stuck in one of the floorboards in the house. Here is what it says:

 

12/17/1775

To my dearest Ana,

I miss you more than words can say. I will come home soon, once the colonies have calmed down, but for now, I am stuck here in Virginia. The revolutionary war is keeping me here. But, there might be a way to end it soon. We are planning a surprise attack on Boston in ten days. Then maybe I will be able to come home.

Well, I firmly clasp and kiss your hand. Keep well, cheerful, happy. Work, leap, let yourself be carried away, sing, and, if possible, don’t forget a humble soldier, your zealous admirer, Charles.

 

I have been thinking about what it says, and I think they are going to do the attack on the 27th, which is in six days! I haven’t told anyone about it yet, because if it means nothing, then, you know, but I really do think it means something! I wonder who Ana is, and if she lived in this house.

 

12/23/1775

Williamsburg

We own a house in France! Oh, I forgot to mention where in France we are. We are in Paris! The house we bought is tiny, but very comfortable. You walk in, and there are stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Then, you turn left and walk into the living room. It has a little fireplace and a mantle. The person who sold us the house left all the furniture and stuff in it, so we have everything we need. Once you walk past the living room, you walk into the dining room. It has a little table in middle, and then you walk into the kitchen. There is a little counter, and in the corner, there is a fireplace with a cauldron hanging on a iron rail. Then you walk back through the dining room and the living room, and walk up the stairs. When you are upstairs, you can go into two rooms. One is my room, and the other one is Mama and Papa’s room. My room is fairly small, but I love it. It has a little window overlooking the Pont Neuf. I have a big bed, and then there are my clothes (which we bought in Paris), and then there is a little desk, and on it, I have a couple of books and my drawing things. So that’s the house that we are staying in. I love it! The person who we bought the house from was very rich, so there is a ton of fancy furniture, and plates and cups and so on. There are curtains by the windows, and little cushions on a bench by the windows.

 

12/24/1775

I am really worried about that letter. I told Papa about it, and he is going to give it to a French officer that he met when we were looking for a house. It is Christmas Eve! We are going to have a feast tonight! We got a tree and put some decorations on it. It is not perfect, but I love it. I have a stocking over the fireplace.  

 

12/25/1775

HA! I was right about that letter! They are going to attack the Brits tomorrow before the Redcoats can attack Boston. I am really glad I found that letter. Today is Christmas day! I got some grapes and oranges in my stocking. Under the tree, I got a doll, some dresses, and a couple of little toys. I also got a letter kit! It has a couple pieces of paper, and a quill and ink, and a seal!

 

12/27/1775

They got them! They ambushed the Brits before they could attack Boston! I sent Joshua and Thomas a letter each, and I hope that they write me back. Papa has to find a job. I think he is getting worried. He definitely wants to be a blacksmith like he was in Williamsburg. I really miss it there! I miss my friends, and I really miss Joshua and Tom. I haven’t gotten a response from them. I kind of hate it here! I miss everything and everyone in Williamsburg. And I don’t have any friends here.

 

1/1/1776

I got a letter from Joshua and Tom! They said they missed us, and that they were going to come to France and find us! I can’t wait to see them! I have a new friend! Her name is Anna. She is my age, and her birthday is right before mine. It is November 12th. I am going to go to her house tomorrow. I can’t wait.

 

1/15/1776

I had a great time! I played with her for an hour! I am going to see her in a couple of days!

 

1/17/1776

Anna is sick! I think she will get better, though. I am praying for her every night. I am so worried. I am kind of liking it in France now.

 

1/25/1776

She is dead!!! I can’t believe it! I feel so bad for her parents. I am so sad. I am going to go to her funeral. I hate France. I really, really, really want to go back to Williamsburg

 

2/5/1776

NOOOOOOO!!! We just got a letter that said that Joshua and Tom got shot! By a Redcoat! I can’t believe this. I am an only child now! I am so sad! Mama and Papa are very sad. I don’t know how we are going to hold a funeral. I can’t… ugh. I can’t contemplate what has happened.

 

2/7/1776

We got Joshua and Tom’s bodies today. They have dried blood all over their chest. I threw up all over them when I saw them. There are three bullets in Joshua’s chest and one in Tom’s. We have put up a bunch of black cloth on our house, and all the furniture has black cloth on it. We are not going to be following the French funeral practices. We are going to have it the way we would have it in Williamsburg.

We are not going to give out gifts, because we don’t have enough money. We are going to hire two boys to carry them, and I am making rings and sewing gloves for everyone who is coming. We are inviting a couple of friends Mama and Papa made when we moved to France and Anna’s family as well. This is going to be very expensive. The coffin is 10 shillings,  and there has to be lots of wine beer and liquor, and all of that is about 20 shillings, and we need to pay the boys who are carrying the coffin five shillings each. So in all, it is about 40 shillings, which is about two pounds! I don’t know how we are going to get all of that money.

 

2/11/1776

OH MY GOSH! I had a great time at the funeral! So the boys that we hired, one of them is seventeen and the other one is thirteen. So after they carried the coffin, the thirteen-year-old grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shade of a tree.

“Do you recognize me?”

“William?! Yes!”

I realized that he was an old friend I had known when I was really young.

“Good! I moved here a couple months ago.”

“Me too!”

“I am sorry that your brothers died.”

“I am not going to say that it is fine, because it’s not, but thank you.”

We stayed behind the tree the entire funeral and talked.

 

2/15/1776

We are going to a fair really soon! I can’t wait! I have seen William three times since the funeral! I am going to a market tomorrow, and it is, like, the most expensive market in the world. I can’t wait! I am going to a newspaper place with Papa because he wants to write newspapers. I am really excited for him. I don’t think that’s the job he wants. He wants to do something. I’m scared for him. I don’t want him to do anything stupid and get killed.

 

2/20/1776

OH MY GOSH! We are going to move back to Williamsburg!! I am so excited! I can see my friends again! I am kind of sad that we are going to leave this house. But I am actually really excited! I am kind of scared though. I don’t want to get killed. But I really want to do something! For George Washington! I am so jealous of the people who can actually fight! Which means only the men. So stupid. They could use the help of women! Aside from, of course, washing and cooking and cleaning and all that stuff. Outrageous! But I am really excited to move back!

 

3/1/1776

We are leaving tomorrow! I can’t wait! I am so excited to see all of my friends again! But I am also kind of scared. There is a war going on after all. I still don’t know what my dad did to make us have to leave. I am going to ask my mom about it. I think he committed a crime against the British. I’m worried about when we go back. I don’t want to have to leave again.

 

3/8/1776

We are home! I am so happy! I have seen all of my friends again, and I am so happy! HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY! But I’m also kind of scared. I don’t want to move away again. EVER! We have moved back into our old house, and we are going to have a party! I am going to invite all of my friends over, and we are going to have so much fun! But, I am kind of afraid that the British will come and try to stay at our house, like they did with my friend, Molly. She said that it was really scary, and that they threatened to kill her and her family. She said that she would stay in her bedroom for most of the time because she didn’t want to see them.

 

3/13/1776

I am really bored with life here. I thought that if we moved back I would be really happy, but I actually hate it here. Oh, and I asked what Papa did, and Mama said that he offended a general for the British. I want to DO something! I want to be a spy.

 

3/20/1776

AHHHH! The British are at our house! They are staying here for a week! I am so mad! It’s actually not as scary as I thought it would be, but they are eating all of our food! And we don’t have enough rooms for them, so they kicked us out! Now we have to sleep in the living room, on little mats! But, now is my chance to run away and spill everything that I hear. I am going to listen in on their conversations. They have all been talking about how they are really excited to kick George Washington’s butt. I think that is rude and vulgar, and I would like to kick their butts. I have learned a lot, though. I am not going to write it down here because I don’t want anyone to find it. But I have learned a lot! I am very proud of myself.

 

3/25/1776

I am going to leave in a couple days. I am not going to tell anyone, but especially not my parents. They would freak out! I can’t tell anyone about this. And I have to make sure to hide this diary, so nobody finds it. Because if they do, then I will be in so much trouble.

I have a little problem. I don’t know where to go! I am very lost. I think I am somewhere in Virginia. (I mean obviously, because Williamsburg is in Virginia.) Somewhere else in Virginia. Right now I am in a big hole I found in a tree trunk. I have run out of water, so I am looking for a river or stream. I have been practicing hiding from people, so I can practice being a spy. I also have to practice being a boy. I have no idea how to act. What would a boy do? I am having some second thoughts about this. I am really scared. I don’t really know if there is a punishment for girls and women if they get caught in the army. But I really hope there is not. I have to keep going now.

 

3/30/1776

I made it! I found someone to take me to their camp, and I am now a spy for General George Washington. I don’t think he trusts me. He keeps looking at me strangely. I think he may think that I am a spy for the British. I have to be very careful about what I do. Nobody likes me. I feel very lonely, and I wish I hadn’t run away. I feel like crying. I am not meant to do this. I have seen a bunch of slaves in the camp. They have to do a bunch of manual labor. And they get whipped. It is terrible. I went to their part of the camp, and they barely have any food or water or anything like that. They don’t even have good blankets! They are going to freeze! I feel so incredibly bad for them.

 

4/2/1776

I am going on my first mission! I have to find out when and where the British are going to attack. I have to go to Charleston because General George Washington thinks that the British are going to try to take over the seaport there. Charleston is of course in South Carolina, so it is going to be a very, very, very long trip to get there. I don’t really know why they didn’t just send someone else to go. Someone who is closer! It is going to take days to get there! From what I hear, there is a small American force there already, but they need someone to find out the following:

Commanders: how many and who.

How many guns, men and ships they have, and when they are planning the attack.

And I have to do it all in two weeks. It’s like they want me to fail. How am I going to get all that information in two weeks?! I have to gain the Commanders’ trust, and then I have to figure out everything they want, and then I have to get away! That’s the part I am worried about. The getting away part. I don’t know how I am going to do that. I have talked to some people about it, and they have been no help at all.

It’s just been: “Well I don’t know, you are supposed to be the spy, not me.” Or “Don’t ask me! I don’t want to talk to no spy! Good for nothing slinking about slimy lowlifes!”

When someone says something like that, I usually walk away from them as fast as I can.

 

4/5/1776

I am almost to South Carolina. I can’t really write right now because the carriage is bumping so much. But I am going to try my best. Right now, my schedule is: get to South Carolina, get to the camp, learn as much as I can,  then get away, and tell them what I learned. I am really nervous. I CAN NOT GET CAUGHT! If I do, I will be put to death! I am going to meet the men at the rebel camp there, and then I am going to go into the British territory. I am really scared about this.

     

4/10/1776

I have talked to the people in charge at the camp, and now I am getting ready to go. I won’t be allowed to bring this diary, so this is going to be my last entry for a really long time. I have to go now.

 

Little did Elizabeth know that that would be her last entry in her diary. When she got to the camp, everyone started to get suspicious of her, and soon found out that she was a spy. She was put to death the next day. When her parents found out, they held a big funeral service. All of the Ports children were killed by the British. The Ports moved back to France and lived there for the rest of their lives.

 

The End      

 

Province of Darkness

The Gathering

In the early morning, the large waves were crashing against the thick sand. The beach was shadowed by a small, grass covered cliff, which was shadowed by a large mountain. The top of the mountain was an open crater, and inside the crater was a large fortress. The fortress was made of light brown stone. The walls were made of large, square stones with battlements on the top. Tall, circular towers soared over the wall. In the middle of the fortress was a large, square building with four towers.

This was not an ordinary fortress. It was the Hall of Concord, the official meeting place of the Universal Congress. The hall was located on an island south of Maltopia. Although it was within the boundaries of Maltopia, the island was owned by all the nations of the world.

Today, the Universal Congress would meet in the Hall of Concord. It had been two years since they’ve met. There were many reasons for this meeting, many proposals. But one proposal was heard to be appalling.

In an open space shadowed by the main building, a Venorian maid, wearing her long, brown dress, was sweeping the leaves off the stone floor. The space was a circle, with four entrances and seating on the edge. In the middle of two entrances was a statue. The maid brushed her scaly forehead and looked up at the statue. It was a large, marble sculpture of a Dark Elf woman holding a sword in one hand and an olive branch in the other. The maid looked down at the engraved label that lay on the base of the monument. It read:

This monument is dedicated to Queen Alexandra of Mirewood.

Founder of the Universal Congress and Co-signer of the Great Law of Peace.

The maid let out a great sigh, and shook her head in grief.

From one of the entrances came a human boy. He had white skin. His straight, brown hair grew from the top of his head while the rest was shaved off. The boy stood straight beside the maid.

“Boy!” said the maid, towering over the boy. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the garderobes?”

“I did,” said the boy in disgust. “The housekeeper told me to help you.”

“Well, it’s about time,” said the maid. “I can’t sweep these leaves all by myself.”

The boy got himself a broom and began to sweep the leaves.

“So, what’s the commotion this time?” asked the boy.

“What?”

“I mean, why is the Congress meeting after all this time?”

The maid put her broom down and let out a breath. “Well, there are many things being presented, from what I’ve heard. Queen Andrea of Mirewood’s proposal is apparently the most shocking.”

“What is it?” asked the boy with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” sighed the maid in exhaustion. “But a nobleman fainted when he heard it.”

“My lord,” gasped the boy in excitement. “I want to hear it now!”

“Whatever it is,” stated the maid, “it probably won’t be as good as her mother’s proposals.”

The maid stopped her work and gazed at the statue.

“I remember when I started working here. I remember seeing Queen Alexandra’s face for the first time. It was ten years ago, and she made a proposal to build better roads connecting all the cities of Lavonia and Kanaida. A proposal so basic and genius, even I, a maid with the knowledge of a peasant, could understand its benefits. Like many proposals, it had a great opposition. The rivals were overly wealthy humans who would spend a coin on nothing but themselves. Every word they spoke made me angrier and angrier. No one called them out for their rudeness that day, except Alexandra. She did not give those men respect. After a long while of arguing, the proposition to build better roads was passed.”

The maid turned her head to the boy who stood still, leaning his broom on his shoulder.

“You see, boy, those were the days. Back then, the Universal Congress met every month! But alas,” sobbed the maid, “Queen Alexandra is dead. And now her daughter, Andrea, is Queen.”

“Well, who knows?” said the boy in a high-pitched voice. “Maybe proposition-making runs in the family.”

“Let’s hope so. I haven’t seen a good proposal since Alexandra’s last meeting.”

The next day, the maid, the boy, and the housekeeper, who were the only people living in the Hall of Concord, stood waiting for the members of the Universal Congress. The housekeeper, who was only an inch taller than the small boy, stood nervously, sweeping his balding head and twitching his pointy ears. Usually, the housekeeper was much calmer, but this was different. It was Queen Andrea’s first meeting, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He didn’t know Andrea, and due to her being Alexandra’s daughter, he did not want her to leave the Universal Congress.

Every once in awhile, the housekeeper would turn towards the boy and maid and ask if all the chores were done. Every time, they would answer yes.

As the sun was almost in the middle of the sky, the housekeeper saw the first ship enter the harbor below. He quickly went to the entrance of the fortress, the maid and boy following. When all three were there, they waited anxiously to see the first arrival.

Without surprise, it was King Eremurus of Maltopia. With two guards beside him, the lizard king walked forward. His golden rings reflected the light of the sun, as his dragonskin gauntlets blended with his turquoise scales. The housekeeper looked up at the tall Venorian and saw his bare chest, his abdomen which was guarded by an iron corset, and his pelvis area which was clothed by a thick, blue, linen-wrapped skirt.  

“Derik!” said Eremurus. “It has been so long. How are you?”

“Patricia and Jonathan have kept me company,” said the housekeeper, waving his hand to the maid and the boy, still looking up at the lizard king. “Have you heard of Andrea’s proposition?”

Derik always spoke to royalty in a formal manner, but always talked to Eremurus normally. Eremurus was much friendlier to the housekeeper, unlike the other leaders, which allowed Derik to speak in an informal tone.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard,” said the lizard king in excitement. “I only hope it’s better than one of Dido’s proposals. Ever since Alexandra’s death, she’s manipulated the whole continent of Lavonia to do her bidding.”

“Yes, but not Mirewood,” smiled Derik.

“Oh please,” sighed Eremurus angrily. “Andrea is only sixteen. She’ll probably be kissing Dido’s feet in no time.”

When the sun hit the middle of the sky, another ship entered the harbor. The longboat was more narrow and had wooden swan heads on both points.

Through the entrance came a six-foot tall Orc wearing a seal hide over his ice-blue skin. His thick upper body was clothed by a necklace with two walrus tusks on both sides.

“Greetings, King Ukmar of Ek’da,” said Derik. “Shall I take your coat?”

“No need,” said Ukmar. “The heat is soothing.”

Another ship entered the harbor. This longboat had steel platings on the bottom, used for tearing through ice. Through the entrance came Chief Karnok of Pangona, a black-haired Orc wearing brown bear fur.

Over time, more ships arrived in the harbor. Through the entrance came Chief Toure of the Apocalypse, a dark skinned human wearing a black, hooded shawl and gray clothing. After him came King Lumos IV of Morrisland, a moon-skinned Elf with dark blue eyes and golden hair. He was followed by Lord Demeter of Silver Coast. Her long copper hair was braided on the top of her head as her sparkling green dress glittered the light of the sun. Soon after her was Chief Pocatowa of Indie, a muscular human dressed in a wolf pelt and leather pants.

The leaders were scattered across the entrance area, talking and waiting for the other members. Karnok and Ukmar, who were the only Orcs there, were plotting for tomorrow’s meeting.

“So, when Grognar states his case,” said Karnok quietly, “we’ll come in and demand retribution.”

“Do you think we can convince the whole Congress?” asked Ukmar.

“Trust me, at their state, the Venorians would not want another conflict.”

As the two went on, another ship had entered the harbor. Through the entrance came King Grognar of Red Rock. Grognar was thinner than the other two Orcs, and much taller, rising seven feet. His jet black hair grew all the way to his chest. His rose red skin glimmered in the setting sunlight. He wore a sleeveless leather shirt with a silver neck guard, and a bronze armband on his upper left arm. Unlike other Orcs, his fangs were small, and his nose, the most attractive part of his face, was thin and curved. Its nostrils were almost unnoticeable, and its bridge was dented like an arch.

After being greeted by the housekeeper, Grognar walked up to Karnok and Ukmar, who stood silently.

“Fellow Orcs,” greeted Grognar. “Tomorrow is the day. The day justice is finally served. After many painful years, the scars will be healed.”

“Yes, Grognar,” stated Ukmar sadly, “but unfortunately, nothing can heal the damage the Venorians brought upon our people.”    

“I disagree,” said Grognar in a hopeful voice.

But Grognar’s optimism soon died when another leader came through the entrance. He recognized his brown skin, his hooked nose, his black short hair and shaven face, his pointy shoes, his golden sparkling cape, and his white turban with a diamond in the middle. It was Sultan Ahmad of Gold Coast. Grognar looked at the young Sultan, walking proudly with his small Goblin servant, as rage swarmed the young Orc’s insides.

For twelve years, Red Rock and Gold Coast were at war with each other. During the war, Alexandra (who was not queen at the time) took Red Rock’s ancestral Fire Stone and gave it to Gold Coast. Soon after, the Orcs declared peace and gave a heavy payment to Gold Coast. Grognar and Ahmad were not ruling during the war or the peace treaty, but because of Ahmad’s refusal to give back the Fire Stone, the two were enemies.

“Keep close to me, just in case,” said Ahmad to his Goblin servant as he walked up to Grognar.

When Ahmad stood straight in front of him, Grognar looked down at his purple pointy shoes. He then turned his head and noticed the small Goblin beside him.

“First, you disrespect and persecute our culture, and now you’re enslaving Goblins?!”

“I can assure you,” stated Ahmad, “that this Goblin is paid more than the amount of money stored in your vault.”

Grognar was boiling with rage. He growled, clamping his white teeth, until he heard someone yell.

“Everyone, quiet!” yelled Derik. “She’s here!”

Through the entrance came four servants carrying a gold draped sedan chair. When the servants lay down the chair, two guards on each side stood in front, facing each other. From the chair came a tall Elf woman in a long, white dress with a small crown on the top of her head. Her braided, black hair and gray eyes blended with her white skin. She walked slowly out of the sedan chair as the others stared at her. Derik walked up to the woman and greeted her.

“Empress Dido of the Fifth Vergimin Empire and Chairman of the Vergomon Council. Welcome back to the Hall of Concord.”

Dido looked down at the housekeeper. “Is my room clean?” she asked.

“They are very clean,” said the housekeeper loudly so all the leaders could hear.

Through the entrance, a human dressed in a violet fur cape and a golden crown stomped on the stone floor.

Before Derik could greet him, he yelled, “Hello everyone!”

As the rest of the leaders greeted him back, he gave a big grin, covered by his short orange beard. Finally, Derik was able to greet the fat man.

“King Charles of Galdoria. Welcome back.”

Standing beside Charles was another human dressed in a white and gold robe. His brown hair was balding at the top, forming a halo on his head. The monk walked up to the short housekeeper.

“Hello, Derik.”

“Brother Martin!” said the housekeeper, looking up at the monk. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well. Are we waiting for anyone else?”

“Well,” said Derik nervously, “Andrea is the only one left.”

“May the divines carry her safely to this island,” prayed Martin. “Come, let us pray for our safety tomorrow.”

Brother Martin was the head of the Universal Congress. His job was to keep the peace amongst the members and break ties during a voting session. Although he was supposed to be in a neutral position, he was secretly sided with King Charles, who was sided with Dido and Lumos.

As the sun finally set, the leaders stood with excitement, waiting for the new member. They were all silent. Jonathan, looking over the wall, saw a caravel, with a black sail with a diamond and an eye in the middle, docking in the harbor. He ran towards the housekeeper, who stood near the entrance.

“She’s here! She’s here!” cried the boy. “The Queen of Mirewood is here!”

The housekeeper and leaders all stood frozen with their eyes fixed on the entrance. Their hearts raced at the same time, creating a quire of heart beats. After a long suspense, the quire of heartbeats turned into applause. Through the door came the new member of the Universal Congress. She walked casually, almost like a commoner. But she received the applause of a divine hero.  

She was a thin, tall girl, rising five feet and ten inches. She had bedraggled, blackish-indigo hair that went to her jaw. Unlike other Dark Elves, her skin was a lighter shade of blue. Besides that, she had pointy ears and yellow hawk eyes. She wore a black, satin shirt, which draped over her black, knee-high leggings. Her sleeveless shirt was choked at the waist by a brown, leather belt. Covering that was a thin, black cloak going to her ankles. Unlike the other leaders, shel did not wear any gold or silver.

Derik walked up to greet her, but everyone else beat him to it. A quire of cheers and hellos filled the entrance area. The girl, in reaction to this madness, gave a surprised but frightened smile. Finally, Brother Martin shushed the leaders and walked up to the girl.

“Queen Andrea of Mirewood. Welcome to the Hall of Concord. We are proud to have you in the Universal Congress. Your mother would’ve been proud.”

Andrea gave a silent “Thank you” as the members of the Universal Congress, except Grognar, clapped their hands.

 

Don’t Make Prank Phone Calls, Kids! (Excerpt)

“Hello?” six-year-old Fate said into her mother’s cellphone.

“Oh, ah, hello, Porro! My house went down in a fire today, and the firemen are extinguishing the flames, but my son, Terry, is still inside. The flames are getting bigger and bigger, and I’m getting more and more worried. I just wanted to tell you because you’re my sister. Also, do you have a cold? You sound different. How are your twins doing?” She didn’t sound worried at all.

“Uh, I don’t know what the words you just said mean,” Fate said, picking her nose.  

“Oh, ah, yes, you’re new to the English language!” Fate’s Aunt, Carry, said. “Well, the point is, my son is in a fire and is probably going to die. Anyways, that’s not important right now. How are Cake and Fate?”

“My mommy isn’t home,” she then took her slimy finger out of her nostril and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Oh, my! Fate? Is that you? Or is that Cake? You guys sound just alike. Anyways, forget all the stuff I just said to you. Everyone’s fine. Heh. Heh…” Carry said, and on the other line, she was shrugging off the topic as if it were troublesome dirt on her shoulder that she was sweeping off.

“My mommy went grocery shopping with Cakey. Also, my daddy doesn’t like you!”

“What?! I thought that we were friends! He said that he did and now he is being such a liar! Why? Why? Why?” she said, including some words that may not be written.

“I don’t know no words you said just now. My daddy still doesn’t like you.”  

“Well, I DON’T LIKE-” Fate hung up.

“Fate? Cake? Where are you? Where did you put my phone?” Porro’s voice was rising now, getting angrier. “You two are going to be in so much trouble when I find you!”

“Cakey, c’mon! Stop standing there like an idiot! If mommy catches us, we’re dead!”

Fate grabbed Cake’s shaking arm and practically dragged her into their closet. Fate put the cell phone in a little box that was supposed to be for shoes, but she had thrown those away when they were three. “Don’t tell Mommy where I hid this! Okay?”

Cake nodded, cowering in the corner. Fate quickly opened a little hatch in the floor and jumped into the hole.  

Cake’s eyes widened. “T-the bunker?” she said. “I thought we were saving that for the zombie apocalypse!”  

“This is the start of the zombie apocalypse! Now get down here before that zombie bites you!” Fate yelled from down in the bunker.

“O-okay…” Cake said, and jumped down, closing the hatch as she went.  

She landed on her butt on a mattress with a little ‘oof.’  

“Now, shush,” Fate said. “Mommy will be coming very soon.”

“You mean the zombie?”

Fate grinned. “I mean, the zombie.”

 

Truth and Lies

ALEJANDRO

JULY 5, 1999. 10:00PM

I stood in the corner of a dark bar, smoking a cigarette. I called for the bartender to pour me another drink even though I knew I shouldn’t have. I looked around to find my cousin, Sebastian, playing poker at a nearby table. I caught his gaze and waved.

“Alejandro, come play cards with us,” he called, and I lazily strolled over. “You have any money?” he asked.

I reached into my pocket, my hands touching a warm twenty dollar bill I had picked up at the bank earlier that day. That wasn’t for spending, I remembered, and I pulled my hand back out, shaking my head.

“I must have forgotten it,” I told him, who, judging by the dazed look on his face, had already had one too many drinks that night.

Getting into trouble with him would be serious business, and if I wanted to come home with my limbs still attached, I’d better remove myself from this risky activity. Sebastian often came to the bar, and he had been known to get into fights. But Sebastian was smart, and he had caught onto what I was doing.

“Are you lying just to get away from me?” he said in his low voice, slowly pulling back his chair and standing up.

Backing away, I shook my head. When I realised that he was following me, I broke into a run. I had to get away, back home to my family. It was a warm night, even for Colombia, and I was panting and sweating. I hid myself behind a large dumpster, realizing that even now, there was little chance of me getting away safely. When he leaves, you’ll get into your car and make a run for it, I told myself. But tonight the moon was full, and it was easy to see, even in the dark. A single movement and he would be able to find me, even in his drunken state.

Suddenly, I heard a loud bang, like the sound of a car backfiring. Wincing, I fell to the floor, but not before capturing a glimpse of Sebastian, dangling like an ape from the tree above.

“Adiós amigo,” I heard him call in a raspy voice.

Seconds later, the whole world turned pitch black.

 

LUCIA

JULY 6, 1999. 2:30AM

It was just past two-thirty in the morning when I got the call.

“Is this Lucia Rodriguez?” a solemn voice asked me.

“Yes. Who is this? Why do you call me at this hour?” I mumbled.

“Do you know Alejandro Garcia?”

“Yes, yes. What is the matter?”

“We have grave news. Mr. Garcia died this evening. Your daughter, Josephina, requests your presence.”

I hung up the phone, bewildered. This had come so quickly, so unexpectedly. Wiping away tears from my eyes, I took a deep breath, quickly slipped out of bed, threw on a robe over my nightgown, and wearily drove to Josephina’s small apartment in the city. The police had already arrived and had begun to bombard her with questions. Pushing and shoving, I fought my way through an endless web of them to reach Josephina.

Cálmate, calm down, my daughter,” I told Josephina in a soft voice.

Then I turned to the policemen, who were all waiting and disapprovingly watching this spectacle.

¡Largate! Get out!” I shouted, pointing at the door.

Obediently and with little objection, they quickly proceeded to leave. How careless of them, interrogating a poor woman, I thought, before shouting “NO VUELVAS! Don’t come back!” before slamming the front door. This was a personal matter. Before I could ask any more questions, Josephina began to speak.

“It was Sebastian,” she said in a mix of anger and tears. “Tio Sebastian killed Alejandro!”


All I could do was shake my head in despair. I bent down, trying to hide the tears that were pouring down my face. My first thought was why would mi hermano, my brother, ever do such a thing to his own nephew? But on the other hand, I knew what Sebastian was capable of when he was drinking, and I had been expecting it, although I never quite knew just how devastated I would actually feel.

“Does Sofia know?” I whispered, trying not to wake the sleeping toddler in the other room.

I already knew the answer just by the look on Josephina’s face. Upstairs, I heard a loud wail, and I watched as Josephina wearily walked into the baby’s room. She picked up the baby, and began to rock the baby to back to sleep, humming quietly.

 

SOFIA

APRIL 1, 2011. 12:30PM

I stepped out of the airport, taking my first gasp of fresh air since I had left smoggy Los Angeles six hours earlier. I could smell the palm trees, see the bright blue sky, and feel the warm rays cast off of the sun. I loved it. Instantly, I saw my aunt calling for me. My uncle followed a few steps behind, lugging a large cart full of gifts that my aunt had likely selected from the marketplace a few hours earlier.

“Hola! Sofia! You are so tall!” Tia Lucia called out in her loud voice as she plopped a large, straw hat onto my head.

She was a short, large woman who always was full of happiness and excitement. Her English was rusty, but I could tell the pure sense of joy she was feeling.

Seconds later, my cousin, Santiago, appeared, carrying what seemed to be a baby carriage. I peered inside and was greeted by the smiling face of my youngest cousin, already covered in the odor of my aunt’s strong floral perfume. I wanted to reach for the baby, to carefully rock it back and forth, singing the same lullabies that my mother had sung to me. But now wasn’t the time for singing. I followed them through the crowd, rushed by my cousins past groups of other reunited families. Loud music was playing, and I could smell fresh fruit being sold at nearby street carts. I saw an old woman selling paella, my favorite dish, but before I could stop, I tripped and fell. By the time I got myself up, my family had already gone. I was lost.

Seconds later, my uncle, Tío Diego, appeared, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me back.

“We must stick together here,” he said in his deep, plangent voice, before continuing on to catch up with my aunt.

It was then that I noticed just how tall he was. While he didn’t ever bear any expression, I began to realise the difficulty of his job. It was his obligation to take care of me, to keep me safe while I was in Colombia. At that moment, the image of my dead father flashed in my head. I had only known him from pictures, but in that moment, I could feel his comforting presence. But it was that softness that ultimately got him killed.

“We must be strong,” she had told me.

Before we left for America, I had felt that God was there for me. But first, after my father’s death, and then after my mother, Josephina, started to stay out late and drink too much, I began to question his actuality. Here, back in Colombia, with my cousins and aunts and uncles, I felt truly at home.

I stepped into my uncle’s rusty pickup truck. Tia Lucia had insisted that I sit in the passenger seat, and I had obliged. Santiago mumbled something under his breath, and I could tell he disapproved. In Colombia, life was different, and he was not given the same opportunities that I had been given back in America. School was my only hope for a better future, and Santiago didn’t have that hope anymore. As we drove by rows and rows of empty fields on dirt roads, I thought of my abuela. I used to think she was the smartest person in the world. I remember us sitting on the rocking chair on her porch, telling me stories about Paris and London and New York. Back then they had seemed so fantastical, utopian, like faraway dreams. But years later, I now knew that those stories weren’t always true. Moving to America and learning about the world had taught me just how multi-sided the world is. These faraway lands had once seemed like they were fit for fairy tales. It made me bitter and frustrated just thinking about it, about the real truth and our world, full of lies.

Back in the realm of reality, I glanced out of the window to find all of my excited cousins and family members. The car stopped, and I got out, welcomed with hugs and kisses. There was Tio Mateo and Tio Diego and Tia Luciana and Tia Valentina with my eight cousins. Lurking in the corner was someone who I didn’t recognize.

“Meet your Tio Sebastian, my brother,” Tia Lucia told me, and he held out his hand.

I didn’t know why, but both of them exchanged glances. Anyway, I was too tired to find out.

 

SEBASTIAN

APRIL 1, 2011. 10:15PM.

I grabbed Lucia and pulled her into the kitchen. We had just finished dinner and everyone had finally gone upstairs. I bolted the door.

“What were you thinking, bringing the girl here?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Sebastian, she is family. We must put the past behind us. I am already doing you a great favor by keeping you here. If Josephina were to find out…” She said, her voice trailing off.

“Silencio, Lucia!” I said, practically growling.

Nobody could know our little secret or it would be the end of me.

“Okay, okay, Sebastian, what more do you want me to do? I secretly kept you in this house all these years. You’d be in jail if it wasn’t for me,” Lucia told me.

She looked tired and was beginning to sound quite frustrated with me.

“Nothing! Just keep quiet, please! The girl can’t know I killed her father!” I didn’t realise how loud I was being.

Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much with dinner. Suddenly, I heard a noise from outside the door.

“What the…”  

 

SOFIA

APRIL 1, 2011. 10:20PM

I had gone down to get a drink of water, only to find the kitchen door bolted. Hushed whispers were coming from inside. I quickly realised that it was Tia Lucia with Sebastian. I knew something was up with them! Peering through a crack in the door, I watched Sebastian pace around the room indecisively. Their conversation kept on growing louder and louder. Then Sebastian’s voice.

“Nothing! Just keep quiet, please! The girl can’t know I killed her father!”


A sinking feeling took over me. How could he do such a thing? How could Lucia, my precious aunt, have hidden this from me? I was shocked! All these years, it was Sebastian, su hermano, her brother, who had killed my father. I had known something was wrong, but I never suspected it to be this horrible. Suddenly, the door opened, and Tia Lucia peered out. For a couple of moments, she caught my gaze, horrified.

“Aye, Sofia, come back!” she called from the doorway.

But I was already gone.

 

M.

The water was dirty. He could see the grime washing off with every move of his hands over his dirty body; specks of blood flaked off into the water and opened old wounds that he didn’t know he had. His toes poked against the surface of the water, hair slicked back with shampoo. Months without relaxation, and he was tense. His long curls were matted and dirty, their once shiny brown now a dirty black from the soot and soil in the places he was sleeping. When you are on the streets, you don’t look for luxury.

There was something so odd about being in a stranger’s house, a stranger’s bed. But Haven House was filled with strangers, was it not? No one here had known him before this had happened, and that was completely fine by him. He closed his eyes. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to stop thinking about all this. His momma’s words swirled in his mind as he lathered his arms up to wash away the grime from the streets, and his green eyes glanced around the neat bathroom.   

One: Talking about yourself in the third person makes things easier to handle. It’s like disassociation, this method, but it isn’t as intense. It can come and go as you please.

Two: Words never really mean anything. A promise is just air out of lungs. A promise can always be broken.

Three: He wasn’t worth her spit.

Four: The lord would save his soul if he would just stop calling himself a boy. He wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t a boy, he would never be a boy. Dreams like that aren’t meant to come true.

Take a deep breath. One more. Then another. Release. Wash the soap out of your hair and run your fingers over the bruises. Let the water drain from the tub and towel yourself off, watch as your skin slowly turns caramel again instead of the dirty brown.  Stop referring to yourself in third person. You are here, you are safe, you are here.  

I am here.

***

I step out onto the cold floor. My feet hit the linoleum and I stiffen as the hairs on my arms stand up. The towels are comforting as I wrap them around my form, and I remind myself that I am alive. I am a human being.  All my life, I have been told to be a good girl. My momma, with her teeth rotten and yellowed, spoke in harsh tones. I was brought into this world as a mistake, an accident waiting to happen. The moment he touched her, she told me once, her entire body was ignited in a high that the pills had never given her. And as a result, I became a life. I became alive.

She isn’t here, though. She’s somewhere a few towns over, working for her pay in a diner and winking at customers as she pours their coffee. At night she’ll shack up with whomever decides to have her, and she’ll get extra pay, and she’ll use it to rot her teeth even more until they fall out of her head like her Daddy’s did and his Daddy’s before him. It’s a never-ending, spiral addiction at its finest. My momma belongs on a drug PSA.

When she goes to church, though, that doesn’t matter. She washes her hands in the baptism tub and all her sins are gone. She is a new being, a deity of pure blood again. Gramma always told me that the second my Momma was born, Gramma knew she was “inauspicious.” She was the only one of her children who never dreamt of growing up to be something monumental.

There were nine. Stacy said she wanted to be a princess; Gilbert, an astronaut; Bimmie, a movie star; Eugene, a singer; Clarice, the president; the twins, secret agents. Pangea said she was meant for stardom. Momma just said she wanted to grow up.

***

I put on the clothes they gave me for bed and tie my hair back with a borrowed scrunchie, my tan hands fumbling with the thick waves as I reach for the electric razor. One of the other kids knocks on the door and I clean up my mess before opening it for them. His eyes glance over me, razor in hand. I recognize him from the front office. Devin. He has a soft face and red hair that brushes over his skull softly — in a way that makes him look sweet — but I get the feeling there’s an edge inside him, that he did some regrettable things to stay alive on the streets. Then again, we all did. That’s how they found us.

***

He reaches his hand out for the razor, quirking a brow at me as his deep voice fills the stiff air between us. It takes me a moment to process his offer to give me a haircut. My suspicion about his character is proven when he tells me my long hair makes me look like a girl.

He’s invalidating my existence already, and I’ve only just met him.

He seems like what I imagine my father to be like.

***

I sit down on the floor and pull at his shirt to tell him to sit, and he obliges and plugs in the razor for me. “You’ll have to be still so that I don’t nick you,” he says.

I nod, understanding. Before he turns it on, the tool emits a soft buzzing as he presses it against my skull, his other hand holding the back of my neck. I don’t like people touching me — but could I tell him that? He runs the razor over my head in a long streak, my hair falling onto my legs as he continues working to get my hair off.

“Damn.” He says, blowing off the razor. “You got that thick Indian hair, huh kid?” He asks, and I grit my teeth. It has always been this way. My thick hair, my Indian skin, my green eyes that Momma says my Pops gave me. She has blue eyes. They’re light and gentle, like a loving touch to the shoulder, and if you weren’t in her family you might even go as far as to say they looked kind.   

He lets me go, and I don’t even realize until I reach up to touch my head and feel the fuzz. My head is now bare, the locks all over my legs and the floor beneath them. Devin grins like he’s about to catch his prey. His teeth are all crooked, and they remind me of the man who works with my Momma and always offers me free milkshakes, since Momma told him they are my favorite. They’ve been working together since I was six, and until I was nine, I never realized what the milkshakes meant. I stopped liking milkshakes that year. I stopped going to the diner. I started wanting braces to fix my crooked teeth. The trouble with trauma is that, to this day, my gut still turns when I see him.

They got married last spring.

***

Devin leaves. I am still sitting on the floor, glancing down at the pale blue tiles on the bottom edges of the tub. As I crawl up to sit on the edge of the bathtub, I feel like a child again. This happens often, the feeling of reducing myself back into a smaller, naive version of myself. Most people like to talk about being young and only having to worry about things like coloring inside the lines, but I never had that luxury. Most often, I was wondering who would be sleeping next to me at night. I stand up, dust myself off, walk to the next room to grab a broom, and sweep my thick hair up and into a dustpan to throw it away. In Japan, they like to say that cutting your hair off is a form of letting the past go. Like cutting the pain away, as if it were a dead limb. In a way, it is. What I feel is a lot like having a ghost limb. Except, maybe, it’s not your own arm, but someone else’s — with a constant hand around your neck.

***

As I make my way downstairs to the office, my feet pad along the floor.  In the hallway, some of the doors are open; I see the other kids, straightening their rooms for the night. One girl, or I assume she’s a girl because of her fuzzy pajama pants, is putting her phone under her pillow and shutting off the lights. I leave the lights on, always, because there’s something vulnerable about being in the dark.

When I walk in, the woman at the desk starts talking to me. Her voice is softer than my momma’s constantly angry tone — it’s almost like the sound equivalent to melting butter. I really don’t understand half of what she’s saying, because I’m too focused on the way her lips curve upward in a sympathetic smile; one that I can tell she puts on for every kid here. She stands up, and I notice that she’s wearing a skirt. Her name tag says “Imogene”. Judging by her neck and her facial structure, she looks like an artist’s model. I remind myself to test her structure with my charcoals later, wondering if I’ll be able to swallow my anxiety long enough to ask for paper.  I follow after her as she leads me to a closet and hands me a pair of sheets, a comforter, and other bedding. The hallway walls are a pale yellow color with white trim. The cleanliness of it comforts me in a way, and for that I’m thankful. Especially because I’ll have to meet my new roommate in just a moment. Imogene knocks on the door to one of the rooms on the lower end of the hall, and a tall boy (or at least he seems like a boy) opens it and stares me down before stepping out of the way.

She instructs me to make my bed and put away what I have in my bag, then tells the taller youth to show me to the clothes’ room for new garments, since mine are fairly dirty and torn. He nods, and holds a hand out to me. It’s much bigger than my own, swallowing my tan fingers beneath his pale palm. Once the bedding is made, he shows me to the closet, tells me his name is Wyatt, and waits for me at the door as I grab a few shirts and jeans.

As we go back to the room, my eyes already start darting around the room. In my head, I take notes about my surroundings, already figuring out how easy it would be to run away if things go bad. There’s one window between our two beds, above a nightstand that I assume is to be shared. On the nightstand is one lamp, with a dirty white shade and a silver base that reflects the shining overhead light. The walls are a pale basche and the bedding is a soft yellow that makes it seem almost unreal, like something out of a retro movie about teenage runaways. Wyatt has small metal structures. They look like they’re mostly made out of tin cans, scattered around surfaces in the room. Different types of flowers are made by bending the thin metal, others are small robots and things of the sort. I was just starting to think of what his fascination with them might be when he pulls out a wallet, shaking it in my direction.

“If you touch this, or look through my things without my permission, shit will hit the fan. My side,” he pauses, draws a line with the toe of his sneaker. “Your side.” He gestures to my side of the room, then sits on his bed and starts stripping to get ready for bed. I quietly crawl into my bed.

“If possible, I’d like to leave the lamp on for the night. I’ll get something to replace it soon, but for right now I want it on if it doesn’t bother you,” I quietly request with my eyes trained on my nails. He nods, stands up to turn the lamp on, then shuts the bright overhead light off. The lamp is dim, but gives off just enough light for me to see if anyone walks into the door. Perfect.

There’s always been something about a dark room that made me nervous. The vulnerability of it, perhaps. That’s why the alleyways I slept in were comforting, in a way; there was always light. Trusting that whoever you’re sleeping with isn’t going to decide to strangle you in the middle of the night, or something just as awful. It’s never been easy on me; I’ve never dealt well with roommates. My trust is always tested by the second day.

Regardless, Wyatt seems decent so far. He doesn’t seem too alarming, though it’s a bit surprising that the facility leaders are actually allowing me to sleep in the same room as someone who is, more than likely, biologically male. It hadn’t really occurred to me that my gender identity would be respected, even in a place like this.  Even after the light is off and the lamp dims in the night, it takes me a while to go to sleep.

***

When the morning comes, it’s easy to pry myself from the bedsheets and convince my tired brain to let me calm down for a few seconds. My legs dangle over the mattress and I take a few deep breaths, looking at Wyatt still fast asleep on his bed. And then standing up, I make my way to the bathroom and brush my teeth with one of the unopened toothbrushes from the large container on the counter. I turn the water on in the bath tub and pick at the scabs on my arms, looking at my frail form and my freshly exposed features. I debate whether or not I should just leave now and save everyone the trouble of actually getting to know me. I’ve always thought like this; my brain is constantly poised for fight or flight. It’s tiring, at times, to be as on edge as I am.

***

I step into the bath, letting the warm water pool around my legs and slowly up to my stomach. There has always been something about questioning my existence while taking a bath that I find fitting. So, thinking about how life has been for the past few months, I start to come to a conclusion.

It’s like being a tadpole. In the large pond we all call life, there are frogs and fishes and so many things that are capable of eating you alive. And in order to stay alive long enough, to grow into a frog and make your way up the food chain, you first have to figure out how to maneuver your way around the pond without getting swallowed by so many bigger species. And once you finally do make your way up, you don’t have a choice but to prey on those smaller than you to survive. And I don’t want to do that, but it’s the only way to stay in the pond.

Sometimes I think maybe I should just give up now and save myself the trouble. Drowning is always a possibility, like a flashing emergency exit in the back of my skull telling me that if I REALLY need to leave, it’s always there. Drowning victims can only struggle on the surface of the water from 20 to 60 seconds, and once you’re sinking, you only have a matter of minutes to get yourself to the top again before everything dies and your light goes out for good.

The tub isn’t large enough to submerge my entire form without my nose poking through the surface of the water, so I rule out that option. I would rather stay alive than have to live with the embarrassment of getting caught in the middle of an attempt to drown myself in the bathtub of a youth home for troubled queer kids.

Nonetheless, I can feel the large hands of gravity pulling me down to the Hell my momma always talked about. It’s a soothing thought, eternal nonexistence, but I can’t entertain the thought for too long. If living is wishing to survive then I’m doing something incredibly wrong, because my chest continues to pulse and it doesn’t feel like a heart is actually there, even though I know it is. There’s a wasp nest in my head, and they constantly fling themselves against my skull, hoping that eventually they’ll break through. It won’t go away, making me second-guess my decision to live. The wasps want me to die more than I want myself to die. I feel, most of the time, like my head is a totally different city than my body. Thinking of  myself as something inanimate makes it easier to handle things that are plaguing me.

By now, the water has tinted my skin pinker than its normal brown hue, and I realize that I’ve probably spent the last thirty minutes thinking about something that isn’t any more than a headache. Someone is banging on the door telling me to get out so that they can get a shower, so I open the drain and watch as the water swirls out before standing up and drying off, tugging on my clothes and leaving the bathroom with a muttered apology.

I’ve only been diagnosed with a hand full of disorders, but none of them relate to being transgender. They all just happen to be side effects of my childhood, and I don’t see my gender, my desire to peel off these breasts and stuff my pants, as a side effect.  It’s more like a fate that waited to come to me. When I start down the hall, I see a man in a suit, and it seems like the entire weight of the world is pressing against my back telling me to run because men in suits never come just to shake your hand and tell you good job. It always means something serious.  I rush off to my room, put my things in the laundry bin, and pick at the scabs on my face as I look in the mirror. This has become religion for me, messing with my face every morning, trying to pick off the imperfections.

 My train of thought is interrupted when a woman walks in and tells me the psychiatrist is here to do a mental evaluation in order to make sure I’m a “fit” for the home. She assures me that it isn’t going to be my job to pay for the expenses and then ushers me out of the room, down the hall to where the man is standing with a clipboard in hand and pencils sticking out of his jacket pocket. I find myself starting to draw away.

His blazer is navy blue, and the shirt underneath is white with diagonal stripes that match his blazer and pants that are a light khaki. It’s unsettling how professional he looks, how rich he seems just by his fancy haircut and his outfit. Like he could come to this place dressed casually, or at least more casual than this, but he would rather not because he has fancy suits to spare. He shakes my hand, and it’s then that I notice his frame is much larger than mine. When his palm swallows mine, he gives me a smile that plainly reads “I’m only here to get paid so that I can keep buying these ridiculously expensive outfits, and I can already tell you’re fucked up” before holding the door to a small office open for me. I run over a list in my head, trying to reassure myself that it’s not going to end too badly. It can’t.

  • He’s only here to make sure I’m healthy. He isn’t going to make me feel bad if there is actually something wrong with me.
  • He’s seen worse people than me.
  • I have problems, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be fixed; being out of my momma’s house was the first step.
  • If I really want to, and if I put in the effort, I can get over what happened in my past and finally be a kid. I can stop worrying.
  • I’m safe here.

 

I’m standing at the edge of the doorway when I hear the front door to the house slam and two women trying to sternly usher someone out.  I look over to see what the commotion is all about, when an adult from the other room comes over and tries to hurry me into the office, giving the doctor a concerned look as she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. And that’s when I hear it. The Spanish cursing, her words sharp enough to cut through an artery, and I freeze as my momma comes into my view, her hollowed out cheekbones just as sharp as ever. If I had to guess, she and my stepfather got high right before they came. For now, though, my brain is stuck in panic mode. She figured out where I was and traveled all the way here. As she comes through the doorway, her husband is beside her, holding her hand tight, and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, mostly directed at a nurse who’s trying to hold her back. From what I can tell, it looks like Imogene.

Momma is busy looking at the nurses but as she glances over to target another with her screeching yells, her eyes fix on me. I can tell she notices my freshly shaved head, and that she’s raging inside because of it. She knows better than to act angry towards me when I’m surrounded by professionals, though. She knows they have the authority to keep me out of her grip for good, and then what would she do? So she uses a softer tone, trying to let them know that all she wants is to get her little girl back. Trying to sound like a half decent mother:

“Marissa, baby,”

And that’s when it all snapped. That’s when I couldn’t take any more, and the voices in my head were all screaming, and I just couldn’t hold it in any longer, and there weren’t any tears. I couldn’t help it, I had to stop myself, I had to pause and make a new list, because that’s all I could do to stop myself from screaming at her. The tone of my own voice in my head, threatening to spill from my lips, was so threatening that I scared even myself.

  • I can be the boy I’ve always known I am, and she can’t change that.
  • Violence won’t change their minds.
  • My name doesn’t have to be Marissa if I don’t want it to be.
  • Everyone here, everyone in this house, is here to help. She can’t hurt me.
  • The restraining order is already in place, she shouldn’t be here in the first place. 

 

So I take a deep breath. I call myself down from the ledge of a psychotic episode, and I speak.

“It’s Michael.”  The proclamation of my new name is the last thing out of my mouth before I walk into the psychiatrist’s office. I watch the doctor lock the door behind us, while my momma keeps screaming as they drag her out of the house. But I know I can do this, I know I can tell him what’s wrong, and I know I can be honest. The last thing I hear is her promise that she’ll come back to get me, to make sure I know how much I’ve hurt our family and our “good name.” But if I know anything in this world, it’s that words never really mean anything.

A promise is just air out of lungs.

 

Death by Misadventure

Winnie’s short curls waved in the hot air. The ground was hot. The air was humid. She looked up at the figure beside her. Death looked back. A small smile spread across his face. Silence filled the space between them.

“You’re early,” Death finally said.

***

Alexander Martin crossed the street, his mind swirling with thoughts. He wiped away the tears building up under his round glasses. He stared down at his sneakers, anger and shame churning in his chest. In the distance, a horn sounded, growing closer yet staying in the back of Alex’s mind. His feet hit the pavement, one after the other, moving quickly but not quickly enough. Brakes screeched next to him, and he turned to see headlights inches from his face. His mind slowly processed the situation around him, but he felt the impact of the car slamming into his body before he could reach a single conclusion.

Alex awoke to find darkness surrounding him and a pit in his chest. He looked down at himself. Nothing had changed, except for his surroundings. He walked around, unsure what had happened. His last memory was of the car coming towards him. He put the clues together; he wasn’t at home, or school, and he had just been hit by a moving vehicle. Could he be in a coma? Or dead? The thought filled him with terror, and fear filled his bones, making his legs shake. His head spun, and he sat down on the cool ground, curling up and letting hot tears run down his cheeks and onto his jeans.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting in an eerie kind of way. He looked up to meet the eyes of a tall man wearing a black and red cloak. His eyes were golden, his face obscured in darkness. “Alexander,” he boomed. “Welcome to the afterlife.”

Alex stood, wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his jumper. “What’s happening to me?” he whispered. He studied the man’s attire, his face, his voice, his demeanor. He was terrifying, yet somehow comforting. Maybe anything could be comforting in this predicament.

“Think of yourself as an angel now,” the man said. “I am a spirit left to guide those who enter our world and send them on their way. That is your job, but for the living. You will be assigned a human to protect.”

“Protect?” Alex repeated. “From what?”

The man’s expression darkened. “Demons. Angry spirits setting out to avenge themselves. Spirits with a dangerous amount of power to wield.” He gave Alex a reassuring look. “Don’t worry. Such things are rare and can be resolved easily. Now that you’re caught up, let’s find you a human.” He walked off, as Alex struggled to keep up.

“Wait!” He cried. “Can the human hear me? See me? What if I mess up? What if I ruin their life?” His voice trailed away. As the person paused, the room began to twist and turn like a camera struggling to focus on an object. He looked in every direction in an attempt to make sense of what was happening. A small room came into focus, with hardwood floors covered in clothing, and a desk overflowing with books and papers. On the center of the floor sat a young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with a notebook opened on her lap and a pencil grasped tightly in her hand. A quick look around showed the spirit in the ominous cloak had left. He was on his own.

Alex sat cross-legged on the floor next to her. The room was humid, a small fan on the desk blowing the girl’s short brown curls into her face. Her walls were a light yellow color, paint chipping and falling to the ground in some places. Small pencil marks and drawings covered the faded paint, barely noticeable from far away. She wore a light yellow blouse made of a thin, soft material. A halo of shoulder-length brown hair sat on her head in thick curls. Bangs nearly covered her eyes, but small flecks of green shot out at Alex every once and awhile. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her eyes narrowed and shoulders tense.

All of a sudden, she jumped to her feet, leaving the notebook open on the floor. She paced, her bare feet making the floorboards creak with every agitated step. Alex watched, intrigued. She paused and stared at a crack, next to the window covered by a small wire screen, in the wall. He stood next to her and stared at the wall, listening to the sounds of birds chirping in the distance and the girl’s heavy breathing. He turned to face her, a determined look on his face. Slowly, he reached out his arm to touch her. His hand seemed to go right through her without touching her at all.

She remained in the same position, completely unfazed. Alex looked down at his hand in disappointment and crossed the room to the desk. He plopped down on the floor in frustration, letting out a defeated sigh. His head knocked against the desk, but he felt no pain where he had hit the hard wooden object. A flurry of papers fell from the top of the desk and landed on the ground, making a small whooshing noise. The girl spun around in shock, looking around the empty room. Her eyes fell on Alex and quickly moved away, scanning the rest of the floor. She looked afraid, distrustful. Alex felt a small pang in his chest. She looked just like — no, better not to dwell on that. Not now, at least.

“That’s weird,” she whispered. Sitting down, she organized the papers into a small pile, then stood to put them back on the desk. Alex looked at the abandoned pencil and notebook on the floor and inspiration struck him. He began writing, quickly and quietly to ensure that she wouldn’t see him writing. By the desk, she was rearranging books and papers and creating a great amount of noise, just enough to conceal his pencil scratches. When he finished writing, he set the pencil aside and sat in the corner, watching. She grabbed the pencil and resumed her writing, pausing when she found his writing.

Hello, it read. I’m Alex. Sorry for dropping your papers. There’s no way to make this sound normal, but I died. Now I’m here, protecting you, and I’m completely lost. You can’t hear me or see me. But I’m here, and I’d rather not be alone in death as well as life.

She looked around in horror, and Alex shuddered in his corner. Small tears welled in the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away furiously. Shame burned like an oven in Alex’s chest. He stood and retreated into the dark corners of his mind where he could forget about all the misfortune that had befallen him.

***

Alex spent a week learning about her. He didn’t attempt to communicate with her, but he could tell she was still curious by the way she waited for words to appear when she sat down to write or turned excitedly at any small sound. He learned her name was Winnie, she was sixteen, and she didn’t have many friends. She spent a great deal of time writing and drawing. She would write about her aspirations and thoughts and anything else that occurred in her life. She wrote about how she had moved from New York City to Columbus, Ohio, a small suburban haven away from the city life she was used to. She had lived in Columbus for four months.

One cool August day, Winnie was sitting on her porch watching birds fly above. Alex sat next to her, feeling very uncomfortable in the same yellow jumper he had been wearing since he died. He hadn’t figured out how to change his appearance yet. They sat in silence, until finally Winnie let out a frustrated sigh. “I know you’re here. Do something if you’re here. Show me a sign or something like that.” She pushed her hair away from her forehead, her eyes glimmering with excitement. Alex searched for some way to alert her of his presence. His eyes fell on a small rock sitting on the sidewalk, about the size of a nectarine. He picked it up, tossing it into the center of the cul-de-sac where Winnie’s house sat. Her eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, and she ran after the rock. She held it in her hand, smiling widely. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew you were here.”

Alex smiled, her happiness spreading to him. She tossed the rock up and down, watching its journey intently. He barely noticed the world around him turning back to black, until it was all around him. He spun around, confused and scared.

“Winnie!” he shouted. He yelled her name again, then felt a cold hand turn him around. It was a boy, similar to him. He had an evil glint in his eyes, something malicious and almost demonic. Alex was taken aback and stepped away from him. “Who are you?”

The boy grinned. “Why, I’m shocked you don’t remember me. I certainly remember visiting you in your last moments.” He twisted and changed form, and suddenly resembled Winnie, though less joyful. “I’m a spirit, I died like you. You remind me of myself quite an amount, actually. Except you obey the rules.” He waved his hand and an image of Winnie appeared into darkness. “She’s not worth your time. You see, everyone says that she needs you, but she doesn’t. People die every day, they can replace you. Why not have some fun?”

Alex looked at the boy, shocked. Sure, he enjoyed looking after Winnie, but was it worth it? Besides, Winnie couldn’t even see him. “What do you mean, you visited me?”

He smiled slyly. “Well, I always love watching angry or troubled humans. You seemed plenty troubled that day.”

“What’s your name?” Alex asked.

“I used to be Benjamin,” he said, “though nobody has called me by that in centuries.”

Alex considered his words. “Is that when you died? Centuries ago?”

The boy nodded. “War,” he said solemnly. Alex looked at his appearance more closely, noticing for the first time that he was dressed in older-looking clothing — clothing covered in dirt and blood that had most likely been worn on a battlefield. Alex felt his blood churn just looking at the boy and picturing how his last moments must have been. “Anyways,” Benjamin said, clearing his throat, “we’re not here to talk about me. Nor are we here to talk about you. I’ve brought you here to talk about this girl you’ve been assigned.”

“Her name is Winnie,” Alex interjected.

“This is why I’m here,” Benjamin said. “You’re becoming attached to her. It’s rather pitiful to watch. You need to stop pretending that you’re still alive, because you’re not.”

“What are you suggesting I do?”

“Prove to me you aren’t becoming more attached than you should,” Benjamin said. “Prove you won’t go down the same paths I watched you take before.” Their surroundings began to twist and turn, Benjamin’s appearance becoming blurry and unfocused. Slowly, Winnie’s house appeared with her sitting on the stoop as if she had never moved. He raced towards her, feeling like his feet were stuck in quicksand. He reached the step where she sat and sat down, breathing heavily. Next to him, Winnie stared at the sky, lost in thought.

“Winnie?” Alex said tentatively, knowing fully she wouldn’t hear him. “Are you there, somewhere? I’m in trouble. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared of becoming attached to you. I’m scared of trusting Benjamin. I’m scared.” He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “I’m lost, completely and utterly lost.”

Winnie looked in his direction in confusion. “Alex?” she whispered. “I feel as though I can hear someone talking in the back of my mind, but I don’t know whether to trust it.”

Alex looked up in surprise. “Could it be because you know I’m here? Because you’re more open minded and welcomed to the idea of communicating with me?” He stood, energy and excitement coursing through him. He looked down at his body, which had begun to become slightly transparent the longer he spent as a spirit. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to make himself solid again by some random chance. “Please work,” he whispered, “God, please let this work.”

He heard a small gasp from Winnie’s direction, and opened his eyes to see her staring at him, her eyes wide and full of wonder. He looked down at his body, which was no longer see-through. She stood and walked towards him, a smile spreading across her face. He felt a tingling, excited feeling in his stomach.

“Hello, Alex,” she said, extending her hand for him to shake. “Nice to finally meet your acquaintance.”

***

“What happened to you? Why are you here? What’s death like?” Winnie asked intently. The pair were sitting on the floor of Winnie’s room, a bag of chips open between them. Alex tried to pick one up, but he felt lightheaded and decided against it. He was already pushing his limits by remaining somewhat visible.

“I got hit by a car,” Alex replied.

“Did you see it coming? Did you try to get away?”

“I was thinking about something,” Alex answered, feeling uncomfortable. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What were you thinking about?” Winnie pressed.

“My girlfriend,” Alex blurted. “Anyways, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“I’m Winnie, I’m sixteen, I just moved here from New York City because my parents got divorced and my mom wanted to get away from the city life. Besides, she has family here. I have no friends yet, but hopefully I’ll make some. I would assume you already know some of these things after watching me.”

Alex nodded along as she spoke, every word reminding him of his life. He had spent it in a small corner of Manhattan for his entire life, one nearly absent of cars and teenagers. He had gone to a high school fairly nearby, about thirty minutes by cab depending on traffic. He had been standing just outside the school when she had approached him, her long brown curls blowing in the wind, her lips painted a bright red. Guilt was evident on her face, though she was trying hard to hide it. She gave him a hug, short and emotionless.

“Jen!” came a voice from behind them. She pulled away to face a tall, attractive boy in a basketball jersey. She skipped over to him with a glowing smile on her face and kissed his cheek. A red smear of lipstick remained where her lips had rested. Alex felt a dull pang in his chest, a feeling of betrayal and loneliness filling him. He started away, his eyes to the ground, tears welling.

Then pain, immense pain. And then darkness. Then Winnie, who was now staring at him with a concerned look. “Memories,” Alex whispered. “They resurface sometimes.” Her hair was just as curly as Jen’s, though a quarter of the length. Her face was free of makeup, with only her freckles and the occasional spot of acne. He reached out to touch one of her curls, but he barely felt the hair against his skin. He wiped his eyes, though no tears had formed. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “I can do certain things, insignificant things, like walk and talk, yet I’m disconnected still. I’m here, but I’m not truly here. It’s like Benjamin said, I’m not alive anymore.”

“Who’s Benjamin?” Winnie asked.

“He’s a ghost,” replied Alex. “He travels around, trying to wreak havoc on humans and ghosts alike. I don’t know much about him yet, but I’m not sure if I trust him.”

“Of course you shouldn’t trust him!” Winnie cried. “He could be plotting with the devil or something.”

“No one has mentioned the devil,” Alex mumbled. “Heck, I don’t even know if he exists. At least not in this part of the afterlife.” He considered the figure that had met him when he first entered the afterlife. Could he have been a devil of sorts? He seemed fairly opposed to devils, though.

Winnie shuddered. “This whole thing gives me the creeps. I don’t like the sound of this Benjamin character. I suggest you keep your distance.” Alex nodded, trying to reassure her. He decided it wouldn’t be wise to tell Winnie what Benjamin had told him.

That night, Alex went outside to walk around the neighborhood. He relaxed and allowed himself to be invisible as he explored, not wanting to be suspicious. After circling the block a few times, he returned to see Winnie’s mother sitting on the steps, talking on the phone. The door was closed. Alex was stuck. He drew closer, catching small bits of conversation.

“How’s dad doing?” She asked. “Are you enjoying the summer? When does school start again?” as she nodded and conversed,  Alex sat down next to her to try and listen to the person on the other end. It was a girl with a high-pitched, hysterical voice. She sounded as if she had been crying, or still was. “I know it’s hard, sweetie,” the woman replied. “It’s always hard to lose someone, especially someone so close. I wish Winnie and I could be there to comfort you and pay our respects, though we didn’t know him as well as you did. You dated for quite awhile, after all.”

Alex’s legs went numb, and he tried to steady himself on the side of the house. Millions of thoughts spun his mind like a record.  “I loved him, I really did. He was so sweet. It’s high school, everyone experiments. I can’t help but feel it’s my fault he died. He wouldn’t have gone storming off if not for me. He wouldn’t have been staring at the ground instead of the street.”

His heart was beating faster and faster, and panic grabbed his heart and squeezed it. He found it hard to breathe, or think, or function properly.

“They’re talking about me,” he gasped. “She’s talking to Jen. Winnie is Jen’s sister. That’s why I got assigned to her; her sister is overwhelmed with guilt. I’ve broken a family that’s broken enough on its own.” He paced the porch, no longer paying attention to whether he could be seen. He opened the door and stormed in, scaling the stairs and entering Winnie’s room. She looked up groggily when he entered.

“Alex?” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Your sister,” Alex said. “I’ve ruined your sister’s life.”

“What do you mean?” Winnie said.

“I dated your sister,” Alex whispered, breathless. “She cheated on me and I went storming off. I got hit by a car, and she’s driving herself mad with guilt.”

Winnie’s eyes were wide and full of sadness. She reached for Alex, but before she could the world had spun and twisted back to a black emptiness. In front of Alex stood Benjamin, a big smile on his face. “I must admit,” he laughed, “that was one of the best things I’ve witnessed.”

Alex walked towards the boy and punched him across the face. He fell to the ground, crying out in pain and anger.

“How could you?” Alex yelled. “Why, why do you feel so happy watching someone drown in their misery? Why do you prey on me in life and death? And Winnie! What did she do to you?”

Benjamin clutched his eye. “Don’t you see? I was forced into a war I didn’t want to fight, sent to my death in a battlefield. I wasn’t given a chance at life. No love, no happiness. So I see you, a boy with everything I ever longed for but had stolen from me. And you waltz around taking this for granted. And you have the audacity to try and act alive again! Winnie will never love you, because she is alive and you aren’t. So don’t you see? I do this because I despise you, Alexander. I despise you from the very depths of my soul; if you weren’t dead, I would kill you.”

Alex looked at him, anger pulsing in his chest. “What are you going to do, then?

Benjamin thought for a moment, then grinned maliciously. “I can hurt the people you love.” He started disappearing, and Alex followed. They appeared next to a somewhat busy street, in the daytime. Winnie was walking down the crosswalk, looking at her phone.

“How did you do that?” Alex exclaimed. “How do you have so much power?”

Benjamin laughed. “I told you to join me, Alexander.” They watched as a truck barreled towards the young girl crossing the street. The driver was on his phone, typing something. He was far over the speed limit. Alex screamed Winnie’s name, and she turned to face him. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and his name almost left her lips. Alex ran to her, but Benjamin grabbed his arm. Time seemed to move slower as the light turned yellow, then bright red, like the blood on Benjamin’s shirt.

The horn shook him from his thoughts, and it was so loud the earth seemed to shake beneath him. Winnie turned, her eyes filling with fear and panic as she tried to escape. The truck slammed into her small body and came to a halting stop a few moments later. Emptiness consumed him. It was the same emptiness and hopelessness he’d felt when Jen ran to greet the other boy. Here he was, in the position she had been in, the cause of Winnie’s death but powerless to stop it.

The ground fell away, and darkness devoured him. He was in the same room he had appeared in after death, but something was different. There were people present. The man who had greeted him upon arrival stood a few feet away, a sad look on his face. He refused to meet Alex’s eyes. On the floor beside him, Benjamin was curled up in fear, his face discolored from where Alex had punched him. Alex was proud at this sight.

In the distance, a red light shone, illuminating a small ledge jutting out of the wall. Winnie sat at the top, her feet dangling down into the darkness. A tall figure stood beside her, humanlike in appearance but with an air of magic around him. He wore a shiny golden cape, and scars covered his gnarled face to the point where he no longer looked human. His eyes were black as the night sky, with small flecks of light like stars dancing in his pupils.

“You’re early,” the figure said, a smile spreading across his face. His voice was deep and chilling, yet kind and gentle.

Winnie looked at her sneakers, the wind pushing her hair into her face. “I’m still not sure what’s happening,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure sat down on the ledge, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You’re dead, Winnifred. I am Death, the unseen power your kind try their best to escape. This is my home, my domain, where I send spirits on their way. But some of these spirits are restless. They seek life, and instead bring about death.” He looked at Benjamin, his eyes burning with anger. “It seems a spirit here today had too much power for his own good.”

Winnie looked down, her eyes falling on Alex. “What happens to Alex now?”

Death sighed. “He was supposed to protect you. I spent quite a long time consulting my brother,” he gestured to the figure in the red and black cape, who nodded, “about where to send you. We decided on Winnifred because your fate and that of her family were intertwined, but we didn’t want to be too direct by sending you to her sister. This method is a test to deviate the trustworthy from the untrustworthy and decide which shall be given a happy afterlife. By my own rules, he hasn’t qualified.”

Winnie stood up angrily. “But it’s not his fault I died! It’s his!” She pointed at Benjamin, who buried his head in his hands. “There has to be some other solution.”

Death looked at Alex, pity in his dark eyes. “I suppose we could send Benjamin in his place, but we have a greater issue; you aren’t meant to meet me yet.” He looked over at his brother. “Fate, any ideas?”

Fate tilted his head in thought. “I don’t know of any foolproof way to fix this, but we could always try another way.” He strode over to Alex, reaching out to touch him but deciding against it. “It’s not easy, but it might work.”

“Tell me,” Death said impatiently.

“We could reverse time, using Benjamin as a battery of sorts, and prevent Alex from dying in the first place. This will reverse the timeline. He will die another way, but hopefully we won’t have to see him in a long while,” Fate said. His face fell. “Though you wouldn’t remember Winnie.”

It felt like a slap in the face. Winnie, with whom he had spent countless days, bonding, talking, and more, had become his closest friend, a person he felt as if he had known for his entire life though he had only met her after its end.

“What are we waiting for?” Death cried. “If it’ll work, we have to try immediately.” He disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Winnie alone on the ledge. She dropped about six feet to the ground and ran over to Alex, tears streaming down her face. She hugged him tightly. “I don’t want to forget you,” she sobbed.

“Neither do I,” Alex said, hugging her back. “But you deserve a full life, and I won’t let myself deny you of that.” He pulled away to face her, wiping the tears from her face. A small smile formed at the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch her, pushing it away from her forehead to show her green eyes. His heart melted thinking of Jen, and how similar they were, though something about Winnie felt different. She made him feel at home, like he had the power to live forever. She was genuine, and full of emotion, and made his thoughts fuzzy and disjointed.

“Alex, Winnie,” Fate said from behind them. “We were about to begin, if you wanted to say a goodbye of sorts.” He turned away from them, as if trying to give them as much privacy as possible in the situation.

Alex turned back to Winnie. He felt anxiety course through his veins, like red-hot snakes eating away at his insides.

“Goodbye, Winnie,” he whispered, planting a small kiss on her forehead. Her face turned red, her eyes soft and full of affection. White light filled the dark room, nearly blinding Alex. He kept his eyes open, squinting through the light to focus on Winnie’s face as it slowly disappeared.

***

She skipped over to him, a glowing smile on her face, and kissed his cheek. A red smear of lipstick remained where her lips had rested. Alex felt a dull pang in his chest, a feeling of betrayal and loneliness filling him. A small voice in his head told him to shake it off, and he decided to listen.

“Whatever, Jen,” he said. “Life is about experiments, right?” He gave them a glowing smile and walked away from the school, his spirits dampened yet still high.

That night, Jen sent him a text message reading, “Want to hang out? My family is visiting and I don’t want to invite anyone they wouldn’t like.”

Alex smiled at the message, excited at the idea of a new friendship. “Sure,” he replied. After arranging the plans with Jen, he pulled on an old yellow jumper and walked over to her house. He knocked on the door, checking the time on his phone anxiously and adjusting his glasses. Worries swam through his mind. Were his clothes too casual? Too formal? What if her family hated him?

The doorknob turned and the door swung back to reveal a girl about a head shorter than him, hair identical to Jen’s brown curls other than the fact it had been cut into a shoulder-length bob and bangs. Her eyes were green, the color of grass with flecks of brown like the soil it resided in. She wore a pink blouse made of light material and red sneakers. Something about her was familiar to Alex, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I’m Alex,” he said. “I’m Jen’s friend. I don’t think we’ve met, have we?”

She shook her head, her hair blowing in her face. Alex felt more memories come back to him, but there was still a barricade preventing them from returning fully. “I’m Winnie,” she said. “I’m Jen’s sister, but I moved to Ohio. I visit every once and awhile.”

Alex nodded. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I have a weird feeling we’ve met before, but regardless I’d like to get to know you.”

Winnie laughed. “You know, I had that feeling too. Strange, isn’t it? Anyways, people are probably waiting for me, so I’ll have to go socialize or something.”

Alex smiled, his anxiety calming down ever so slightly. “Mind if I tag along?”

Winnie grinned, her cheeks turning pink. She stepped aside to let Alex in, and the two disappeared into the house, talking like old friends. The door slammed shut behind them, sending an echo down the street. The world operated as normal, everyone moving and interacting seamlessly without any inkling of the change that had taken place. Alex and Winnie’s lives had been entwined by Fate, twisted together with great care. Far in the distance, beyond the realm of the living, he watched proudly at what he had accomplished.


THE END

 

Observatory

OBSERVATORY

Sydney sat back in her chair. It was another slow day in the Extremely Large Telescope, and nothing was really happening, as usual. Sydney already knew that she wasn’t going to find anything. No matter how many signals humanity sent out from earth, they never got a response. Nothing ever came in. This was the tragedy of working at an observatory.

In the 11 years since it was put into service in 2024, the ELT had gotten some major upgrades to its imaging capability. It could now show the surface of faraway planets; oceans, forests, and every other type of land was recognizable by the ELT. It was also upgraded so that if, say, a giant alien ship, like the ones that were sent to colonize Mars only four years ago, were to fly in front of the planet, the observatory would know. They would then contact the EU, who would have every other telescope instantly pointed at that spot to gain more information.

But Sydney knew that wasn’t going to happen. The Fermi paradox’s solutions were so scary, and meant so much, that most governments refused to consider them. Sydney knew better. The probability of humanity finding life was high, but the probability of it being within the time that Sydney was serving was low. In addition to that, the probability of it being at the ELT was also low, and even if it did end up at the ELT, the chance that Sydney herself would be the one to find it was also low.

As she sat thinking about this for the umpteenth time, she decided to look through the scope again. Sydney was a bit selfish. If humanity was going to find alien life, it was damn well going to be her that found it. She would try as hard as she could to search the cosmos from her little room in a giant telescope off the coast of Chile.

She stared into the dark abyss, and decided she would focus on a new planet today. “Leo, focus the ‘scope on Kapteyn B please.”

“Acknowledged,” replied Leo in his robotic voice. Sydney felt the facility clanking into position and heard a small motor as the telescope adjusted its height.

She looked through the glass again. There was Kapteyn B, its milky white ice surface shining out from the rest of the solar system. She sighed. Even though the planet was unable to support surface liquid water at the moment, Sydney knew that the planet had been around two and a half times longer than Earth had. With all that extra time, the planet had probably at one point been suitable for life. Maybe it was even suitable under the surface, with a liquid ocean. No one knew for sure.

Sydney stared at the planet a bit more and noticed a small, black speck gliding over the planet. Sydney’s eyes widened. “Leo, zoom in on that black thing.”

“Acknowledged,” Leo said, and the view in Sydney’s scope focused on the speck.

As Sydney got a better look, her mouth dropped open. This was it. It had to be. The object was long, and she thought she saw a little blue light on the end of it. She knew what she was watching took place 12 years ago, but she didn’t care. Sydney took a deep breath, and slammed on the alert button. She felt a rush as she heard the commlink with European Southern Observatory Headquarters come through.

“ELT, found something?”

Sydney smiled. “Point every telescope at Kapteyn B, ASAP. I believe I have.”

 

SANDSTORM

The sandstorm ripped through the abandoned and mangled wasteland that used to be known as Phoenix, Arizona. The heat was unbearable at a temperature of 122 degrees Fahrenheit. Jett Hanes, a lieutenant in the US Exploration and Reclamation Squad, didn’t notice. His bulky, white and blue Personal Environment suit kept him cool. The suit was completely airlocked, with air entering through a vent and passing through several filters before being cooled and stored, ready for Hanes to take his next breath. It also kept him safe from flying debris, and had two shields on each of his arms. As he trudged through the desert toward the abandoned city, dead withering trees stared down at him. He would have been dropped into the city, but the storm was too strong, and even the Dropjet, with its powerful engines, would have been swept away. So instead he was dropped on the outskirts of the city.

His mission was to reach the center of Phoenix. An earlier squad had gone out to investigate a strange signal emanating from somewhere in the ruins, but the sandstorm had left them quite literally in the dust. They were now hiding in an abandoned mall. Jett was to find the squad, put up an emergency shelter, and wait for extraction once the storm died down. Hopefully there was enough time.

Phoenix, having been evacuated thirty years earlier because of sandstorms, drought, and temperatures that humans could barely tolerate, was now a rusted brown mess. Mangled buildings and aircars littered the city, and the idea of going back was not feasible to the government. They had completely abandoned the city, building a new, cleaner, renewable city for the refugees. They planned to forget about it entirely, but this new signal was not something they could resist checking out. They knew it might be important, but they didn’t know exactly what it was. So ERS was sent in to find out.

As Hanes reached the city, his vision clouded with all the sand whipping around him. He turned on his floodlight, powered up thermal, and kept walking. As he passed an intersection, the amount of sand became stronger from a different direction.

Suddenly, a piece of a billboard came careening down the road. It smashed into Hanes, knocking him down, and shattered upon coming into contact with the armored suit. The sand pushed him another few yards. Hanes stopped himself, and activated his maneuvering jets. He slowly started pushing back, and eventually reached the other side. He kept walking. The earlier squad needed him. He extended his arm shields and trudged on.

As he reached the mall, he turned on thermal again. He could make out the squad’s thermal signatures. He prepared the porta-shelter and made the final stretch. The storm seemed to be dying down. Aside from the occasional strong gust of wind, the sand pushing Hanes’ suit was getting slightly softer. Hanes carefully but quickly stepped into the mall, shutting the door behind him. In the few moments that the door was open, about a truck full of sand managed to spill into the mall. Hanes put down his visor. The squad was about 500 meters away from him.

They saw him before he reached them. “My god, what is that?”

“Denman, you idiot, that’s a clanker. We’re saved!”

Hanes turned on his mic. “Don’t worry, the storm is dying down,” he told them, while setting up the porta-shelter. As he placed it on the ground, the sheets of metal unfolded, forming a dome about the size of a regular kitchen. “I need you to get in this shelter and wait with me for extraction.”

“Yeah, uh, about that…” Hanes guessed this was the one named Denman speaking again. “We have a slight problem.”

“Is this in any way related to the signal we picked up?”

“Yes. We figured out where it was coming from,” said a new voice. This one was female and a little aggravated. “But we can’t get to it.”

“Who are you, what is it, and where is it?”

“I’m Sara Edison. You know the Cold War? All those tensions with Russia in the late 1900s? Well, apparently, the government installed a missile silo in the parking lot. They also installed a monitor so that, in the case that there would be no one left, if a missile hit Phoenix, a sensor would detect it. The problem was, this missile was installed during the presidency of Ronald Reagan, who is, as you know, infamous for denying that climate change was going to happen. He didn’t tell anyone else about the sensor, and because he didn’t believe in climate change, he didn’t stop to think about the fact that one day the temperature in Phoenix was going to get so high that the minimum requirement for the missile’s launch was going to be naturally met. This is the hottest that Phoenix has ever been in all of recorded history. Thankfully, the missile has a countdown timer for an hour to stop it from being launched, because I guess it doesn’t matter if everyone is dead yet.”

“How much time do we have left on the timer?” Hanes asked.

“Fifteen minutes, give or take a few.”

“Damn it! Can’t the missile defense batteries just shoot it down?”

“Those haven’t been activated in decades. They would have to power up the railguns.”

“And I assume that when the missile hits Russia, all the missiles from Russia would awaken and fire too?”

“Worse. Every US missile would launch at Russia. Essentially, the world would end. The Moon and M vgfars colonies would be okay, but without supplies from Earth, they would starve to death.”
Hanes thought for a second. “I assume one of you know how to deactivate this missile?”

“That would be me,” said a new voice, and a slightly smaller figure stepped out from the shop. “My name is Alec Harvey, I’m the tech guy on this squad.”

“Okay, I need you all to get behind me. I think I have enough shielding to get us through the parking lot, but I need you to work fast. Come on.”

They all grouped together at the mall’s parking lot entrance. Hanes was in front, with Denman behind him, then Alec, and finally Sara.

“Ready?” Hanes asked. Everyone nodded. “Let’s go, now!”

Hanes opened the door, and tossed the porta-shelter towards the sensor. The shelter set up automatically around it. He bolted out the door, followed by Denman. Hanes blocked the sand with the PR suit while everyone else bolted for the shelter. Alec went in first, followed by Sara. Denman was standing at the door. After Sara hunkered into the shelter, Denman looked in.

An abandoned car was suddenly lifted off the ground. It slammed into Denman who didn’t even manage to scream. He was quickly swept away by the storm. “Denman!” Sara yelled, but she knew it was too late. Hanes waded over to the shelter through the storm.

“Denman is gone. We have to make sure no one else dies today. There will be time to grieve later. Now is the time to be heroes. Stop the missile!”

Alec nodded, and closed the shelter door. Hanes watched as he cut into the sensor’s pole and found the wire. He closed his eyes, and after a few seconds, made the cut. The wire sizzled out, and Alec exhaled. Everyone cheered.

Hanes walked outside. The storm was settling. He unclipped the beacon from his belt and threw it on the ground. It set itself up, and Hanes watched as the light shined up through the clouds.

A few minutes later, the hulking Dropjet screamed out of the sky, and right before it reached the ground, the blue engines roared to life, kicking up a huge cloud of dust. Hanes, Alec, and Sara stepped on, ready to explain to commander Brannon. As the Jet lifted off, Hanes stared down at the city. Why did we do this to ourselves? he wondered.

 

Unexpected Visitor

It’s raining so hard that the new roof begins to leak, and the pouring rain forces people to ditch the umbrellas for something stronger. Jennifer continues to stare out of her window, sitting on a chair in front it; she has been gazing at the mud sliding down the edge of the garden that once looked beautiful just a week ago. Jennifer realizes that it has been raining for three days now, and she has yet to step out of her abode. All she has been doing is staring out the window, waiting for the sun to emerge from the darkness of the clouds beyond the glass. It’s been about five hours now, and she still hasn’t moved, not even to stretch her legs, or to fill her empty stomach.

Was this her form of entertainment, locking her eyes with the grass on her front lawn? Excluding herself from everyone she has ever known, she declines her family’s calls without hesitation. She alienates herself from her family, because she feels like a disappointment to them after dropping out of college. Jennifer’s heart continues to fill with sadness and anger as she fails to open up to her family. Jennifer hasn’t eaten in three days. You can tell she is fighting the hunger as she clenches her abdomen with her legs, which are now crossed in the chair that she has not removed herself from in hours.

A gray-haired man, with a bright yellow slick raincoat and matching boots and a hat, starts walking towards Jennifer’s house from afar. She becomes aware of his presence immediately, because she sees him step on the grass. Jennifer notices his gray beard hanging below his chin like a mop hangs from its wooden stick. Her heart beats faster, yet in a rhythm, to a song that she heard on the radio recently. Her eyes begin to dilate as she sees him get closer and closer to the window, but she remains still. Jennifer, frozen in the chair, is temporarily paralyzed by her existence there for so long, she’s unable to move any part of her body except her eyes. Looking into her brown eyes, the panic and the stress is visible as she directs her attention to this stranger. The bearded man reaches the window. All that stands in between them is the glass. Jennifer is only able to see the buttons on the raincoat, and not his face, because she is frozen and unable to move her head from the direction of the grass.  

The man walks back and forth in front of the window, with his head down, thinking about what do. Suddenly, the only light in Jennifer’s house shuts off, and the time on the radio near her cuts off. The power is out, yet Jennifer’s eyes still remain glued to the glass. The yellow man gets an inexplicable look on his face and directs it towards the glass that stands between him and Jennifer. The yellow man begins walking towards the front door. Jennifer remembers that she didn’t lock the door, and prays that he doesn’t try to let himself in.

Jennifer rises slowly as the doorknob begins to turn. She walks slowly to hide, because her body is weak from sitting still for so long. The yellow man gets inside the gray walls of Jennifer’s home and walks around the living room. The yellow man searches the house for her.

A silent moment passes by, and she finally comes out of her closet and exclaims weakly, with a lot of breath, “Who are you and why are you here?”

Her heart beats faster, simultaneously with the more breaths she takes. He continues to walk back and forth, leaving Jennifer trembling outside of the closet door. Her plan to confront the man backfires, for she stands weaponless and vulnerable. She is standing outside of the one place he can’t find her, giving up her spot of safety. The bearded man looks up at her, standing still, with his eyes locked onto her neck. Jennifer is frightened from this situation that she is left with.

There they stand, trapped inside the gray, gloomy walls of Jennifer’s home. Jennifer wonders why he still hasn’t said a word. All he does is walk back and forth within the gray walls. She takes this opportunity to run to the kitchen, in hopes of finding a more piercing weapon to scare him off, because she is contemplating if she is capable of fighting for her life at this point. She reaches the kitchen and quickly locates the knives. Running her hand down the butt of her knives, she grabs the largest and sharpest one and holds onto it for dear life as she hears his footsteps coming towards her.

He shouts with slyness, “You can hide, but I’ll find you. You can run, but I’ll catch up.”

He reaches the kitchen. As he stands in the doorway, he whispers just loud enough that Jennifer, who is standing at the very end of the kitchen, can hear, “You can try anything you want, but you’ll still die.”

The bearded man traps her in her own kitchen by blocking the doorway. She lunges at him with the knife, but he backs up and dodges the plunge intended to end his life. Jennifer gets up from the floor and runs as fast as she can towards her bedroom. Hiding under the bed, she plans to stab the bearded man’s ankle to buy her time for her escape.

The bearded man enters the room with a knife in the left hand and a gun in the right. He whispers, “You can hide, but I’ll find you sooner or later.”

Looking through the closet, he fails to find her. He steps before the bed, and Jennifer knows that it’s now or never; she charges her right arm at his ankle, thrusting her knife through his boots into his skin. He yells in pain and falls to the floor. Jennifer inches out from under the bed to find a weapon to finish him off with. When she comes back with a gun from the safe in the garage, he is gone. With adrenaline still pumping through her blood, she searches her mind for a solution.

Before she can look for the bearded man again, he comes out from behind the bedroom door and cuts into her shoulder. While in excruciating pain, she dodges his next thrust and takes cover inside the closet. She knows what to do now.

He limps to the closet and says, “Come out now.”

She knows it’s either him or her at this point and comes out behind the pile of clothes, shooting. BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… BOOM… BOOM. She keeps shooting, never stopping. Jennifer hears police sirens in the distance and doesn’t hesitate to stop shooting. She doesn’t feel the pain in her arm anymore due to the adrenaline and anger surging through her body. She has been shooting for about four minutes now, four minutes of never-ending gunshots. He is dead, and has been since the first shot to the chest, but she continues to shoot his head, torso, neck, and everywhere else. He made her vulnerable. The police come inside, and she stops shooting. The ambulance comes to get the dead body and takes her to the hospital to stitch up the wound left by a stranger.

When back home, days later from the hospital, she looks over at her chair, stationed before the glass window. She walks over to the chair and rests her eyes upon it for a moment, looking back on all the time she wasted there. She moves the chair to its initial location and walks toward the house phone. She picks it up gently, like she is afraid of the phone, and dials her mother.

When she gets an answer, she says into the phone, “I love you and I’m sorry.”

Her mother replies, “Why haven’t you answered any of our calls? We just want to speak to you.”

They speak for hours, continuing conversations left on hold.

They catch up on their lives and, weeks later, Jennifer moves back in with her parents.

 

The Curious Cottage

It stood with white brick, tattered with dirt and age. The door was a rustic red, gaping open in an ivy, spiraled archway. Over the years, it developed rotting wood, the pungent smell of dead rats, creaky floorboards, and the decay of things that had not been touched in decades. This only became clear when inside the house, but nobody dared to take a single step on the property. There were windows looking out at the top of the small cottage. These windows were dirty and cracked, yet dark. There were big holes where the windows had been broken, but all that could be seen from afar was infinite empty space, like a black hole had swallowed everything that made the house a standard place to live. The front door was always open, as if there was no force strong enough to make it move just a single inch. Through that red, paint-peeled doorway, a chair was in view. A single chair of the most repulsing nature. What used to be a large, wooden structure had turned into a rotting, discolored, shriveling pile of wood.  

The hill towered at the very perimeter of town. The mossy grass was such a vibrant green; it was as if it had been raining everyday for a year. But it never rained in this dry town. In the center of the village, amongst the small shops and homes, the air was cool and clear.  Around the hill, the air was thick with humidity. This had sparked rumors with the older folks in town, claiming that if one older than 60 breathed in that toxic air, it would stop their heart within minutes.  

The one elementary school in town was like something out of a storybook. It had red brick intertwined with chalk-filled grout and was always bustling with animated kids. The classrooms were filled with colorful plastic chairs, and the work of fellow students. During snack time, even the youngest kids would talk about that eerie cottage. They said that the house was haunted with ghosts and evil spirits. The older kids would go along with this, mainly as a joke to scare the little ones. Deep down, however, they too had their suspicions about the house.  

Some of the mothers and fathers of the town would go to the local coffee shop after dropping their kids off at school. This early in the morning, they could see fog from the morning dew smuggling the hill so only a miniscule portion of the house was seen. Around the circular, wooden tables, steaming coffee in hand, they would converse.  

“I don’t want my children going anywhere near that place,” a concerned mother would say.

“I always thought the disappearance of that young girl 10 years ago was linked to that house,” a father would chime in.  

Some of the other parents would try to change the subject, too uncomfortable talking about a cottage that could make their own loved children go missing.  

It was like they already knew that the new kid in town would let his curiosities get the best of him. It was inevitable. Having not lived there for long, this boy could not have heard the countless rumors and stories about the house. All that was given was a warning to not go near the cottage on the mossy hill. No explanation, just a sharp warning.

The moving truck drove smoothly into town on a sunny Saturday morning. Trailing the truck was a blue van, a family car.  But something was off about this family. From the moment the vehicles came to a halt at the friendly blue house, the parents were screaming nasty things at each other and to their son, Troy. With a broad structure, standing at a height of 5’9, he looked older than he was. Merely 13 years old, Troy had to learn to be tough. It was just expected of him when his family moved every two years.

When Troy was in the grossest, grimiest homes, he imagined that he was living in the biggest, most luxurious ones. When he was at a new school and had no friends to talk to, he imagined that he was back home, playing basketball with his friends he had made before he had to pack up his life to move every two years. After talking to the woman who came over with a welcome cake, Troy had something new to think about.

“Welcome!” she had said.

“Hey,” Troy had said while reluctantly opening the door.  

“Well, look at you! You look like you would get along with my boys. How old are you?”

“I’m 13.”

“Oh, you’re still so young! You can come out and explore the town… but don’t go into that cottage on the hill,” her tone dropped significantly, showing a more serious side of her.  

“What cottage? Why?” Troy had asked, his interest suddenly peaked.  

“It is for your own safety, just stay away — Alright, I have to get going now. Say hello to your parents for me!”  

And with that, the woman was gone, and Troy was left at the doorway with cake in hand and curiosity skyrocketing.  

Now Troy sat on the sturdy steps of his front porch and ate the remaining bits of the cake he had all but devoured. He looked up at the picturesque blue sky and watched the clouds move across his view. He felt the smooth, cold concrete underneath his fingers, identical to all the houses on his street. Cookie cutter houses they were, alike in size and shape. There was something calming about looking at the similar houses. Troy became happy with the idea that if all the houses were perfect and pretty, including his, maybe his family would mold to become just like the other families in those houses too.

He almost began to feel comfortable sitting on that hard, cold porch when his father came clambering down the stairs of the house and out the front door.

“What are doing? You don’t expect us to do all the unpacking while you sit here enjoying yourself do you?” he boomed.  

He leaned down, so close to Troy that he could smell the alcohol in his breath.  

“No, Sir,” Troy murmured, rolling his eyes.  

He immediately hoped that his dad wouldn’t notice. But he did.

“You don’t get to roll your eyes at me. Come on.”

He hastily grabbed Troy by the collar of his shirt and dragged him inside, his muscles bulging as if the weight of Troy was the equivalent of a feather. Troy curled his hand into a fist, debating the possibility of finally fighting back. But he didn’t. He never does.  

After staying his first weekend in town, Troy finally had to go to school. He was used to coming part way into the year, but he never quite got used to the smirks and stares that accompanied being the new kid. The long, sharp trill of an alarm clock started Troy’s morning.  Just like he had done before every other school, he got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and quickly grabbed his backpack on the way out. On his short walk to school, Troy’s eyes stayed fixated on the glimpse of the cottage that he could see from the rocky path.  He didn’t know exactly what was in that house, but he wanted to know.  

Troy climbed his way up the wide concrete steps of the school. The doors were propped open with bright, plastic chairs, and he could hear the noise of the other kids lingering. As he walked inside, everything seemed overwhelming. The sounds of eager kids, the aroma of sandwiches and lunch food, and the colorful array of clothing darting all over the hallways into the classrooms. It was like he was moving in fast motion, from the awkward conversation with the principal to being sat in a math classroom with a dozen other 13-year-olds. Things slowed down when he had been asked to introduce himself.  

He shyly stood up and mumbled, “Um… hi. I’m Troy. Um… I moved here last weekend.”  

“I. Um. Don’t care,” a rather plump boy mocked.  

The class exploded into giggles and snorts. Troy sank into his seat and looked down at his shoes. They looked unclean and on the cusp of falling apart.  He decided to focus on that for the rest of class instead of the immature boy or the number sequences that danced across the chalkboard in front of him. The bell rang, dismissing the students for lunch. Startled, Troy jumped out of his seat and gathered his things in a frenzy. He came out of the classroom, unsure where to go. Troy followed the herd of kids running outside for lunch on a warm day.  He sat on a plastic bench by himself, watching the commotion as the tables filled up with hungry students.  

“Look who it is! Shy boy!” the plump boy yelled, sitting on the bench right next to Troy.  

His friends huddled around them, watching as they stifled their laughter.  

“Come with us,” another boy said.  

Before Troy could respond, he was yanked off of the bench and dragged to the warped wooden fence that encased the lunch area.  

“Climb.”

Troy frowned, contemplating the situation. He knew that if he didn’t go with them, he would be bullied more than ever. He started climbing. He turned his head to see if any teachers were looking, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The group of boys hopped down on the other side of the fence, dirt cushioning their falls. They took off running, leaving Troy to trail behind them. Troy was fast and caught up with them quickly. It was only when they came to a stop, jagged breathing, that he realized where they were. Chills crept up his spine as he took in the sight of the towering cottage. It felt as if the whole town fell silent as they all stood there, bewildered.  

“I bet you wouldn’t go into that house. Probably too scared!” Another boy from the pack taunted Troy.  

Troy took a step back, a look of terror washed over his face.

“Yeah, come on. What are you waiting for?” the boy that had called Troy out in math class said, pushing Troy closer to the bottom of the hill.  

Troy had not heard any of the rumors about the house, so more than anything, he was curious. He was not dumb though and saw the way that the other boys were looking at the house. Each of their legs trembling, faces calm, but eyes alert and scared.  

“Okay,” he agreed, gaining confidence.  

He was slightly excited to see what was in that cottage and if he could do that, and prove his bravery to the boys, maybe his life in this town would be bearable. Taking a deep breath, Troy began to trudge up the hill.  

“No way!” a voice from behind him exclaimed in surprise.  

Troy focused on his shoes again, which were mostly submerged in mud, as he made his way through the moss. Finally, he reached the top of the hill.  

Up close, the cottage looked much bigger, more intimidating. Troy stood frozen in his spot, trapped by the eerie silence. The air felt humid. Toxic. He breathed heavily, trying to gain the courage to take one step closer to the cottage. He did. As he eased his way to the front door, he swore he could hear sounds coming from inside. Maybe there really were sounds, or maybe it was all in his head. The red door was ajar as always, so Troy slipped through.  

“What do we do?” one of the boys said, freaked out.  

He put his arms behind his head and crouched over.

“I don’t know! I didn’t think he would actually go in,” another one said.  

The worry-stricken kids clustered together and craned their necks to see the cottage.  Their hearts raced as they tried to see him through the cracked windows. Troy had walked into the cottage in a way the boys had never seen. He was confident. Head held high, walking into the unknown, he needed to prove something to himself, to the boys, to his family. He had walked into the curious cottage, and the boys were left outside.

 

Whitechapel

The air was chilly, and the sky was cloudy while whispers and footsteps filled the streets of the Whitechapel District. A dark, heavy cloud had hung over the residents since the early morning. The bars were already filled with men and women alike, drowning their fears in bourbon. They all paid no mind to a lone figure, cloaked in black, shambling down Hanbury Street.

A crowd had gathered around a dwelling, nothing more than a single-fronted complex, and a commotion could be heard from behind the building. The figure pushed his way through the onlookers, earning himself some dirty looks. He was eventually greeted by a young bobby and a few barriers, but was seen before he could slink past both.

“Sir, you can’t go in there,” the young bobby stated.

He seemed quite familiar with that phrase. However, the dark figure continued to press on and calmly walked into the dwelling.

“Sir!”

The frantic voices from behind faded as the figure made his way around the furniture. There were the sounds of distant chatter, groaning wood floors, and the shuffling of the figure’s coat. Ahead of him was a passage that radiated cool air and pale, gray light. The figure did not pass through, but merely stood there until someone called out to him.

“What are you doing here, Blackford?” a coarse and vulgar tone fired at him.

“My job,” Blackford deflected.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hopped off the stoop. His beady eyes scanned the scene before him: police dogs, a distraught Abberline, a corpse. Blackford’s eyes narrowed.

“How was she found?” he asked.

“Look down,” his companion replied.

Blackford did so and was greeted by the sight of dried blood.

“Hmm…”

“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Hmm’.”

“Before you go to spare, how was your morning, Cunningham?”

“My morning? I’d oughta’ conk you, but you look shabby enough,” Cunningham sighed. “If you must know, my morning’s been nothing but chaos since the body was found.”

“They found it just before six, didn’t they?”

“Yeah… She’s been cut open too. Makes me think that we’ve got a killer,” Cunningham glanced from side to side.

“How bad was it?” Blackford pressed, his voice hushed.

“Ugh, just thinking about it makes me sick. It’s disgusting, it is.”

“Can I have a look?”

“Are you daft? I can’t just let you waltz around a crime scene, Blackford. Especially when you reek of a tavern floor.”

“That’s Inspector Blackford to you, chap.” Blackford reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an open envelope.

An orange wax seal marked with a falcon was prominent.

“And, I’m appalled that you would even imply that I look anything less than spectacular.”

Cunningham looked Blackford up and down. Black trench coat, black cahill, black gloves, and a ghostly white complexion. He had pale blonde hair and stubble, brown, sunken eyes, and a demeanor so impish, he could test a priest’s patience.

“So, he put you up to this? I should’ve expected this. He’s always sticking his blue-blooded nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“That’s why I’m here. Now, step aside, Cunningham, I’ve got a job to do.” Blackford lightly pushed Cunningham back, much to Cunningham’s chagrin. Blackford whisked his way past inspectors and bobbies alike, becoming uncomfortably close to the mangled body of what was once a woman. He kneeled down and saw how her tongue protruded, he saw the bruises across her skin, and the bloody wounds that had killed her. She’d been an older woman, short and stout, dressed well enough.

“Her name was Annie Chapman, born Annie Eliza Smith. She was a prostitute who lived in that very building,” Cunningham’s voice explained from behind him. “Found by her neighbor. Can’t imagine what he must be feeling.”

“Well, I know that I’m feeling ill-informed.” Blackford stood up and sauntered back over to his companion. “This should help,” he said as he snatched the papers out of Cunningham’s grasp.

“Hey! Give it here!” Cunningham objected.

“Now, now, Cunningham, don’t cause a scene in front of a lady,” Blackford teased as he glanced down at the papers.

His expression turned serious as he skimmed through the pages. To have such anatomical knowledge… perhaps someone’s gone and decided to play doctor?

“This will do. That Abberline should be of help. So, don’t let this queer your pitch.”

Blackford stuffed the papers back into Cunningham’s hands. He pulled down his hat, straightened his gloves, and was about to leave, before turning around and saying, “The ‘Leather Apron’ will definitely strike again. This wasn’t his first, and it won’t be his last.”

***

The door to the townhouse screeched open and was slammed shut almost instantly. The interior was dark and cramped, lit only by a few oil lamps. The painted wood carvings had faded, and the entire entranceway smelled of mildew. But, it was quiet, and that was all that mattered.

Heavy black boots shuffled and clunked along the stairs. Leather gloves creaked along the railing. Blackford stopped once he reached the top, taking a quick peek over his shoulder before continuing to his abode.

He pulled out his keys and slowly unlocked the door, but paused for a second before opening it. He grabbed the handle and opened the door with a flourish.

“Darling, I’m home!” Blackford called.

The comment just hung in the air as Blackford was greeted by silence. He laughed quietly to himself before hanging up his hat and coat and locking the door behind him. The gin bottle thunked as Blackford placed it on the table. He loosened his tie and made his way over to the kitchen to grab a glass. He passed by his windows along the way and stopped. At the end of the block, just before the turn, he saw what looked like a carriage. Not uncommon, but this one was different.

It was too ornate, too well maintained. Gold painted details, full white horses, a finely dressed coachman and footman. The passing pedestrians’ attention was caught by it for a moment, before they quickly turned a blind eye to it. Blackford decided best to ignore it for now, no one seemed to have exited it yet.

The kitchen was drained of energy. The cabinets were crooked, the tile floor was cracked, the windows were unwashed, and everything was caked in a thin layer of dust. The vermillion wallpaper still remained intact, however. Blackford thought he’d have to look into that.

He felt watched. It was that carriage again, always stalking him. Blackford wiped a bit of the window with a rag and looked out at the carriage again. Nothing.

Blackford let out a quiet sigh of relief. He stopped.

Or, perhaps he had not seen anybody exit, if they already had. A woman’s voice came from behind Blackford.

“Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re practically married to your job.”

He froze in his tracks. That sharp tongue and those silent footsteps could only belong to one person. Blackford spun on his heel.

“Hello, Mathilda,” Blackford greeted.

Mathilda stood on the other side of the doorway, still inside the parlor.

“Good day, Henry,” Mathilda replied dryly. “Here,” She held out a letter, the envelope sealed with that all too familiar brand. “It’s from my lord, Morristan.”

“I know who it’s from, I can see it perfectly clear.” Blackford gingerly took the letter from Mathilda’s grasp.

“I was just being thorough. The way you drink, you wouldn’t even be able to tell me apart from a clydesdale.”

“It seems you’re too late, then. I can hardly make the distinction already.”

Despite what he’d said, he had to admit that Mathilda was an above average looking woman. A willowy figure wrapped in a jade bustle gown, her black hair tied into a neat, tight bun. Her cognac and shawl were laid on the back of an armchair behind her. She had dark, almond shaped eyes, thin lips, and a heart shaped face.  

“What does he want this time? I’ve already told him that I’d take the case,” Blackford groaned.

“Consider it a gift from the Viscount,” Mathilda smirked.

“That doesn’t sound too friendly.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Blackford simply sighed before beginning his search for his letter opener. He searched under stacks of crinkled and curling papers, behind novels and empty bottles, even inside his rusted stove and barren fireplace. All to no avail.

“Mathilda, do you-?” Blackford questioned as he turned towards her.

Before he could finish his sentence, Mathilda, with a flick of her wrist, presented him with a gaudy knife. It was silver with falcons carved into the blade and a lotus into the guard. To top it all off, a large red jewel had been embedded into the pommel.

“Thank you.”

With a swift slash of the blade, Blackford sliced open the envelope. He twirled the knife in his hands, holding the blade between two of his fingers. Mathilda grabbed the hilt and, with a flick of her wrist, it disappeared.

“You could make a living out of being a pickpocket,” Blackford teased.

“I have my standards, Henry,” Mathilda answered, her expression unchanging.

Blackford scoffed. “Yeah, by being some nob’s lackey.”

“You’re one to talk. Just look where you are now.”

Instead of responding, Blackford immediately turned his attention to the letter, carefully unfolding it. Scrolling black calligraphy graced the crisp page, and a floral scent wafted from it. He scrunched his nose at the unpleasant smell.

“Let’s see what his lordship has to say today.”

He held the letter taught and up to the soft light streaming in through the window.

 

Dear Inspector Blackford,

It has come to my attention that Whitechapel has begun to reek of blood. I urgently press you to locate and exterminate this local pest problem. Discard all that you think, here is what you must know: This “Leather Apron” has a signature. Search the inquest. Find the patterns. Bring me the killer. You have five days to complete this task. I thank you for your cooperation.

Yours Truly,

The House of Morristan

 

“Well, that sounds a bit threatening,” Blackford commented.

“It’s supposed to,” Mathilda replied plainly.

She turned and grabbed her belongings from the armchair. The lacy shawl was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and her plumed cognac was tipped ever so slightly.

“My work here is done. I’d best be on my way. Good day to you Henry,” Mathilda said quietly.

Her heels clacked against the worn wood floor, echoing throughout the entire apartment.

“Are those new?” Blackford called to her.

Mathilda didn’t even look back before opening the door and sealing it shut behind her.

Looks like I’ll be paying a visit to the morgue in a few days.

***

Over a fortnight had passed since the murder of Annie Chapman, but there had been no trace of the killer. Blackford had looked over the inquest and morgue reports, most of which seemed consistent with any unsolved murder. Most of it. The strangest and most disturbing part of it was that Chapman’s uterus had been removed. Removed with almost surgical precision.

Blackford rounded the corner of the alleyway, shortly followed by Cunningham.

“That Chandler, that numpty thinks he can waste my time?” Blackford mumbled.

“Calm down, will you? You got what you came for,” Cunningham groaned.

Their shoes shuffled against the cobble. Blackford was a few feet ahead of his companion, walking at a brisk and agitated pace.

“He just didn’t want anyone to touch the body until the examination.”

“Touch it? He wouldn’t even let me see it!” Blackford said angrily. “People already think that I wag off during work! I don’t need him to help spread the rumor.”

They stepped out onto the sidewalk of the main road and struggled against the current of people.

“Well, now you know as much as we do. Happy?” Cunningham asked.

“As a clam!” Blackford shouted.

They stopped in front of shop, and Blackford lugged open the large, wooden door. He didn’t even bother holding it for Cunningham. The inside was warm, welcoming, and mostly empty. The interior was mostly wood with a dirty tile floor. Oil lamps gave the room a golden glow, and the air was tinged with the sharp aroma of alcohol. The bartender switched his gaze to the new arrivals.

“Ah, you lads again,” he greeted.

Blackford couldn’t tell whether or not his smile was tired or forced.

“Your normal seats are free.”

“I can see that,” Blackford sighed.

He and Cunningham took their usual seats at the bar, a place close enough to every exit, but still hidden enough once the pub got crowded.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.

“The usual,” Blackford said dryly.

“Really? That can’t be good for you. You should eat something first,” Cunningham warned.

He went ahead and ordered for both of them. A Fish-Friday meal.

“I personally prefer a nice Sunday joint,” Blackford grumbled.

“That’s your own fault for not ordering.”

The other customers filtered out, and the bartender had business to do in the back, leaving the bar deserted. The inspectors sat and ate in silence for a few moments before turning to each other.

“So, what they’re telling us is that she would’ve died anyways?” Blackford whispered.

“Yeah. Probably would’ve died of consumption by now,” Cunningham assured.

“Still, that killer is one bloody maggot. She died from asphyxiation rather than those ghastly wounds,” Blackford hushed his voice even more.

He looked over his shoulders, and Cunningham checked for any employees. Nothing.

“Ghastly wounds indeed. What kind of maniac could tear someone apart like that?” Cunningham continued.

“A maniac killing in cold blood,” Blackford murmured. “Can I trust you with my thoughts?”

Cunningham looked a bit surprised for a second before nodding his head. Blackford wanted to remark on his questionable reaction, but decided against it. For now.

“I think it’s most definitely a doctor, or at least someone within the medical field. Someone with a sick obsession with the female anatomy,” Blackford explained.

Cunningham nodded.

“Whitechapel is dodgy at best. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found someone truly sick hiding out there.”

Blackford saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was the bartender making his way back over to them. Blackford turned to Cunningham and placed his finger on his own lips. Cunningham got the message and remained silent.

“I think that just about does it for today! What do you think, old friend?” Blackford asked gallantly.

“Just about,” Cunningham answered.

In a flash ,they stood up, paid their bill, and disappeared into the dark alleyways of London.

***

Scotland Yard was a hectic mess the next day. A letter had been forwarded to them, a letter claiming to be from Whitechapel’s newest killer. Blackford, with a bit of the viscount’s influence, had been able to weasel his way into headquarters to get a look at it.

His eyes flicked over every red letter, every smudge and fold. What he deemed most relevant he read as such:

“Dear Boss,” he said aloud. He mumbled through what he thought was nothing more than psychopathic nonsense. “I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they won’t fix me just yet. I laugh when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track.”

He almost chuckled at the next line. “That joke about Leather Apron gave me real fits. Blah blah blah…” he continued.

“How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games.” Blackford scowled. “Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife’s so nice and sharp. I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck.”

His gazed lowered to the signature at the bottom. “Yours truly, Jack the Ripper…”

There was yet more.

“Don’t mind me giving the trade name.”

An extra message was written as well. Blackford turned the page sideways to view it. Once he did, his heart almost stopped.

“P.S. Wasn’t good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands, curse it, no luck yet. They say I’m a doctor now. Ha ha.”

 

The Bell Tower (Chapter One)

The air smelled musty, and not a single gust of wind could be felt. The only sound was a lone crow’s call; the broken sound, the only sense of company in the tower. The taste of dust felt heavy on my tongue. The bell was rusted with years of age and rain with no usage. Once rung, the bell resounded with years of age and tire.

“Cassandra!”    

“Cassandra! Where are you? Mother wants us to be at Madame’s for tea!”

I sighed. There wasn’t a single time I could escape up to the tower in my imagination. There was always something to do, something to attend, some tea party my mother needed me to go to. I opened my eyes to see my sister dash into my room.

“Cassandra! There you are. Don’t you know what time it is? It’s much too late to still be in bed!”

 This was routine by now. Every Saturday morning at 11:34, my sister dashes in to reprimand me for wasting time. Elle was always the one to adhere to the rules. I fathom she didn’t even know how much fun it was to bend the rules every so often.

“I was already awake, Elle, though I doubt anyone a mile ‘round is still sleeping after the racket you made coming up here.”

Elle rolled her eyes.

Then, her voice softer, she she said, “Get up already, Cass. We really need to get going. You know how Madame gets when we arrive late to tea.”

Madame Bartmellow was one of Mother’s friends, and she always invited us to tea on Saturdays. How I wished I could do something else on Saturdays, like my older brother, Samuel. When he wasn’t at the family manor in the countryside, he got to stay home with Mother and Father. But even Sammy insisted I go. Madame lived a block away, but Mother made us ride in the carriage anyhow.

“It looks refined!” She always exclaims. “I know you’d prefer to walk, but I wouldn’t like you to catch cold.”

It may be cold in London, but Mother simply did not understand how to appreciate the adventure in life. The only thing closely resembling adventure that she approved of was reading adventure novels. I do love those mystery novels. I only wished that something would happen to me like that! This need for adventure was why I was always trying to escape to the old belltower. It seemed so real in my mind, and there was always so much detail when I thought about it, that it seems like a memory. I realized Elle was looking at me expectantly. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

About half an hour later, I was in the dining room, ready to head out to the carriage. Elle was on my right, complaining about how long I took to get ready, and Mother was bustling out of the parlor with a worried expression on her face.

Mother was always worrying about something or another. I didn’t take it to mean much, especially when it came from Henry, the butler Father hired a month prior. In the four weeks he had worked in our household, he already told Mother about five events, that were supposedly happening, but never did occur.

“Henry told me that there seems to be some commotion going on outside. I don’t exactly know what is happening, but do try to stay out of trouble while you’re out.”

Mother may have been anxious, but little did I know that the “little commotion” was actually going to forever change the course of my life.

 

The Factory

The factory was the most beautiful building in town. It stood proudly at the corner of 17th and Orlando Street. It was a treasure to the people of the town. To a passersby, it was obvious that it used to be a church. It had beautiful stained glass windows in the most vibrant colors, making it stand out in the otherwise dull cityscape. If you stood inside, you could see rainbow light coming through the windows. The big red doors were intimidating to all who looked; they acted as a barrier rather than an entrance.

Although the neighborhood was worn down, the factory created interest, breathing curiosity into everyone who looked upon it.

The front of the factory was built with strong, brown bricks, now painted over several times from years of being passed down from owner to owner. This time, it was painted crisp white. It hadn’t been retouched in years, and the paint was starting to chip. The previous colors shone through.

No one had been in the factory for years; the floors needed dusting, and the brush had grown out enough to look almost as though it was protecting the factory from intruders. There were dolls sitting in the windows, slowly decaying, but their little white shoes still shone bright.

Everyone knew it was a doll factory, it had the words “D LL FAC O Y” with certain letters missing due to age. It was written in bold, yellow letters embossed on a black awning on the north facing side of the building. This awning had been a newer addition to the factory. Many older folks had complained. The factory was a historical building, and the awning added a level of tackiness to the complex. But others ignored the awning. They didn’t let it distract them from the mere beauty of the building.

Perhaps, the building reminded the elderly of a more simpler time: a time when people would actually talk to one another, a time when people wouldn’t feel bare without their cellphones. Maybe that’s why they stood so strongly against renovations to the factory. It was the oldest building in town. It was almost a time machine, grasping people’s attention and briefly taking them back to that simple time, then quickly releasing them back into their plain lives.

But none of it really mattered, that was many years ago. The factory hadn’t made any dolls in a while.

Just around the corner, past the factory, there was a field. The field was filled with beautiful flowers. Most days, those flowers would be left on the doorstep of the factory. No one knew who did it, or why they did, but this added to the mystery of the factory. There were always rumors circling around town about the mysterious flowers. There would never be dead flowers on the doorstep, always vividly colored fresh ones.

In a way, the factory thanked the flowers. It thanked the flowers for always being there. No one else ever was.

That’s what I had in common with the factory, no one was ever there for me when I was little.

When I was growing up, nothing was given to me. My parents hadn’t died; they just didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t a troublesome kid, but I was someone easily forgotten. I knew where they lived, just down the street past the old candy store in a little blue row-house. And when I ran away at age 15, there were no search parties, and no one came looking for me. Deep down inside, I knew I only ran away to see how much they cared about me. Turns out they didn’t care at all. By then, I was used to it. Sometimes, I would walk up to their front porch on my midnight walks. But I would never try to go inside. Too much time had passed, and I knew they didn’t want me. But I didn’t hate them for it. I tried to see the good and beauty in life rather than the bad and the ugly. In this case, it was hard to see what good had come out of it. But I like to think that I was better off on my own.

This year, I would’ve been a junior in high school. That is, if I had stayed in school. I had a small group of friends that I had met freshman year. One of my friends, Jun, was 18 and had very rich parents. They had bought a house for her last year. I had asked her why and she simply replied with, “they wanted me out of their hair.” She wasn’t spoiled, but her parents gave her things rather than attention. Most nights I’d stay with Jun. I stayed with her mainly because she didn’t care either. We weren’t that close. But, she was kind.

I didn’t like being alone in the house, although, often times I was. Being alone let my thoughts take over; it let my thoughts run wild, and it let me think of the darker times I had faced. I didn’t like it one bit.

I loved to stroll around town. It wasn’t a pretty place, but it was familiar and consistent. I liked that about our town, nothing ever changed. Most days, when I was walking back to Jun’s house from town, I would pass by the factory. Only this time, I stopped. I stared. Something about it was different. Now, the brush wasn’t trying to keep me out; it was almost inviting me in. It had arranged itself along the pathway leading up to the factory. I had never seen it like this before.

I stepped closer to the doors, and they didn’t intimidate me. Rather than pushing me away, the doors were left cracked open. I could see light trying to escape from inside the factory. No one had been inside for years, at least not that I knew of, and now the doors were suddenly unlocked.

It was midnight. I loved to take walks at midnight, when no one was around, when the air was fresh, and the sky was pitch black. I looked around just in case someone was watching.

No one was, so I opened the doors.

I almost fell on my face from using too much force. The doors were a lot lighter than they appeared.

Inside, it looked different than what I had expected. The outside was naturally beautiful, but the inside… The inside of the factory was extravagantly decorated, with candles lit in all corners of the room. The chandeliers hung from the ceiling and a table set for two sat between a conveyor belt and an assembly table. I thought this was the weirdest part. I wondered why the table was set up like this. I was alone. There was no need for it. The wind blew through the now opened windows, sending a chill through my whole body. It all felt off. The moonlight gracefully drifted through the room. Suddenly, uneasiness crept over me. The first hallway looked almost like a tunnel, only you couldn’t see light at the end of it.

It looked like someone, or maybe something, had been living here. I felt like someone was trying to make me feel at home and this feeling was off putting.

I walked down the long, dark hallway, waiting for someone to jump out at me, something to creep up when I least expected it.

“Hello? Is anybody in here?” I asked, not really wanting to hear a response.

No answer.

I heard my voice echo through the hallway for a lot longer than it should have. It was too quiet. The horror-movie-like setting wasn’t what scared me the most. It was the fact that this place felt alive; this place felt happy to have me there. But, it wouldn’t be happy to see me leave. I wanted to run, but something was keeping me there. I should’ve never stepped foot in the factory, yet here I was.

Now, the air felt heavy, and it smelled stale. I looked around to see why and realised that all the windows were now shut. I tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge.

“Why won’t you open?” I screamed, my fists banging on the door.

But, of course, no response.

And suddenly, I stopped banging on the door, I stood for a moment thinking. Why did I want to leave? What did I really want?

Maybe that’s what it wanted me to think. I had accepted my fate. I knew I wasn’t going to get out.

I walked around the factory for a few minutes, examining every shattered piece of glass, every lost screw.

I was strangely at peace.

I stopped walking. Then, quickly, picked up my pace and started again.

I had been walking around for hours now. Hours turned to days, days turned into weeks and as time went on, my heart got heavier and my steps became weaker. I had lost my grasp of time.

The last thing I saw was a doll, and it looked strangely familiar.

Years passed and no one came looking for me. My joints stiffened. My little white shoes stayed bright. My now-porcelain skin felt cold. And, just like that, everyone forgot about me. Just as my parents had.

The factory was the most beautiful building in town. It still stands at the corner of 17th and Orlando Street, with its magnificent collection of dolls.

 

Chasing Stars

The night sky plasters a layer of darkness above us like a ceiling. We lie stretched out on a blanket, our phones inside the house and turned off. The air is still, as the fireflies appear sporadically and then dip back shyly into the darkness. I’m not thinking about my potential mosquito bites or how tired I’ll be tomorrow. Instead, I listen to the low hum of my sister’s voice as she describes the stars we’re lying under.

“Does it comfort you?” She hesitates with a tone of anticipation. “Does it comfort you to know that there is a whole unknown world out there?” It’s a pretty random question, even for her. But everything feels so uncomplicated that it seems like the right conversation to have.

“I don’t know,” I respond, still staring straight up at the sky. “I guess it’s both comforting and terrifying.”  

“Terrifying?” She exclaims, shocked. “How can it be terrifying?”

“Well, it makes you realize that you don’t really matter. Like, none of this — not you, not me, not the people we know or the things we do. I mean, what are we compared to the stars that will still be here millions of years from now?”

She’s silent for a moment, slowly processing what I’d said. We’re only two years apart, but sometimes it feels like four. Difference in age creates one hole in our relationship, but our personality differences open many more. Although I was born only one minute after my twin brother, I am the first-born in spirit. I’m the classic type-A perfectionist. Don’t worry, I’m working on it.

Despite our holey swiss cheese relationship, we’re as close as the cars on the I-95. I always pack her bag when we go on trips because if she packs hers, she’ll forget underwear. Oh, and we share a room, so that definitely adds to the dynamic. I go from picking up the clothes she left strewn over the floor, to singing every lyric of Summer Nights with her at 11:00 pm, in our parallel twin beds.

Lily is like a sparkler. She’s the kind of light that you hesitate before igniting. Not because you don’t want to, but rather, because it’s so forceful, so full. She is so full. Not physically, she’s actually long and lanky. But her presence is all encompassing. And her light makes you want to trace your name into the darkness with it. She turns her face towards me, her freckly nose crinkling thoughtfully.  

“I guess that makes a little sense,” she says, though I know she’s still skeptical.

“To me it’s exciting. It’s exciting to know that there is so much left to discover. So many corners of the earth to explore.”

“So couldn’t it be scary to think you might never see those corners?” I pose.

“Well,” she starts confidently, as if she had already thought of that, “that’s why you have to go seeking. You have to seek out the corners, not expect them to fall in your lap.”

“Lily, where is this coming from?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“In health today, we talked about cancer,” she says.

“Oh,” I say. Our grandfather had been diagnosed with bladder cancer four years ago. It was tragic, but there was a level of detachment between us and the issue, so it   wasn’t  something we talked about plainly.

“Let’s get out of here” I say, hoping to change the subject. It was only nearing 10:00 pm, so Brookville Supermarket was still open.

“We can get ice cream at Brookeville.”

“I hope they have bubblegum,” she says.

As we fold up the blanket and step into our flip flops, we take one more look at the stars. We walk inside quietly, and Lily sets the blanket back down on the couch. I grab my wallet from the counter, and we walk out the front door, closing it softly.

As we walk up the street, the sound of our flip flops create a casual rhythm. Lily sprints ahead for a moment and then slows down; she thinks she can run faster in the dark. I think she’s crazy, good crazy. When we reach the market, the renowned “7- Up” and “Brookeville Super” signs are illuminated on the side of the building.

The bell on the door jingles as we open it. We step into the coolness that occupies most grocery stores, and it wraps around us like an old friend. The florescent lighting takes a few seconds to adjust to, but once I do, I am overwhelmed with familiarity. I can almost feel the weight of my polka-dotted fifth grade backpack and the cool glass of the ice cream counter on my nose as I point to coffee, my favorite flavor. My eyes find their way to the dark curls of Ryan Gibson, standing at the cash register. His green eyes flicker to the corner of the store where we stand, and when he sees us, a smile spreads across his face.

“Hey, Harper,” he says eagerly. Ryan and I went to elementary school together. Although we parted ways for high school, we used to be good friends. We haven’t talked in awhile, and it’s surprising to see him here.  

“Ryan! When did you start working here?” I ask, feeling a little like I too should have a job.

“Two weeks ago. My mom wanted me to have a job for the summer, so I thought I’d start now.” It was late May, and at school, you could tell everyone was checked out. Once the warm weather arrived in Chevy Chase, school felt wrong.

“I’m impressed,” I answer, examining his face, still shocked at how much older he looked.

“We came for ice cream,” says Lily, impatiently.

“Of course, Lily, what can I get you?” says Ryan, making his way over to the ice cream counter.

“Bubblegum in a small cone please,” she says.

“And for you?” He asks, looking towards me.

“Coffee in a small cup,” I answer, my eyes trained on the ice cream scooper. We pay for our ice cream, and I tell Ryan I’ll see him around. We sit at the table outside and eat our ice cream in comfortable silence. Lily has around an inch left of her cone so I eat it, then regret it when I realize coffee and bubblegum are not a good match. We walk home to the beat of our flip flops and the reassuring feeling that tomorrow is Saturday, and we can sleep in.

 

I wake up to the sound of pots and pans and the low drone of the espresso machine. I check my phone; it’s 8:42. When I come downstairs, everyone looks at me. Lily, my mom, and my twin brother, Nick, are all seated at the table. My dad is frothing the milk for my mom’s coffee, and there’s a stiffness in the room.

“Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask, confused. I wanted to tell them that I was thinking about getting a job for the summer, maybe at Brookeville market. I could spend time with Ryan and serve ice cream to cute little kids. But it felt like the wrong time with this awkward vibe.

“We have some news,” my mom starts, “I want you to remember that this could be much worse and that you are very lucky kids.”

“What happened?” says Lily, concerned. “Did you lose your job? Are you guys getting divorced?”

“No, no, Lily, stop it.” My mom says.

“Then what? You’re freaking me out,” says Lily, abandoning her cereal, her eyes wide.

“We are moving to Santa Barbara, to be with my dad,” my mom says, slowly.

I focus on the ceiling fan, whipping around in endless circles. I try to follow one of the petals, but lose it after a few seconds. I feel like somehow I should have predicted this, or maybe it just seems that way when you get shocking news. I look out the small window above our kitchen sink. The glass makes the outside scenery look like a painting. My grandfather paints.

“For the summer?” I break in, my mind spinning in a million different directions. “Or for the school year too?”

“You guys will go to Santa Barbara High School starting September,” she says. “We leave June 16th.” I think about what a serious decision this is to make. To move our family of five from Chevy Chase, Maryland to Santa Barbara, California. This must mean that my grandfather’s situation has worsened.

I find a new petal to focus on and watch as it spins.

“How is he?” I ask, tentatively.

“The treatments are moving slower than we expected,” my dad says, handing my mom her coffee in her favorite Cafe De Flore mug. “We want to help your grandmother and spend as much time with them as we can.”

“Can I still play golf out there?” asks Nick, the school record-setting state champion. He crosses his arms, tanned and muscular from playing and caddying.

“Of course,” my mom says. “We want to make the switch as smooth as possible for you guys; we know it’s tough to switch high schools and move across the country.”

“Imagine moving from California to the Philippines as a sophomore,” my dad says. He moved around a lot growing up.

“It won’t be for too long either,” my mom says, “just until things get better.” My mom and dad are total opposites. My mom, raised on Park and 93rd on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, went to Spence. My dad, raised in Ohio, Sacramento, and the Philippines, went to UC Riverside, and then lived in Tonga with the Peace Corps.

“And the beach and school are just a short walk from the house,” my dad continues, “west coast, best coast.” Lily and I exchange glances. The beach did sound nice.

“Harper and I can pretend we’re Cali girls,” Lily says, her big blue eyes light up with the magical idea.

“Well, thanks for listening and cooperating,” my mom says, standing up from her chair and folding her robe around her floral pajamas. My sister and I climb the stairs to our shared room. I sit on my unmade bed and peer over at Lily. Grabbing her glasses from her nightside table, my sister sits down in the same position, and we face each other.

“Well, at least you’ll get to see a new corner,” I say, only half joking. The reality of starting over completely in a new school was starting to sink in.

“You’re right,” she says delighted, “Harper, we can go to the beach whenever we want — ”

“Lily,” I interrupt, “you know how hard this is going to be, right? Finding our people, our crowd at a new high school. I mean, I’m going to be a junior this fall. I’m zooming straight into the infamous tunnel that is junior year all by myself. You’ll be doing the same as a sophomore. Like, yes, we’re seeing a new corner, but we didn’t seek this one out. It fell into our laps.”

Lily keeps her eyes trained on the pink stringlets of our shag carpet as she starts to speak.

“Harper,” she starts, “you can’t be picky with the cards you’ve been dealt, or rather the corners. Some fall into your lap and some you seek and find. This one happened to fall into our lap. We get to live in California. Think of every cancer patient out there who can’t live to the full extent that they’d wish to. What would they tell you? Embrace the change and live it up in Santa Barbara, no matter how awkward the first day of school is. Or worry about the rocky start to your junior year?”

I look over at the vintage Vogue covers and New Yorker prints hanging on the wall above our desk and tell myself that I am not the only star in the sky. People everywhere, under the same stars, face incredibly tough hardship — I am up to a mere change of scenery. Especially if it involves brilliant blue Pacific waves.

“I guess it will be pretty cool to start over,” I say. “To meet people who know nothing about me.”

“That’s more like it,” Lily says, getting out of bed and unplugging her phone from the charger.

Later that night, I walk into the sunroom to find Lily lying down on the couch, clad in sweatpants and a quarter zip, a remote clutched in her hand as she scrolls through movie options on Netflix.

I set my stuff down on the table, and, without turning around, Lily asks “Blood in the Water or Stranger by the Lake?”

Stranger by the Lake,” I respond, intrigued.

Blood in the Water it is,” she says, flashing me a sneaky smile before turning back to the face the screen.

I’m lying in my bed almost asleep, in that half-awake state where only the slightest sound can draw you right back into wakefulness. My eyelashes flutter against my sleep mask. The door to our room opens with an unforgiving screech, and Lily steps into the darkness to get into her bed. I’m awake now, but I don’t feel like talking, so I pretend I was never broken out of my almost-sleeping state.

And just as I am about to drift off completely, Lily whispers, “Harper, I’m scared.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

Sunday came and went and so did the last week of school. Telling my friends that I was moving across the country felt wrong, like I was playing a part or reading a script. This didn’t feel real. It wasn’t so much that I would miss them terribly — I don’t rely on my friends as much as most people do. It was more about familiarity and comfort. I’m comfortable, but that is going to change when the plane takes off June 16th.

It’s Friday, June 9th, and I’ve just finished my sophomore year. I’m in the passenger seat of my mom’s silver Volkswagen bug, my hand stretched out the window, fingers curling to catch the 30 mph Connecticut Avenue breeze. It’s weird how we wish for summer and then once we get there, we’re stuck. Stuck in the feeling that we should be doing all the things we put off until now. The screen of my phone lights up with a notification that reads “This iPhone hasn’t been backed up in 97 weeks.” I make a mental note to back my photos up on my laptop later. My mom drops me off at the Silver Diner, where my friends and I order french toast and milkshakes from the all day brunch menu. Jade, Stella, and I sit in our usual booth by the window. Jade to my left and Stella across from me. Stella has shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes, and a slight, dancer’s frame. She is wild and fearlessly independent. Jade is more like me, cautious and mindful. Yet she’s also fierce and scrappy. Her eyes are light brown with specks of golden light that often emerge.

The milkshakes arrive, the extras in tall frosty silver cups.

“Cheers to junior year,” says Stella, raising her glass.

“And cheers to a west coast Harper,” says Jade.

“Guys, please don’t forget about me” I say, looking each of them in the eye.

“Girl, that’s impossible,” Stella says.

“Yeah, we’ll Facetime you a ton and keep you caught up on school gossip. You’ll meet surfer boys and come back all tan, looking like a Brandy Melville model,” Jade gushes.

“She’s right,” says Stella, “you’re gonna be so exotic when you return, I think we should be worried about you forgetting us.”

“Oh stop it,” I chuckle, glad that I came out tonight and quickly realizing that this may be one of the last times we’re all together before I leave.
“So I leave in a week,” I say, seriously.

“Let’s make it the best one yet,” Jade says, twirling her spoon.

And it did end up being one of the best. We spent our days at the pool, letting the sun seep into our skin and our tan lines stand out further. We would go for long drives at night with no destination in mind and with all the windows down. We would stay up ‘til 3:00 in the morning talking, and then sleep in ‘til 1:00 pm. We would talk about our futures: the near, the far, and every place in between.

 

The next thing I know, I’m walking down the narrow aisle of the plane, looking for 24C. I sit down in the middle seat, then trade with Lily for the aisle. I take my book, earbuds and phone out of my bag, then set it under the seat in front of me. I am about to fasten my seatbelt when something — someone catches my eye. I stare at the head of dark curls I am almost sure belongs to none other than… Ryan Gibson?

“Ryan,” I call out, hoping to get his attention. What was he doing on this flight?

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to be quiet,” the flight attendant says. Her red hair looks familiar. Is that… ? My ninth grade biology teacher? Since when is she a flight attendant?

“Ryan,” I say again, louder this time.

“I’m listening to a podcast, do you mind keeping it down?” says a blonde girl across the aisle that looks my age. Wait..

“Stella?” I ask, “what are you doing on this flight? Why are there so many people I know on this flight?”

“You don’t remember?” she asks. “We’re coming with you to Santa Barbara. We’re all coming with you.”

There is a beeping in my ear that won’t stop. Everything feels so hazy, so off. I turn around and see three of my classmates in the row behind me. I face the front of the plane and Ryan turns around; I think he sees me. The beeping noise won’t stop, and when I focus on it, I realize it’s my alarm. I roll over in bed and open my eyes. I sit up to grab my phone and press stop on the alarm. It’s 6:00 am, June 16th and our plane takes off, for real, in three hours.

Our carry-on bags inch across the belt and under the metal detector. We stack our plastic bins and put our shoes back on. My dad is sporting his usual worried travel face as we follow him to the gate. When the weight of the plane is lifted and the wheels take off, I am overwhelmed with a heartbreaking nostalgia. It feels as though it has been chasing me ever since I woke up this morning, and when we took off, it finally caught me. When the ground we walked on minutes ago becomes a speck in the distance, I try to focus on The Stranger by Albert Camus, instead. But every couple of pages, my mind drifts back to what I had just left behind.  

The sprawling hills and immaculate landscapes create a scenic and smooth drive to my grandparents’ house in Montecito. We pull into the gravel driveway and when I see the weeping willow in the front yard, I instantly remember this place. After greeting my grandmother in the kitchen, I wander into my grandfather’s bedroom. I hang by the doorway, not wanting to disturb him as I watch the steady rising and falling of his chest.

Later, Lily and I decide to investigate the shed in the yard. We find two beach bikes and take them out for a spin. I had forgotten what it feels like to bike down a long windy road in Montecito, with the yellow light of the late evening sun shining down on us, leaving dappled patterns in the road.

I hear a crunching noise and keep biking, not thinking much of it. Lily slows to a stop at a crosswalk and pulls out her phone to see what time it is. I reach into my pocket to do the same, only there is nothing for my fingers to clasp onto. I get off my bike and walk back up the same way we came down as the harshness of the situation casts a shadow on my preceding happy mood. I find my phone face down on the ground and pick it up. The screen is shattered into tiny pieces of glass, and when I push the home button, there is no reaction. We walk our bikes home in shock. I think of that iCloud storage notification, and all the photos I had just lost.

That day, we had run away from our comfort zones and into the unknown. The seemingly magical, sparkly unknown, that involved beaches and surfer boys and yellow evening sunlight. We ran straight into new lives. New lives with cracked phones, lost memories, awkwardness, and unfamiliarity. The start to my junior year was rocky, but I found my crowd, and I found my way. It wasn’t easy, but I did. As for Lily, she got to experience a new corner; we all did. Lily and I unfold one of our grandparent’s big fluffy blankets, and set it onto the grass in their backyard. We each lay down, our feet hanging off the blanket, tickled by the grass. I take a deep breath and gaze up at the stars.

“I changed my mind about the unknown world out there,” says Lily, declaratively. “I think it’s good that we don’t know which corners will fall into our laps.”

“Why’d you change your mind?” I ask, softly.

“Because I realized, if we had been seeking a different corner, maybe we wouldn’t have been given this one. Maybe we are supposed to wait and see whatever random ones fall into our laps.”

“You’re right,” I say, shocked at how clear and simple her message was.

My eyes fixate on the stars, scattered throughout the dark sky. Some shine brighter than others, but each and every one is important.

 

The Magical World (Chapter Two from Mystic)

Everyone knows those long, tiring days. You’ve experienced one. You can just admit it. After busting a shoplifter, sneaking into a prison, hearing a noise louder than a Green Day show, and practically being death threatened by a huge guild of Scavengers that shouldn’t exist anymore; you’d be tired too, just admit it.

Surely, you have your own special place where you go on those tiring days; some would call that special place home. Mystic has his own world. Of course, he doesn’t own that world, but he calls it a home.

***

Mystic walked around the city for a little bit. To any normal person who watched him for long enough, it would seem like he was just wandering around endlessly, with no place in mind. But don’t be fooled like any normal person; he knew exactly where he was going. Mystic walked down a shady side street with a small pub on the corner. When he reached the entrance, he paused and stared at a lock on the main door that appeared to the human eye to be completely broken. Mystic pulled out a set of very abnormal looking keys, looking at all of them to make sure he chose the right one. Once he found the right one and put it in the lock, he began to slowly fade out of existence; into another one.

The Magical World. That broken-down keyhole is one of the many portals to allow beings to switch between the two planes of the Human World and the Magical World. The rest are scattered across the city, and Mystic owned a copy of every key. Humans never see it as more than a broken lock, and humans never try to replace or remove the lock because they never see a reason why they have to. Mystic’s body began to appear in the Magical World; slowly, with a flash of light, he fully appeared and looked around. The layout of the Human World and Magical World was eerily similar. The pub that Mystic had used as a portal was still a pub, and, in fact, his favorite magical pub.

As for the inside of this “magical” place, it’s incredibly loud. I’m sure you can imagine a normal human pub or bustling restaurant; now, imagine that but almost ten times as loud and with weird demonic noises, and occasionally a large fight. The pub has been like that since the first day it opened and flooded with Demons. That’s right, Demons, all sorts of them as well. While “Demon” is a very general term, since there are hundreds of different kinds and most magical creatures would take “Demon” as an offense, Mystic generally called them all Demons as well, as he himself had grown fond of the term. Most humans would still call them “Demons” or “Monsters” because humans had invented those terms, and it was a way for them to feel like they knew something they truly know nothing about.

Anyway, the pub was normally abnormally loud; but today, however, those qualities of the pub were stronger than ever. Half the Demons that you could see were in a fight; the rest were screaming bloody murder, possibly just trying to talk over all the chaos or simply trying to add to the chaos, who knows? Despite all the insanity, Mystic felt calmer here than he did in the Human World. Perhaps because he had become familiar with this world or perhaps because he was so connected with magic. Mystic looked around and managed to see two much calmer figures in the back of the pub, one slurping down an inhumanly large chug of beer, and the other, who didn’t have a drink in front of him. He recognized the two instantly.

“Pazak! Tabi!” Mystic called out. For some reason, when he called those two names, some of the ruckus calmed down. Pazak, the one with the inhumanly large glass, headed over to Mystic. He had stocky arms and legs, and was partially covered in dirty yellow fur.

“Mystic? Buddy, it’s been years,” Pazak exclaimed.

“Demon years, maybe, but for me, it’s only been a few weeks,” Mystic replied.

“Right, I forgot how weird the Human system works,” Pazak said with a sense of annoyance.

Mystic and Pazak saw another figure walking towards them; he was shorter in comparison to Mystic. His name was Tabi.

“Tabi! You’ve changed quite a bit since the last time I saw you,” Mystic told him as he approached.

Tabi opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but Pazak interrupted him.

“Yeah, ever since he traveled to the Human World, he got soft,” Pazak told him.

“Hey, I’ve lived most of my entire life in the Human World, and look at me,” Mystic said

with a bragging tone.

“Right, a poor old man who ain’t in a relationship!” Pazak jokingly yelled; he laughed at his own joke as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

 “With the life I have, that’ll be difficult; and tonight, well let’s just say things like that won’t be easy,” Mystic replied.

“Ah, bad night, I’m guessing?” Pazak asked.

“Worst in a long time, bud,” Mystic said with a frustrated tone.

“Lemme guess, still hunting lawbreakers as a night job?” Tabi asked.

Mystic had forgotten how different Pazak and Tabi’s voices were; Pazak sounded more like Louie Armstrong, and by comparison, Tabi’s voice was high and squeaky.

“Every day of the week, Tabi, and whenever I can,” Mystic replied.

“Don’t you ever sleep? Humans do sleep don’t they?” Pazak asked jokingly.

“Consider me nocturnal,” Mystic told him.

“That’s no life for a normal man, and you know it; what are you doing by stopping crime, anyway? It doesn’t pay you,” Pazak responded.

“Well, you can keep trying, but, if you ask me, you’re not going to save the worlds or end world hunger; you’re just fighting the little battles,” Tabi said.

“I could always try,” Mystic told him.

“No, I mean, you may be a talented magic user, but you aren’t some warrior in a red costume with super strength and flight who can save an entire galaxy,” Tabi exclaimed.

“Then, I can always fight the little battles; there’s nothing bigger I have to fight,” Mystic fought back.

“One day, you might need to fight something bigger,” Tabi told him.

Pazak smirked when the two stopped talking; the three all suddenly went silent. Mystic suddenly remembered the state of his snake ring; he looked at it, with all its visible cracks and indents. Pazak looked down to see why Mystic was staring at his fingers and noticed the cracked snake ring.

“You might wanna get that repaired,” Pazak said. “As a matter of fact, I might know just the person who can fix it.”

“Tell me who,” Mystic asked quietly.

“It’s not exactly easy to get in touch with him; he stays quiet these days and wanders around. I’m a mutual friend of his, however, I’m sure I’d be able to contact him again,” Pazak told him. Pazak’s words stunned Mystic; the fact that he said it wasn’t easy to get in touch with this repair man brought back memories of when the Scavenger told him it wasn’t easy to get in contact with his guild.

“I need you to find him as soon as possible; this snake ring…” Mystic began, but was interrupted by Pazak

“…is one of your most valuable magical items; I know who gave it to you after all,” Pazak reminded him.

“Give me this man’s name,” Mystic ordered him.

“His name is Teth. Much like you and Beyonce, he only goes by one name,” Pazak said.

Tabi blinked twice and gave Pazak a questioning look, as he had no idea what a Beyoncé was.

“You know Beyonce?” Mystic asked.

“Music transcends dimensions, too; Mystic, you should know this.” Pazak told him.
Mystic laughed with Pazak as he said this; the two shared a small pause, then, Mystic thought of his ring once again.

“I need to get this ring repaired,” Mystic said.

“Yeah, I know how much it means to you; we’ll go now,” Pazak said.

“I think I’ll stay here; I’ve never been into dodgy magic, anyhow,” Tabi told them.

“Alright, kid, don’t drink too much, and stay safe,” Pazak said jokingly.

“Will do,” Tabi replied.

The next thing Mystic knew, he was on the Demonic streets with Pazak. The two saw a plethora of different kinds of Demons; as in the Demon world, there are more types of Demons than there are animals in the human world. However, unlike humans with other animals, all Demons live in the same cities and environments. The intelligence of Demons vary; most kinds of Demons are about as intelligent than average humans, while others are about as intelligent as monkeys.

“Let’s hope he’s still in this location,” Pazak remarked. “Like I said, this guy moves around a lot.”

Pazak pointed at a strange building; describing it wouldn’t be humanly possible, so simply imagine. However, the building did let off a strange vibe, as if you were passing a creepy looking Fortune Telling shop that was hidden in a back alleyway at night; that’s right, that’s how creepy we’re talking here.

The two entered the building quietly; there was an instant change in sound from the crowded and bustling demon streets to the completely empty candlelit shop. The sound was so minimal, Mystic could hear his heart beating and a slight ringing in his ears. Mystic wandered aimlessly around the room; it looked a lot bigger on the inside then it did the outside. The ceilings were high, and there was a small desk with magical tools stacked high behind it, as well as a large wooden staircase on the left.

“Teth!” Pazak exclaimed.

Pazak’s deep voice seemed to quickly echo across the room. Suddenly, slow footsteps were heard, as a silent old human man walked carefully down the large wooden staircase; this man was Teth. He had somewhat of a hunchback; yet, he walked without a cane or a walker, and his hair was a solid blonde, despite the fact he seemed to desperately cling to the banister of the staircase.

“A human?” Mystic asked himself under his breath.

“That’s sure right. A human with good hearing,” Teth said.

Teth had a thick Brooklyn accent, which you could hear despite his rather low monotone voice.

“It’s been far too long,” Pazak exclaimed.

“Agreed. What do you need? As you know, I have a full job in this world now; I am a very busy man,” Teth told him.

“We have a broken magic item for you to fix,” Mystic told Teth before he let Pazak say anything stupid to him.

“What kind of object?” Teth inquired.

“A possessed snake ring; the spirit of a Scorpiurus embodies it; it’s cracked in multiple places,” Mystic said.

“A cracked spirit ring; that’s incredibly dangerous; if the spirit leaks out, it could create a very…” Teth said, but paused, thinking clearly about what he was about to say.

“…unwelcome entity,” Teth said in a sharp tone.

“Time is of the essence then; it looks like you’re going to have to drop your other work,” Mystic told him.

“Kid, I don’t like your tone,” Teth said jokingly.

Teth moved over to the desk and pulled out a small monocle.

“The ring is cracked in five different places; look closely,” Teth said, giving the monocle to Mystic. Mystic took the monocle and examined it closely. The ring was cracked, but the cracks seemed to emanate a powerful blue light.

“That light, that must be the spirit?” Mystic asked.

“Indeed,” Teth said simply, taking back the monocle. “I need to get to work immediately,”
Teth pulled out a magical tool, and with it, he smoothed down the surface of the cracks. One by one, Mystic watched as each crack disappeared in front of his eyes. Mystic was amazed; never had he seen a tool that could simply fix broken objects with little effort required at all.

“Unfortunately, this tool isn’t going to seal the cracks forever; it’s simply so the spirit doesn’t manage to escape while I work; you’re going to have to give me a day on this snake ring, and I need to focus on this, so I request that you both leave,” Teth told them.

“Are you kidding me, Doc? We just got here!” Pazak exclaimed.

“He’s dealing with dangerous magic here, Pazak; I’d expect that you would know that,” Mystic told him.

“Listen, Teth, we’re gonna catch up sooner or later, okay?” Pazak told Teth.

“Of course; right now, I need to focus on my work,” Teth told him.

Mystic and Pazak both left the shop and walked down the Demonic streets once again, spotting and walking past a group of unusual biker Demons with antlers, causing some mild chaos.

“Teth, he’s not what I was expecting; he’s kind of…” Mystic began but was interrupted by Pazak’s loud voice.

“Old?” Pazak asked.

“I was going to say more human-like than what I was expecting,” Mystic said.

Pazak laughed a long, drawn out laugh.

“You’re getting less blunt over time, Mystic. About a decade ago, you totally would have said ‘he’s old’ and not mention the fact that he’s human, no matter what was going through your mind,” Pazak said.

“How’d you meet him?” Mystic asked.

“I met him way before I met you, but he spent all his time in the Demon world once he discovered it, learned magic from a few dodgy Demon types; unluckily for him, since he stayed in the Demon world, he aged at the rate Demons do, making him grow older faster, if that makes sense,” Pazak told him.

“I think I follow,” Mystic said.

Screaming was suddenly heard behind them; Pazak and Mystic turned around to see a relatively young Demon being thrashed across the street; he hit the ground with a large thump. Mystic looked to see who threw the kid and saw the same unruly antler Demons from before, with their pointy ears, vibrant orange skin and fashionable motorcycles. Pazak didn’t need to watch to know exactly what Mystic was about to do.

“Don’t even think about it; this ain’t our problem,” Pazak said sternly.

Pazak saw a small smirk run across Mystic’s face; he knew what was going to happen next, but he didn’t have enough time to react. Mystic punched Pazak in the stomach, running to the poor Demon kid, who was slowly getting back on his feet.

“Come on, get up, kid! Aren’t you going to fight for yourself?” asked one of the Demons. The Demon cracked his knuckles and made a fist with his seven fingers, getting ready to strike the kid once again.

“Whatever magical items you have on you kid, I want to see them, now,” another Demon said.

“Hey, that’s enough!” Mystic shouted, stepping in front of the kid.

“Get lost, old man, this is none of your business!” The Demon shouted back.

“It bloody sure is now,” Mystic replied.

Suddenly, Pazak ran towards them, and punched the Demons, knocking back the one talking to Mystic.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the Demon said with a smirk.

“What were you thinking? You don’t have your ring on you,” said Pazak, shouting at Mystic.

“I can handle this the old fashioned way,” Mystic said with a much calmer, cooler voice.

The Demon kid looked up in shock at his protectors; yet, he said nothing. He simply watched.
Mystic and Pazak tried their best to punch the antler Demons back, but to not much avail. The antler Demons fought back using magic; the one Mystic was talking to had speed magic, allowing him to not only be a lot faster then Mystic and Pazak, but making it harder for Mystic and Pazak to see him. Another Demon used energy magic, making him able to shoot energy out of his hands. Another with flight magic, which, as you can imagine for Mystic and Pazak, was just really irritating as he flew about and occasionally dropped down for an aerial punch attack. The two quickly learned that they were completely outclassed and that the antler Demons were much stronger. Mystic was struck across by the speed Demon when trying to protect the kid.

“Hey, you,” the speed Demon exclaimed. “You’re the famous crime buster, Mystic!”

“I’m famous?” Mystic asked.

“Oh, buddy, for us, you’re legendary! You captured some of my contacts easily, and I wanna make you pay!” the speed demon howled. The speed demon ran behind Mystic, and in the second where Mystic wondered where the speed demon went, he was struck in the back of the head by him.

“Guess the legendary Mystic lost his touch! Or maybe you just aren’t as tough as everyone says you are,” The speed Demon continued. Mystic was knocked off his feet by the speed Demon and fell on the cold pavement.

“I’ve heard of your little snake ring; a couple Scavenger guilds are after it,” the speed Demon began. “It’s worth thousands now, and since you don’t seem to want to sell it, I guess that means I can sell it to the Scavengers for myself!” The speed Demon exclaimed. The speed Demon quickly checked all of Mystic’s fingers and ungloved his gloved hand.

“Unlucky break, buddy, I don’t have my ring right now,” Mystic said, smirking at him.
The speed Demon tried to punch him again, but Mystic dodged easily. The speed Demon went into a fit of rage.

“Where is it? Tell me now!” The speed Demon said, grabbing Mystic by the collar of his shirt. The speed Demons’ infuriatingly bright orange skin burned Mystic’s eyes; it was bright, exotic, and overwhelming. His eyes were an even brighter shade of orange, but the annoying orange color of his eyes gave Mystic somewhat of an idea. Mystic spat in the speed Demon’s eye. The Demon didn’t even flinch, however, and rambled on.

“If you won’t tell me, you’re useless to me!” The speed Demon yelled, ignoring the spit, which, by now, had covered most of his face. Meanwhile, Pazak wasn’t faring so well against the Demons; the one using energy magic created a massive fist out of energy, punching Pazak with it and knocking two of Pazak’s teeth out. At this point, a few Demons pulled out small weapons from their pockets; it looked like a knife but with no handle and a very large point. The antler Demons managed to knock Pazak and Mystic on the ground.

“You’re not so good at the old-fashioned way!” Pazak exclaimed.

The antler Demons managed to surround Mystic, Pazak, and the Demon kid.

“You have a plan, magic boy?” Pazak asked.

“Hey, you’re a Demon, Pazak; you’re the one who should know magic, not me!” Mystic retorted back at him.

“Remind me to learn; that speed magic is pretty cool,” Pazak added.

“I know, right?” The speed Demon said, slowing down and standing proudly in front of Mystic, Pazak, and the Demon kid. He looked like a predator who just killed his first prey; proud, yet cold and calculating, ready to hunt again.

“So, human, I think in your world they ask: any last words?” The speed Demon asked. Mystic carefully took the pack of gum from the deli out of his pocket.

“What is that?” the speed Demon asked.

“Gum. It’s edible,” Mystic said, taking out the first stick of gum.

“Is it some sort of weapon?” Whispered one of the Demons in the background.
Pazak and the Demon kid looked on questionably as Mystic began chewing his first piece of gum. However, what Mystic failed to notice was a blue light shining through the pack of gum. Without further notice, the gum came alive, attacking the Demons; the gum grew exponentially in size, and a huge wave of gum shot at the antler Demons.

“I knew it was a weapon!” The same Demon shouted before being drowned out by the incredible amount of gum that shot at them.

When the gum attack died down, Mystic and Pazak could see clearly again; the antler Demons were scattered across the floor; most were covered completely in gum, the speed Demon being one of them. A few had managed to escape and were running away.

“Can we take them?” Pazak asked.

“Let them go; they learned their lesson, and if they haven’t, we’ll get them next time,” Mystic told Pazak.
“Damn. Whatever that weird pink weapon is, it’s useful,”

Mystic laughed loudly but quickly stopped.

“It doesn’t normally do that,” Mystic assured him.

Mystic looked down on the ground; gum had gotten everywhere, and the demons were completely still.

“This is going to make for some weird chalk outlines,” Mystic said jokingly.

“Stop your smart mouth for a second, okay?” Pazak told him. “And look!”

The two saw large vehicles quickly driving down the streets; these cars seemed to hover on magic, as they had no wheels, but they were large and bulky.

“Those are the Magical Authorities, and, to them, we just knocked out a dozen antler Demons for no apparent reason,” Pazak told him.

“Can’t we just tell them they were criminals who were beating up that kid?” Mystic asked.

“Do you really think they’re gonna believe that, Mystic? The crime system is a lot tighter in the magic world; there’s barely a trial, and all criminals are put to death,” Pazak told him.

“Tabi is lucky he didn’t come along; he wouldn’t be able to handle getting beating up then getting chased by the law,” Mystic said. Mystic looked back at the demon kid.

“You’ll be safe,” Mystic said to him. “But you need to run, now,”

“Thank you,” the Demon kid said in a meek sounding voice, as he ran off into the night.
Pazak began running in a different direction; Mystic quickly followed. Mystic looked back slightly to see four Authority Officer Demons stepping out of the vehicles and putting the antler Demons in their vehicles while the Officers handcuffed them. One of the Authority Officers clearly saw Mystic and Pazak running away, as he began chasing after the two. Mystic faced forward and began running faster.

“We need to get lost,” Mystic suggested to Pazak.

“There’s a subway down there!” Pazak said, running towards it. Mystic followed quickly, but he just managed to see the vehicle stop, the doors to it slide open. Mystic and Pazak ran through a crowd of Demons, while they saw a subway with the doors that had just closed.

“Dammit,” Pazak said.

Pazak and Mystic tried their best to blend in with the crowd, but it didn’t help that Mystic was human, as there were no other humans in the station. The Magical Authority Officer, accompanied by another one, who also must have noticed Pazak and Mystic running away, suddenly entered the subway station, hands clutched to the weapons they were carrying in their belt buckle. The Officers wandered around, glancing at everyone; they even glanced at Pazak twice, obviously not recognizing him, and luckily they weren’t able to see Mystic, who had crouched down. Around that time, another subway arrived; Mystic and Pazak quickly got on board, hidden in between a group of other demons. Mystic got another quick glimpse of the Authority Officers; they seemed to be looking at two demons covered in yellow fur, who were the same type of demon as Pazak. The subway took off with a magical whir.

“Listen, Pazak, I have to get out of this world,” Mystic said.

“Don’t worry, I know a portal by the Empire Magic Building; we’re going to get you out of this world,” Pazak told him.

“Perfect; right now, all I wanna do is go home and sleep all day,” Mystic mumbled to himself.

“Say, is your pretty face okay, Mystic?” Pazak asked jokingly.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine once I get my beauty rest,” Mystic joked back. “How are your teeth?”

“They’ve been better; I’m sure I’ll find some dodgy magic guy who specializes in repairing teeth,” Pazak told him

“I think they’re called orthodontists, Pazak,” Mystic said sarcastically.

“Right, right, I knew that; that’s what I meant, of course,” Pazak said to pretend he was joking. The two suddenly became silent; they listened to the sound of the magical subway car whirring across the track.

“Are you going to be okay alone? You’re an outlaw now, Pazak,” Mystic asked.

“Don’t worry; I can survive on my own, besides I have Tabi to protect me,” Pazak joked.

“True, very true,” Mystic said in a joking tone.

“Besides, if I ever need to get out of here, I can come to your world and crash at your place,” Pazak said.

“Of course,” Mystic said, figuring Pazak was joking.

The two got off the subway and got to the building with the portal. Mystic once again took his magical keys and put them in the broken looking lock in the door; he said his goodbyes to Pazak as he disappeared.

“See you around; tell Tabi I said hi, oh, and remind me to pick up my ring in a few days,” Mystic said as he slowly disappeared back into the human world. Then, there he was, standing in front of the pub where he was before. Mystic looked around at the human world, comparing it to how it was back in the magic world. Everything was so much quieter now; he walked around again. The sun was rising, and you could see the horizon line clearly, despite the array of buildings in Sweden. He figured the only reason he should ever return to the magical world again was to get his ring back. Sure, the magic world was his own special place, but right now, that special place he wanted to be was home. Now that the sun was up, he would get unwanted attention, as he gave off a magical aura which grabs people’s attention in broad daylight. Mystic looked down at the pack of gum which was once again stored in his pocket, he thought back to the deli and the Scavenger, then how one of the sticks of gum came to life, and how the spirit of his snake ring must be possessing the gum. The gum could be useful in battle; though, one thing is for sure, he isn’t going to eat it. Mystic did wonder what possessed serpentine flavored gum would taste like, however. Another thing that crossed his mind was that the spirit could easily come alive, and, judging by Teth’s reactions to it, could probably destroy a couple dimensions or so. However, Mystic didn’t care; he may try to follow the law, but no law says to defend the earth valiantly as it’s being wiped off of any existence. It’s like Tabi said; he can’t fight the big battles, so why should he try? If Sweden was going to go under because of a huge spirit demon, so what? It wasn’t Mystic’s job. There were Authority Officers for that. Besides, will anyone really care if the world suddenly ends?

 

Janitor

The man walked up to the school building early in the morning. The students wouldn’t be there for another hour, but he had to be there before anyone else. He groggily fumbled with his keyring, his fingers not awake enough to choose the right one. He eventually found the right one and unlocked the heavy double doors to the elementary school where he worked. The time went by quickly in the early morning, and teachers began arriving, along with children and their parents. The children were often afraid of him, with his heavy work boots and tall stature, but he didn’t mind. He had watched many of them grow up and thought very fondly of them.

Later in the day, as he was mopping the floors of the hallway, he saw a little girl running excitedly in his direction. She held something in her hand very tightly. In her excitement, she didn’t see the newly cleaned floors which were still shiny with water.

“Hey!” he screamed forcefully. “Stop running!”

The little girl stopped running. The janitor ran over to her.

“You can’t run like that,” he said. “You could get hurt.” He hadn’t meant to be aggressive, but apparently he had been; the girl started to cry. The man was uncomfortable and didn’t quite know what to do. He awkwardly crouched down to her level.

“I-I… I’m sorry. What’s in your hand?” he asked. The girl opened her fist to reveal a pearly white tooth. It was no bigger than a grain of rice. The janitor smiled and stood up.

“Come,” he said with a beckoning motion. The little girl wiped her eyes and walked with him to the school nurse.

***

It was a painfully cold day outside, but the warmth of the heater made the school feel safe and comfortable. The children were all content and cozy in the sweaters their parents had dressed them in. It had been snowing heavily all week, and the children hadn’t been allowed to go outside to play at recess. Teachers tried to keep them busy with stories and projects and baking cookies, but kids were getting antsy.

Wintertime was extra laborious for the janitor. He had all of his usual responsibilities, but he also had to shovel snow and keep the boilers working. Many others on the janitorial staff were out sick, and this left him with even more work to do. The kids were getting restless and making more messes than usual. Everything had to be disinfected extra carefully, so they wouldn’t get sick. All of this sometimes made the janitor grumpy. He didn’t mind too much, though. The job was thankless, and the children always put a smile on his face.

The next week, the snow had calmed down enough for the students to go outside for recess. This, of course, brought much excitement to the school, and everybody was anxious to play in the snow. The janitor watched contently as the children built snowmen and threw snowballs. He saw all the little ones walking around in their clunky boots and thick coats. The man smiled; they were practically double their size. When playtime had ended, all the children came marching inside with red cheeks and frozen fingers. The teachers helped the younger ones take off their boots, and snowpants, and mittens. They were all soaked through. The kids went with their teachers to their next class with a spring in their steps.

The janitor stood in the doorway of the kindergarten classroom. He saw the pile of wet coats and scarves and socks, and reminisced about his own childhood. He carefully hung all of their soggy layers on the heater to dry.

***

The janitor locked up the heavy doors behind him as he finished a long day’s work. The schoolyard was quiet, and the sky was dark. He zipped up his jacket to block out the chill as he walked to the bus stop. The bus was delayed, so he had to wait for about ten minutes. When it finally arrived, he waited patiently as an old woman slowly stepped onto the vehicle. There were no seats available, but people would probably get off. He lived very far from the school and got off at the last stop. He found a pole near an old lady and a mother feeding her baby a yogurt. The janitor leaned against the pole and began to drift off. He was suddenly jolted awake by a large bump in the road. The unexpected movement disoriented him, and he lost his balance. He stepped backwards, in an effort to regain stability, but the bus bounced yet again. His foot slipped and he fell on the floor of the bus. He tried to get up, but was surprised by a sticky pink substance thrown in his face. The baby sitting next to him had spilled his yogurt all over himself and the janitor and had started bawling. The child’s mother was scrambling to calm down her baby and clean him up. The bus pulled up to the next stop, and the mother quickly realized that she had to get off. The janitor was left on the floor, covered in strawberry yogurt, seemingly forgotten about.

***

Unfortunately, the janitor’s neighborhood was teeming with people, all staring at the large man emanating an artificial-strawberry smell. He heard some children on the playground snicker as he walked by. He zipped up his sweatshirt and pulled the hood over his head. When he reached his building, the janitor pulled out his keys and unlocked the front door. Most people used the buzzer at the front door, but this was only functional if somebody else was in your apartment. He walked up the three flights of stairs to his floor; his heavy boots made thunking noises all the way up.

The man let himself into his home and carefully unlaced his shoes — so as to not track dirt inside. He gingerly removed his soiled clothing and put it in the washing machine. He changed into some clean clothes and washed his face and hands clean of yogurt. For his dinner, the janitor took out a frozen meal. He peeled back the plastic and put it in the microwave to defrost. While his meal was cooking, he scanned the day’s newspaper. The plastic container of food was hot to the touch, and the comforting warmth seeped into the janitor’s fingers. He sat down on the couch with the hot food, a glass of soda, a cigarette, and ate as he watched the TV — as was his daily ritual.

About an hour later, the janitor received a phone call. It was from the principal of the elementary school.

“Hello?” the janitor said, tentatively.

“There has been a break-in at the school. Twenty computers were stolen, as well as cash from the office,” said the principal.

The janitor was a bit taken aback by the principal’s brashness. “Oh. Uh –”

“Please come to my office tomorrow for questioning,” the principal interrupted.

“Questioning?” asked the janitor.

“Yes,” said the principal. “You were the last one at the building. I have to admit that it doesn’t look good for you.”

The janitor was stunned. “Uh, okay, so you think it was me?” he asked.

“Unfortunately the evidence is stacked against you. You have no education past high school, which you didn’t even complete; you took the GED. You have the keys to the building, a salary just above minimum wage, and you work at a well-funded school in a wealthy area. Not to mention that you were the last person in the building today.” The principal continued speaking, but the janitor was too lost in thought to listen. After years of having a steady job, a job he somewhat enjoyed, he was going to be fired. Fired for something he did not do.

“I will see you tomorrow,” said the principal with finality. The janitor was left standing there, the old landline in his hand and the buzz of the ended call in his ear. He was frozen for a moment, as he let all that had happened sink in.

A wave of anger washed over the janitor. He thought of all of the years he had worked, tirelessly, thanklessly, at the school. He thought of everything he had done for those kids and how he never got anything in return; he was ignored, pronounced unimportant, and left on his own. Rage began to pour over him like a hurricane. It was as if a fire had started in his chest, and he felt the burning heat reaching all over his body, igniting something within him that he himself had not known about. It felt like his breath was not moving up and down, but rather moving in circles, creating a whirlpool inside his lungs. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. A tornado of earth, wind, water, and fire raged within him. For years the man had done mundane and tedious work — never complaining, never asking for a change. In tough times, he had often imagined, as many do, great outbursts that he wished he had the courage to conduct. He had always seen himself as the janitor, and nothing else, but no longer would he stay dormant.

The newly accused man’s face lit up as he crafted his plan of action. He laced his boots up tight – preparing for battle. He stormed out of his apartment with only a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, his keys, and bus fare. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. With bitterness in his heart, the man marched down the streets to the bus stop. He didn’t care as he pushed people out of the way to get a seat. He marched to the school with his shoulders back and his chest proudly puffed out. His strong, heavy feet walked with purpose. Every part of his being knew what to do. His fingers nimbly unlocked the heavy doors, and he felt powerful as he opened them with ease. He no longer felt pain; only blinding infuriation. The man seemed to glow with fire as he walked down the hallway to the principal’s office. He did not fear anything. He knew exactly where to turn to avoid the security cameras, he knew which key to use, and he knew what he was going to do.

The empowered man closed the door of the principal’s office behind him. He took one last moment to think of his past. He could feel an explosion of fireworks going off within him. He felt a volcano erupting. With confident hands he took out the pack of cigarettes and the lighter. He took one out of the box and set off the lighter. He stared into the illuminated lighter for a moment before he put the end of the cigarette into the fire. With exasperation, the man dropped the lit cigarette on the floor of the office and watched as the principal’s carpet (and eventually the rest of the room) caught fire.

The man walked out of the building with satisfaction. He stood outside the building, and watched as it was consumed by flames. Within an hour someone had called the police, but he was not scared of the sirens. He took the bus home in a revenge-filled daze and was aware of nothing and no one. He walked mindlessly back to his apartment with the image of the glorious fire in his eyes. He unlocked the door to his house and unlaced his heavy work boots. He sat down, turned on the TV, and lit a cigarette; he was content.

 

The Cure

It began. I was in and out as they brought me to the operation room. I could see people running around me. The two that were pushing the bed had hazmat suits on, which only meant that there was a patient they weren’t so sure of. I felt something running from my ears — it was blood running like a never ending river. As the blood flowed from my ears, my eyes started to burn, and my vision started blurring. I knew that there was something wrong, something I couldn’t stop. Then the screaming began. It sounded like I had fallen and broken every bone in my body known to man. And I was pleading and begging them to just end my life now. I was so consumed with pain, I went numb, and so did the rest of me, but the blood kept pouring out. As my mind started to fade, I remembered the ocean, the ocean where all my troubles were supposed to go away. The ocean where I would find THE CURE.

But let’s backtrack for a moment. When I was growing up, I lived in a small town near Vermont, where everyone knew everyone and knew who you hung out with, who you were close to, your whole family lineage, and so on. I was the perfect student, the perfect sister, and daughter, until they died. It was very tragic. I was about twelve when this incident, or should I call it, this massacre happened. My mother and older sister were picking me up from swimming class when the shots began.

At that moment, one, two, three, four people fell to the ground. We ran to the nearest building and hid behind the counter. Than it started: my sister started shaking and her mouth started to foam. Her eyes were the first to bleed, and then her ears. My mother was just sitting there unable to move; her eyes started to roll to the back of her head, and she started to shake. At that time, I was only twelve, and I could barely take care of myself. So I just sat there and watched my sister gasp for air. I watched my mom claw her eyes out, trying to see me. I watched helplessly, unable to understand what was happening. When the ambulance arrived and took us to the hospital, the doctors were unable to figure out what happened. So they gave them a sedative to make them go to “sleep.”

From that day on, I vowed to learn what happened to my mother and sister. But now, the same things were happening to me but in a slightly different way. And now, you can surely see why I was so infatuated with finding out what happened. Since now you know the past, let’s continue on with the future.

“Maybe we can put her into a drug induced coma, so we can have more time to figure out what’s happening to her.”

“That will only give us 72 hours.”

“Well, that’s better than nothing.”

So 72 hours… that’s all the time they had to cure me.

***

I wake up. The IV drip is going into my veins. My blood is no longer black but more of a more metallic color. It’s a cool, early morning, too early to tell what time. But I’m awake after three days of “sleep.” No blood, no feeling, just numbness. Just lying in the hospital bed, ready to eat some actual food. I’m so thirsty. There’s a cup of water sitting right besides the bed, but as I try to reach it, I realize that my arms are strapped down to the bed. Staring at the metal buckles, I wonder what happened when I was asleep for those three days.

 

The Snake

As I walk to the street corner where I work, I feel free. No one is giving me funny looks. No one knows what I’m keeping in my bag. Then I get to the street corner and set down my hat. Already, people are looking at me. I reach down into my bag and pull out my snake, Jimmy. I drape him around my neck and start the day.

Now people are really staring, as looks of disgust are shot in my direction. I have grown accustomed to the look of shock when people notice Jimmy on my shoulder. Their eyes open wide. Some tap their friends and point towards me, and some take out their phone to take a photo. Some people walk by as briskly as possible, and some walk slowly and gape. No matter the reaction, people never stay. The sight of Jimmy is nothing but a minor distraction or a small break from the ordinary. Although it is odd and surprising, it is no marvel for this city.

Simply holding Jimmy barely makes me any money. If I want to eat dinner tonight, I need to make more of a spectacle. I take out the gummy bears and place one in my hand so that only Jimmy can see it. I place my hand about two feet above him and he reaches up. I slide my hand to the side and then to the side again. I do this until I create a steady sway to make it seem as if he is dancing. Now people are really taking notice of me. I see coins and some bills being dropped into my hat. I continue to sway him from side to side. My mind almost shuts down doing the same task all day. Then, I notice a man walking towards me.

He comes to me and says, “Do you want to join my circus?”

“Does it pay well?”

“Better than this.”

“What will I do for the circus?’

“Train snakes and maybe other animals.”

“Will I get a bonus per other animal?”

“Listen, you’re performing on the street, just take the job.”

“Alright. I’ll join your circus.”

It turns out that I can train other animals, not just snakes. Now, Jimmy is one of our top-selling points for the circus, and I train any animals that are new to the circus. I am training our bears. I need to chain them to a wall, so the only way they can walk is by standing up. Once they learn to stand up, we tie ropes to their necks and tug them so they do what we want. I have never had animals that are scared of me, but these bears are. When I come near them in their cages, they run to the opposite side.

I walk out of the circus tent, and there is a mob of PETA protesters. The protesters seem to mainly be kids from the neighboring college, but there are also a few older people. They hold signs, but all the signs say roughly the same thing. The signs say that all our animals are treated inhumanely. They say that we torture animals. I try to ignore them, but I can’t get the thought out of my head. Am I cruel? Is what I’m doing wrong? Yes.

In the morning, I go to the ringleader’s office. I am about to go in, but then I think about what life would be like if I quit. Where will I be? Stuck going to the same street corner and doing the same thing every day. Maybe I can find a job somewhere else, but here, I have stability. The possibility of needing to go back to street performing sounds too bad for me. I turn back and go to teach the bears more tricks.

 

The Teddy Bear

A headless teddy bear lay in the grass. Its body reached for its head only a few feet away. It stretched its neck in vain. The teddy bear was hopeless, hapless, and distraught. A few feet away, a man took out a pencil and began to sketch the trees, bushes, and grass that surrounded the teddy bear. The man breathed in the park smells: pine, wet grass, and crushed cigarettes. He didn’t notice the teddy bear’s head by his boot.

The teddy bear frantically called out to the man, “Please, sir, if you could just pass me my head! Right by your foot!”

But the man didn’t hear him. He kept sketching the park, finished his drawing, and left.

A businesswoman passed by next. She walked along the grass on the pavement, talking to someone angrily on the phone. She yelled about her finances and her stupid, no-good secretary. She huffed and rolled her eyes, then said, “Fine, I’ll tell you the number, but this is the last time, I swear…”

The woman dug around inside her purse until she found a piece of paper with some numbers on it. As she took it out, her red, leather wallet fell out onto the grass.

“Miss, your wallet has fallen from your bag!” the teddy bear called.

The woman ignored the the bear and kept reading the numbers, with her hand on her hip and her eyes rolling constantly.

Then she said, “Yes, of course,” sighed, “Yes, you’re welcome,” rolled her eyes, and left.

The teddy bear began to cry, only to realize that its head was still two feet away and was now covered in salty tears. More tears pooled around the the head, and it began to float away.

“My head!” cried the teddy bear.

“Where is your head?” A little girl cocked her head to the side. She sat criss-crossed in the grass beside the bear. She wore sandals with little pink flowers and dancing Hello Kitties.

“There! There!” The teddy bear pointed halfway down the little river of tears that had formed.

Its head bobbed up and down. The girl chased after the teddy’s head, splashing in the tears as she ran. Finally she caught the head and gleefully brought it back to the teddy bear.

“Oh, thank you! I have been trying to get my head back all day!”

Relieved, the teddy bear pushed its head back into place, stood up, and started off.

“Wait! Wait!” called the little girl. “I thought maybe we could play? I have a doll house and another teddy bear. They can play too!”

“Sorry, little miss, but I have a job to get back to. Why don’t you sit in the grass and play alone?” The teddy bear continued to walk off. “Oh — and thanks for my head!” it called over its shoulder.

The little girl sat down in the damp, tear-stained grass. She didn’t like to play alone; she always played alone. She smelled the pine, wet grass, and crushed cigarettes, pushed aside a red wallet on the pavement beside her, stared at her sandals, and watched the little flowers sway and the pink Hello Kitties dance.

 

Space Baby

Eliza’s eyes grew wide at the world. The space around her was light and airy. She floated up and around the little room in the aircraft. Her face was soft, cheeks glowing and red. Her lips were thin and moist, but no breath escaped them.

For a moment, everything was silent in the little, white room with no windows. The baby floated higher. Everyone stood about the little child in a dome below her, waiting. Eliza’s mother sat up, staring almost angrily at her baby. Her eyes wanted to command the child to breathe.

And then a cry rang out. Bubbling from Eliza’s mouth, a shrill, joyous cry echoed throughout the tiny room and into the ears of her family, the astronauts, the doctors. Everyone had been waiting for this moment, and it had come. In only a moment, the scary, silent room became abuzz with laughter, crying, shouts, and whoops. Eliza’s mother silently sobbed in a corner, watching in wonder as her beautiful, baby girl bounced around the room, crying gleefully.

Then it was time to take Eliza out of the room she was born in, to show her a world much bigger than the one she already knew. A universe.

Carried in the arms of her mother, Eliza was led to an enormous window at the front of the aircraft.

“Look, Eliza,” her mother said. “This is my world. And now, it is yours.”

Eliza cried again. But through her glassy tears, Eliza could see the world. She saw the dark sky with smudged stripes of purple and pink. She saw the sun’s bright rays and the moon’s pale, mysterious reflections. She saw the planets which she would one day explore. And the infinite stars were reflected in her wide, elliptical eyes.

Eliza slept in her cradle. A large paperweight held her blanket down, and she snuggled into it. Eliza’s mother watched her newborn with sunken, hollowed out eyes.

“You should get rest. Your girl isn’t going anywhere.” The doctor gave an encouraging smile.

“She won’t go anywhere, but I’m already gone. We’re years away from Earth. You know I won’t make it.”

“We don’t know that. I’m not making any predictions yet. Hold on for your baby, for the future of space science. You’re making history!” the doctor insisted.

Eliza’s mother smiled sadly and lay down on the floor next to her baby’s cradle. Her skeleton curved around the walls of the little cage. She cried. Her tears all gathered in the deep circles under her eyes. Bubbles of the salty liquid floated off of her face and made it look like the walls were crying, too. Her face was a waterfall that didn’t flow. She was a broken woman.

And they had made history. Even if both Eliza and her mother died, the first baby had been born in space.

 

Angels

What’s happening? Where am I?

These are the first things that come to my mind. I’m unaware of the darkness that surrounds me. So I begin to walk. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know that I have somewhere to be. So I walk and walk and walk. There is no landscape to look at, nobody to talk to. Sometimes I’ll see a long, white shape in the distance, and I’ll run towards it, hoping for answers. It always disappears. I rack my brain, but I can’t remember anything. I have no concept of time, so whenever I’m tired, I rest. Sometimes I feel restless, and even though I am walking, I can’t shake this feeling of unease.

At one point, I feel thirsty. I wish I had something to drink. As soon as the thought comes to my head, a glass full of grayish liquid appears in my hand. Although it doesn’t taste like anything, it quenches my thirst. After a while, I realize that I can wish for anything, so when I am tired, I wish for a bed. Until today, I didn’t realize that I could wish for a friend. I wish I had a friend, I think. Soon a milky, white ball comes into view. This is my friend. I don’t know how I know that this is a safe person, but something in my mind says it is, and when you have nothing, you tend to listen to that little voice.

Once again, I ask, “Where am I?

I cannot hear my voice. The white ball never answers my question, but it’s still there. It grows bigger and stronger, and soon, I can see a face. It gets bigger, until it’s around the size of a baby doll. Then it disappears. Then after a couple minutes, a new friend appears. This continues. After a while, I get used to all these new friends.

I wake up to a strange light. I find myself in a long, dark room. Eventually, a humanlike figure drifts towards me. It’s much bigger than my other friends. I can slightly see a cold, white face with two black slits for eyes. The figure looks like it is wearing a white robe.

“Where am I?” I ask.

I am surprised to hear my voice, slightly slurred, but still there. I am even more surprised to hear the figure reply lightly and calmly, “Welcome.”

“Who are you?” I say.

“My name is Mortem.”

“If you can answer my questions, why couldn’t my other friends?”

“They are not fully developed and are nothing but the, yet, unborn children of time.”

“What am I here for?”

“You are still not fully developed, yet time has left you.”

Mortem shows me to a hole. In the hole is a bed. It looks so comfy, so inviting. There is a plaque with a strange carving on it. It looks like a name.

“Would you like to take a rest?” Mortem asks.

There is something so wonderful about that bed, yet I don’t feel ready.

“Not now,” I say.

Soon, another figure arrives. It moves slower and, somehow, seems older than me. Mortem shows it around and shows it another bed. This time it agrees. The stranger acts like it can’t see me. The figure crosses its arms on its chest and closes its eyes. A lid lifts up and covers the hole.

I see Mortem showing more ghost-like figures around. Most of them agree to the bed, but every once in awhile, somebody says no. When that happens, they disappear from my view.  I watch everyone get into bed peacefully, and soon, I feel peaceful with my own fate. Now I’m gazing longingly at my own bed, and eventually, I decide to sleep. I say goodbye to Mortem and get into bed. Before I get in, I look at the plaque one last time, and I see a faded name, Cecily Brooks. Those two words sound so familiar, yet I can’t remember why. I close my eyes, cross my arms like all the others, and let the darkness surround me. For one moment, memories flash in my brain.

***

I remember when my parents got me my first phone. I treasured that phone, and I hugged and kissed them for days. My parents and I had an amazing relationship until that fight.

I remember that fight. I remember the shouting, and I remember smashing my precious phone on the wall. I remember ignoring my parents for the rest of the night. I remember sneaking out of the house when everyone was asleep and climbing into my family car. I had gotten my driver’s license the week before.
I remember driving on the road. It was my light. Yet, that other car that came didn’t stop. I remember that split second of fear, and that moment of helplessness. I remember wishing that I could apologize to my parents. Perhaps that’s why I felt so hesitant to get into bed before. I was missing something: my parents’ love.

Then I remembered something else that I will never forget. I remember seeing my body in the hospital, my mother leaning over me, crying, and my father trying to pretend his eyes weren’t filling up with tears. I remember blowing them a kiss and drifting up into the sky.

 

Uncharted Territory

Her screams seemed muted as they sometimes do in movies. I couldn’t make out her words because she was so distraught. Tears ran down her cheeks, and her face was red and hot. As I inched towards her to help her calm down, she swatted my hand away like a bug, a nothing to her. And in that moment, I saw words that would stick with me for as long as I lived, sketched into my brain forever, always there to remind me of the pain of losing a friend.

“I hate you.”

***

When I was growing up, I lived in a small town in Alabama. And, as you sometimes hear about towns in the south, there were racists. Sexists. Homophobes. You name it. We had all the hate in our little town. It seemed as though there were only three people in the town with some sense about right and wrong: Sally Anne Thompson, James Parker and me, Jessica Smith.

I met Sally Anne and James on the first day of freshman year. See, it being a small town and all and them having lived in the same town, I should have met them in elementary. But my parents, being the close-minded people they were, pulled me out of school in the second grade when I corrected my pa from saying “Indian” to “Native American.” They gave the excuse, for pulling me out, that the school system was trying to “change” the good ol’ southern ways, and they didn’t want me submitting to that disgrace of America. But by high school, they figured they had brainwashed me enough that no matter what school said or did, I wouldn’t believe. The ironic thing was that school wasn’t progressive at all; it was just better than they were.

My dad “prepared” me for the first day. He told me that I might get a bit of a hard time because I was home-schooled, but they knew I could do it.

My mom told me explicitly that, “Whatever happens to you doesn’t matter. Those poor children have been poisoned with the words of their teachers telling them that everyone is equal. We raised you right, so you know that this is not true, right, sweetie?”

“Yes, Ma,” I had whispered.

These words hurt me to say. Such simple words. Words you could say to having to do the dishes, “Yes, Ma” or words you say to finishing your homework, “Yes, Ma” or even words to not hit your brother, “Yes, Ma.” But it was these simple words that time and time again reestablished my agreement to injustice, to inequality, to hate. Just a simple “Yes, Ma” always sufficed.

I remember the night before the first day of school. I felt like a balloon filled not with air, but anxiety. I questioned if anyone would like me, if anyone would make an effort to be my friend. I was the home-schooled girl, and everyone knew the rumors about me: that I was full of myself and didn’t want to be around other kids so I convinced my parents to pull me out; that I was unaware of “normal” things to do and say because I had never really associated with other kids. And the worst part was, I was afraid that the latter was true. I mainly talked to my parents who seemed to live in the Stone Age because of how unaware they were of the happenings in the world. I didn’t really know anyone my age, so I didn’t know the trends. I was afraid that I would be shunned for my beliefs on equality. I let fear drive me that night. I cried myself to sleep.

I remember standing outside the steps of the big brick building, as hundreds of kids swarmed around me, trying to catch up to their friends. I remember feeling the smooth, metal railing next to the stairs as I took slow steps up to the next chapter in my life. I remember being pushed to the ground by a kid in a football varsity jacket and not even turning around to apologize. Then, I remember the first words spoken to me on this uncharted territory.

“Get up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said get up.”

“Well, I’m trying to. Wanna give me a hand?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

“Yeah, no problem,” I responded, sarcasm dripped in my voice.

I pushed myself to my knees and stared right in the face of the head cheerleader. Well, it seemed as if it couldn’t get more stereotypical than this.

She seemed as if she was about to say something, so I wanted to beat her to it. I didn’t want to let her get the joy of making any more fun of me.

“Can you move, please?” I said, imitating her face pleasantness. “I need to get up. Isn’t that what you told me?”

She moved to the side resentfully, her hands on her hips with flushed red cheeks against her pale white skin.

“Thank you.”

I walked confidently up the rest of the steps, but as soon as I entered the building, where I was sure she couldn’t see me, I ran to the bathroom and used some tissues to wash off the streams of tears unintentionally flowing down my face. Tears like these reminded me of the day that I had discovered the shocking truths that people believed about me.

It was a Sunday in the middle of June. Church had just ended, and I was going to the grocery store to pick up some vegetables for dinner. I was walking down the aisle, headed towards the broccoli, when I noticed two girls staring at me and whispering to each other. I turned back around towards my destination but I could feel their glare on my back. I knew that they also went to church that morning, just like nearly everyone in this town, and I knew they were around my age. I still remembered everyone in my class, so I figured that they must have been a year younger than me, entering eighth grade in the fall. I grabbed my broccoli, well aware that they were still watching me, pretending to shop for carrots. As I walked back up the aisle, they stopped me.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked politely.

“Yes, hi, I’m Susan, and this is my sister, Lila.”

I stared at them, quizzically, wondering if that should mean anything. Susan was wearing a red blouse and a short, white skirt. Her blue eyes popped out against her pale skin. She wore high heels that didn’t seem very manageable in a supermarket. She had long, golden hair, the last feature she needed to enter a beauty contest. Her sister was quite the opposite. She wore brand-new sneakers and skinny jeans. Her shirt was black. She also had blonde hair but had dyed streaks of it blue, just like the color of her eyes. She slouched a little, but Susan held herself up straight as she spoke to me.

“You know, Susan and Lila Peterson? I was in your grade before you left.”

Oh, I guess I didn’t remember everyone. But, sometimes it’s better to pretend that you do.

“Yes, right! My apologies, of course I remember you.” I lied. A white lie though.

“Yeah, and it’s Jessica. Jessica Smith, right?”

“Yep. That’s me.” I smiled, happy that people still remembered me although slightly confused why they were talking to me.

“Right, and you’re coming back to school this fall?” Susan asked.

It didn’t seem as though Lila talked much.

“Mmmhmm.”

“So, we just wanted to say hi.”

“Oh.” I was pleasantly surprised. “Well, that’s very nice of you.”

“Well, I am part of the welcoming committee.”

“Although you guys don’t actually do much,” Lila said.

What a “nice” thing of her to say, even though she was right.

“True, but we’ll take whatever chances we’ve got.” Susan smiled happily, trying to cover up her sister’s abrupt honesty. “So, we were wondering, do you have any time to talk, just for five minutes?”

I checked my watch. I had to be home in a half hour, but if we shopped and talked, well, it might just work out.

“Sure, just walk with me, okay? I have to be home soon.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Susan and Lila look at each other as if they were in question of why I needed to be home so early. That should have been my first sign that everything was about to go wrong.

“So, why are you coming back to school now?” Lila asked, like the snotty, little brat she was.

“Ummm. Well…” I didn’t really know how to answer without throwing my parents under the bus. So another white lie. “My mom wants to get back to working so she does something more productive.”

“But, doesn’t she teach you?” Susan inquired.

This was not how I planned our conversation going.

“Yeah, but when I’m working independently or something, she has nothing to do because it doesn’t take very long to grade two students’ work.”

“Who’s the other student?”

“My brother.”

“Right… Is he coming back to school now too?”

“Yeah, in the sixth grade.”

“So right in time for you to start high school and him middle school.”

“Yep, that’s how my parents planned it.”

Then everything took a turn for the worse.

“So why did you leave school in the first place?”

Again, I didn’t want to say the real reason, because my parents were more racist than anyone in the town, and I also didn’t want to insult where the sisters had been educated all their lives. So I was kind of stuck.

“Uhhhh…”

“We heard it was because you didn’t like public school, but your parents couldn’t afford private school,” Lila said, like reciting from memory.

“That’s not very nice, Lila,” Susan scolded although she seemed very interested to know if it was true.

“Umm, no. That’s not true. That’s absurd in fact. I barely knew what the difference between private and public school was when I was in second grade.”

“Oh.”

But Susan wasn’t done yet. It seemed as though my lie had paid off and, for the moment, I was safe.

“How many kids your age have you talked to?”

I remember thinking to myself that her question was such an odd thing to ask and wondered if it really mattered. To her, it did, but I could care less.

“A couple,” I said dismissively.

I checked my watch and pretended that it was urgent that I leave right then.

“Oh, well, sorry. I have to go but I’ll see you around.”

I went home right after that and cried. I didn’t know why but it seemed as if school was not going to be what I imagined. After that, I noticed every eye that followed me around town, every word that was spoken about me. It seemed as though Susan and Lila spread the rumors around some more telling people that I was “as socially unaware as a seven year old” and that “I wasn’t prepared to transition into high school.” I tried to ignore it as much as I could, but I was immediately reminded of them as I was pushed onto the stairs.

A jolt of reality struck me as a hand was placed on my shoulder. I turned around to see the guidance counselor, whom I met over the summer.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I responded.

I also didn’t want to be known as the girl who ran to the teacher before class started. The tattletale.

“Just a little something in my eye.”

By that time, I had wiped most of my tears away, and it wasn’t unbelievable that maybe a little dust or sand got in my eye.

“Okay, then.” She walked away before remembering to give me a little, “Good luck!”

“Thanks!” I called back, secretly wishing that I wouldn’t need it.

 

Annie and I

I stared out at the desolate gloomy hills. They were mostly a greenish, brown color, like what you would see in pea soup. To make matters worse, my mom had told me that it would probably be raining everyday here in good old Hartford, Connecticut.

“But you can always stay indoors and do arts and crafts!” my mother said brightly.

I nodded and hugged her. This sleepaway camp, Fairview Lake, was where I’d be staying for four whole weeks.

“All girls,” it boasted, “we raise strong girls! Get ready to learn how to take a stand in society!”

I felt this was unfair; I already was a strong member of society. I went to marches — the Women’s March, the Climate March, you name it. I glared at my reflection while getting out of the car; I never set much store by it. Why would you waste time looking at yourself when you could be saving baby seals? But now, as I prepared to meet a cabin full of strange girls, girls I didn’t know, I shook off those thoughts.

“So what if they don’t like you?” I asked myself. “You will only be here for four weeks, Emma, get a move on.”

Stealing one last hug from my mom, I ran up the walkway to the main house. I had a date with destiny.

***

“Hello, Hello!” a thin, bird-like voice greeted me from the dark interior of the main house.

It had ivy growing all over, and some of the window frames were broken, giving the appearance of gaping holes. I froze.

“Come in, come in! You must be our new camper.”

I stepped inside, looking curiously at the woman. She had thin, gray hair and looked like she was in her fifties. Nevertheless, her arms were muscular, and I was pretty sure she could bench-press me.

Um… yes., I stuttered. “I’m Emma.”           

“Well, it is nice to meet you, dear,” she said. “I’m Annabelle.”

As if in a trance, she leaned toward me. I wanted to move, but I couldn’t. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. It felt as if my mouth was nailed shut. I was terrified. She picked up a lock of my blonde hair.

“Such pretty hair,” she said softly, as if talking to herself. “When I was a young girl, I had hair like this…”

***

Five minutes later, I was hurrying along the main path, seriously spooked. Annabelle had apologized for scaring me and said, with a laugh, that old people like herself tended to stare at things… Which made me wonder… How old was Annabelle exactly? I had guessed fifty, but I was pretty sure I was wrong. At least I knew which cabin I was staying in; cabin two. My bunkmates were Lucky and Chase. But something stayed stuck in my head, and no matter just how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase what Annabelle had said from my mind.

“Oh, Emma,” Annabelle had called.

I had turned around, feeling a lump of dread settle in my throat.

¨Yes?” I asked.

¨It´s about your bunkmates, Lucky and Chase. They are good girls, but they have vivid imaginations. They like to make up scary stories,¨ she said firmly. ¨Whatever you do, don’t listen to them. Okay?”

¨Okay¨ I said, then turned and ran.

I was sure now that something wasn’t right, and I was going to listen to whatever Lucky and Chase had to tell me. I pushed open the door of my cabin, looking around. The bunk beds were made out of wood, and the cabin was dark, although it was mid-day.

¨Hello?¨ I called nervously.

A girl jumped off the bunk bed and walked toward me. She was taller than me, with extremely pale skin and heavy black eye makeup. She was wearing all black, and her hair was gelled into little, dark points.

¨Are you the new girl?¨ she asked in a deep, gravelly voice.

¨Yes,¨ I said. ¨I… My name is Emma.¨

¨Hmm,” she snorted. ¨Chase thought you were going to say your name was Annie.¨

She stuck out her hand. I shook it.

¨I’m Lucky,” she said, turning her neck so I could see a tattoo of a green four-leaved clover.

I nodded mutely.

¨Chase will be back from  her class in a few minutes,¨ she said, circling me.

I fought the urge to tell her to get away from me. She stopped circling and stared at me.

¨I think that Chase will want to know — even more than I do — why the new girl looks just like Annie.”

“I honestly don’t know who Annie even is,” I said, annoyed. “Why is she such a big deal to you?”

Lucky flinched as if I’d slapped her. I walked over to the nearest bed and put my duffel down on it. I stared at her. She blankly stared back.

”Fine,” she humphed.”I’ll tell you who Annie is; but you cannot tell anybody else.”

“Why?” I asked curiously.

Another blank stare.

“Because Annabelle doesn’t like it,” she whispered.

Without warning, she turned and headed for the door.

“Hey!” I said, jumping up. “You said you would tell me!” I cried, frustrated.

She smirked.

“I said i would tell you; I didn’t say when. If you want to ever learn anything, kid, you should set the terms. See you at dinner.”

She calmly sashayed away, ignoring my furious glare. After a minute, I followed her.  

Lucky was out of my line of vision by the time I got to a sign that said Mess Hall. Sighing, I followed the arrow that pointed to the mess all. Wait… What was that? A path, smaller than the large path to the dining area branched off, leading deeper into the woods. I deliberated between the two, rocking back and forth on my heels.

“It will only take five minutes, Emma,” I scolded. “You will be back just in time for dinner.”

I plunged into the woods, feeling thorns rake my arms.

***

Looking down the path, I saw what I thought was a house. I walked towards it, and then, discovered that it was a shed. It had gray clapboards, which seemed all that was holding it together. Somebody had painted KEEP OUT, in black, on it. There was a large, gaping hole in it, and there was something brown inside. A rock? A head? Snap! I jumped. It was just a twig… Right? Another snap, and I was running.

***

The mess hall was warm and bright, and I had finally met Chase. She had been angry with Lucky for letting me go off on my own. What if I had met a bear? While she was chastising Lucky, I took this opportunity to ogle my cabin mate. She sported cocoa-colored skin, a nose piercing, and what I was pretty sure was a wig. The auburn-colored curls were tilting alarmingly on her head. I picked at my salad, worrying. What if that had been a head? I glanced over at Annabelle. She was chatting animatedly with the other cabin, the Harriet Tubman Cabin. Each of the cabins had a name of a female leader; we were the Rosa Parks Cabin.

Emma!” Chase sounded irritated, and I guessed this wasn’t the first time she had said my name.

I blinked at her. “Yes?”

“Where were you?” she hissed. “We all know you weren’t in the latrines; I saw you running through the the forest. What were you doing in there?? We aren’t supposed to go there; if Annabelle had found you, you could be in SO much trouble!” She stared at me, breathing heavily.

Lucky was reading a book, and her eyes flickered from page to page, but I was sure she was listening in.

I smiled at her slowly, then pointed at Annabelle.

“Oh, it’s time to go!” I said.

Annabelle was calling all the cabins to order.

As we slowly ambled through the dark woods, I turned around to grin at Lucky and Chase. They were wearing identical expressions of frustration; I still hadn’t told them where I had been and what I had been doing.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said.

“I will not make any deals with you,” Lucky answered immediately.

Chase looked disappointed.

“You haven’t heard what I’m offering.” I smiled, confident that they would want to know.

“Okay,” Chase said. “What are your conditions?”

“You tell me the Crazy Annie story when we get back to the cabin. You will have to tell me the story first, or I won’t tell you mine,” I said happily.

Chase glared. I stared at Lucky for a long moment. She stared back.

“Okay,” Lucky said finally. “But I get to tell the story,” she added.

***

Five minutes later, we were sitting in a semi-circle, on the roughly hewn floor. It was more than a little eerie.

“Fifty years ago, at this camp,’’ Lucky began, “there was a lovely young girl called Annie. She had multiple personality disorder, so those who were jealous of her called her ‘Crazy Annie.’”

I shivered, and Chase wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“She had been coming to Fairview Lake her whole life and so had her steady boyfriend. They decided to have their wedding at the camp, although she was only eighteen, and he was only twenty. The theme of the wedding was daisies, because they were Annie’s favorite flower.”

Lucky paused as lightning flashed, and tree branches shook. It sounded as if somebody were outside. Tap. Tap. tap. Lucky resumed her story.

“On Annie’s wedding night, there was a storm like this one. She could not find her groom-to-be, or her best friend, the maid of honor. She decided to go looking for them in the cabins. And she found them.”

Lucky raised her eyebrows, and after a moment, it sank in.

“Angry that they had been cheating on her, Annie ran away, leaving a suicide note, that she had signed ‘Love, Annie’. One year later, the former best friend and the former husband had the same wedding. Late into the party, the guests realized that they couldn’t find the bride or bridegroom, so they went looking for them up by the cabins. They looked at the trees, and there were bloody daisies hanging off the trees. In the meadow, the bride and bridegroom were lying stone dead with freaking DAISY CROWNS around their heads. Their throats were slit and painted in their own blood, was a huge heart. And, under that heart…” she stopped and swallowed, “were letters painted in blood which said ‘Love, Annie’.”

I gasped. I had been expecting Annie to have been victimized. I had even been feeling some kinship towards her. It couldn’t have been easy to have been constantly be called crazy, and then to be cheated on (not that I would know). There was a knock, and we all gasped. I jumped up, ran to the door and pulled it open… Then I screamed like I never had before… Because lying on the doormat was one perfect daisy. A  figure stood on the doormat with the daisy. Annabelle.

“What do you want?” I yelled.

She turned and ran. I chased her through the winding path behind the shed. Hiding with the help of a tree, I watched her sprint into the meadow and begin frantically digging for something. Whatever it was, she didn’t seem to be able to find it. I picked up the daisy and headed back to the cabin. I’d look tomorrow.

“What is it?” Chase asked.

She saw the daisy, and her eyes grew rounder.

“Emma… Where did you get that?

I held the daisy at arm’s length, trying not to hyperventilate.

“It’s nothing,” I gasped. “Just, just some stupid kids playing a stupid prank.”

With that, I threw the daisy into the rain darkened woods as hard as I could. I didn’t sleep that night.

***

The next morning, I ran to the pay phone and inserted two quarters. I only had enough for one call. Oh well, it would have to do. With the memory of the fresh, white, perfect daisy in mind, I dialed.

“Hello?” that familiar voice asked, in confusion.

“Mom,” I gasped. “Mom, you have to come pick me up. I hate it here.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, clear concern in her voice.

I had her where I wanted her.

“My bunkmates are… strange,” I said, thinking of Lucky and Chase.

“All girls are strange, Emma, love. In fact, you could be described as a little strange yourself, what with the greenpeace thing,” she laughed.

My mom isn’t what you would call outdoorsy.

“They told me a really scary story. Please, Please let me come home,” I begged, losing hope.

“Isn’t that what camp is all about?” she said interestedly. “It looks like everything is fine, Ems. I don’t know why you called me.”

“SOMEBODY LEFT A DAISY IN MY CABIN!” I yelled, starting to lose it.  

“Wow, Emma, it sounds like you have a secret admirer. No need to yell… is everything okay?” she asked. No, everything was not okay.

“You have ten seconds left on this call,” said the recorded cell phone voice. “To call back, please insert two more quarters.”

“Hello?” I said. “Mom? Mom?”

But she was gone.

Without thinking, I ran to the meadow, where Lucky had told me that the two lovers had been killed. I began to dig, digging where Annabelle had been and throwing up lumps of dirt. I didn’t quite understand what I was looking for, only that I would need it. Now that I knew that Annie was Annabelle… was I just going to wave whatever I found in her face and hope that she would confess? I had known who she was from the moment she had laid the daisy on the doormat; I had seen her slender figure holding an umbrella. We had locked eyes for a minute, but then she had disappeared into the rain.

Something brushed my fingers, and I pulled at it. It was a heavy silver ring with something that looked like rust. Blood.

“Maybe this was Annie’s fiance’s ring?” I murmured to myself.

“It is,” a voice said behind me.

I jumped, still clutching the ring. Annabelle — no, Annie — was looking down at me. I screamed; I felt like I’ve been screaming a lot since I came here.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you don’t need to worry,” she said softly. “Your friends, Lucky and Chase have already called the police, and I’m sure they will here shortly. Resourceful girls, aren’t they, Emma?” I nodded, feeling like a fish out of water.

She reached down and plucked the ring from my fingers, examining it.

“You know, Emma, not a day goes by when I don’t regret what I did. I killed the two people I loved most, and now my story will be recovered.”

She paused and looked down at me. “Which is why I want you to write it… the story of Crazy Annie.”

I nodded again, then looked up. Two figures were racing across the meadow, towards us: Lucky and Chase. Police cars were pulling up behind them. Annabelle stood up and dropped something heavy and silver into my palm.

“Goodbye, Emma,” she said.

I stood up too.

“Goodbye, Annie,” I said, waving as she walked towards the officers.

That was the last time I ever saw Annie alive. She died several days after, in prison. Fairview Lake is now run by Marcy, a cheerful, happy, older camper. I would like to say that I am a better person. I have two good friends, Lucky and Chase, and I can finally understand Annie better. I’m back in New York now, thinking of Annie. I have her ring — the heavy, silver thing she gave me — on my dressing table.

 

Love, Emma

 

The Backpack Mishap

The ringing of a bell. Screaming. The end of the school year at Townsend Harris High School. Saying goodbye.

“Alex, wait you forgot your backpack. Here you go.”

“Thanks, Joe. I need to go home. My mom is going to kill me for being late,” replied Alex.

Joe was Alex’s best friend. Alex ran home. His long legs covered ground quickly. He realized that his backpack was heavier than normal. He ran through a mental checklist of what he had in his backpack: pens and his history book. It felt heavier than that. He finally got home and went to have a snack with his mom and brother in the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Alex’s brother, Bob, told him about his day at Hunter College.

He went upstairs and opened his backpack. He saw his papers, mostly B’s with one A. When Alex picked up his heaviest book, World History, he found a sheet of paper, addressed to himself, with directions to go to a building on West 32nd street. Alex debated whether to go to that building or not. He finally decided to go. He had read a lot of mystery books when he was younger, and he wanted to try to solve this one.

At midnight, he opened his bedroom window and climbed onto the fire escape. He walked down the fire escape. He ran until he got to a tall, faded, red-brick building. There was no traffic in this area which, he thought, was strange.

“Is this the place?” Alex wondered out loud.

Alex knocked on the door. Suddenly, a trap door opened underneath him! Alex screamed, but no one heard him. He fell on a long, twisty slide. The slide let him off in a room far below the street.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

The room was dark, with no visible way out. Then, a bear roared, and the lights came on. A huge seven-foot brown bear lumbered toward him. Alex looked around for anything to defend himself. All he saw was a broom. He decided to use the broom. He swung the broom from side to side as the bear approached. He jabbed at the bear who turned tail and ran. Alex examined the room. He saw a hallway near where he stood. Alex ran into the hallway. He looked into all the rooms hoping to see someone. Then he heard a voice that sounded like Joe’s.

It said, “Stop looking around in there. We are over here.”

Alex followed the voice to a room at the end of the hallway. Joe and a large man were sitting on a sleek black leather couch studded with silver buttons.

“I see you got my little present and passed our test with the bear. I work for MHDO — Mayhem and Destruction Order. This is my boss, Mr. Writer,” Joe said. “We have a job proposal. You will get good pay, and the jobs are not hard. Just sign here.”

Joe handed Alex a huge packet.

“Should I read through this 1,000 page packet?” asked Alex.

“Let me give you a brief summary. If you sign here, you give us permission to do whatever we want to you. Your salary is between pages 857-859. If you have any questions call us at 877-241-KILL. That’s 877-241-KILL. Oh, and by the way, that packet is 1,001 pages long. You didn’t count the deductions page. Yeah, just sign here,” Joe replied.

“Okay,” Alex said, feeling trapped.

“You start today. Your first mission is to blow up a building on Broadway. Here are your explosives. Just toss this sphere through a broken window. To blow this up ,you press this red button.”

Along with the sphere, Joe handed Alex something that looked a bit like a joystick for a video game.

“Will anyone get hurt?”

“No, the building is abandoned.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“That is not your business. If you want to stay safe, do what we say.”

Alex did not want to get hurt, so he agreed. He picked up the bag and walked over to a stairway. Alex emerged on West 32nd street. It was around one, and the streets were deserted.  He walked  to the building on Broadway. Alex took the explosives out and threw the bomb through a broken window. A police officer saw Alex and ordered him to get on the ground. When Alex didn’t do that, they got in a fist fight. Alex got battered and bruised but managed to knock out the officer. Alex ran down Broadway. When he got about a mile away, he detonated the bomb. The sound of sirens filled the air. He went back to West 32nd street. He reported that he had completed his mission and was told to go back to his home.

Alex snuck into his bedroom and stared wistfully at the wall, wondering what to do next. After completing his mission for MHDO, his body was all black and blue. His clothes were shredded and torn. He wondered if he should work for them again. Alex felt he would never fully recover from his experience with them.

Suddenly Alex heard a distant voice saying, “Wake up, wake up.”

Alex woke up and groaned, “Where am I?”

“Don’t worry, honey, you just had a fever. I heard you talking in your sleep, so I came into check on you,” his mom replied.

“So it was all a dream?”

“Yes, you can go back to sleep.”

 

Harmonica

Harmonica. Harmonica, Harmonica.

That was all Calum asked for consecutively for four years. He just wanted one. All his friends had one. Lucy had a pink one with jewels along the top, Hannah had a purple one with polka dots, and Mika had a green one with little dinosaurs across the top.

Calum literally begged for one for Christmas, his birthday, and any holiday where he was given presents. Now he was sitting at the party table for his tenth birthday. Calum was surrounded by his family. Then, his Aunt Sarah handed him a neatly wrapped box in colorful paper.

Calum examined the size and weight of the box. Oh my god! he thought, his deep blue eyes widening in anticipation. This feels like a harmonica!

With that thought in his head, he tore apart the multi-colored, zigzag wrapping paper. Excited to finally receive his long awaited treasure, he looked at what laid beneath the paper, and his head fell in disappointment mixed with shock.

Really! Seriously! is this actually happening right now?! he screamed in his mind. What aunt would think her now ten-year-old nephew wanted a mini first aid kit as a birthday present?! Yeah, sure, his father was a doctor, but why would a ten-year-old want a mini first aid kit?

“Auntie, thank you so much. I’m totally gonna use this.

After the party ended, Calum got up to put his presents away. First, he separated them into the categories: actual presents and first aid kits. After he made his piles, he took all the actual presents to his room, and he angrily shoved the first aid kit into his backpack.

The next day at school, the children were finally allowed to go out to the playground. It had rained for the last two days. Finally, they were blessed with the warm yellow glow of sunshine. Lucy went to the swings with her friends, Emily and Hannah. Mika and Calum went over to a spot under the shaded trees and talked for a little. Mika had brought his comic books again so they also read those together. While the two boys were deep into the newest issue of danger zone, they heard Hannah let out a cry of pain. Pulled out of the comic book world, they ran over to their friend to see what had happened. They saw Lucy hovering over a crying Hannah, asking if she was okay. Hannah was holding her hand over her knee. Calum could see that there was some blood on Hannah’s hand.

Since Calum’s dad was a doctor, he went over to Hannah and asked her to move her hand. Hannah did as she was told, and Calum examined the cut. He could tell it was just one of those cuts that wasn’t deep but just bled a lot.

“One second, Hannah, I’ll be right back.”

After he said that to the crying, red-headed girl, he ran over to his backpack and dug through it, looking for the first aid kit. He found it and grabbed the little white box. With the box in his hand, he ran back over to Hannah, noting that more children had gathered around the scene. Calum kneeled beside Hannah and cleaned the cut.

“Hannah, this might sting a little, but just bear with me, okay?” After Calum had cleaned the cut, remembering the steps his father showed him, he grabbed the Neosporin and put a little on the cut. Then, he unwrapped a waterproof band-aid and laid it gently over her cut.

“There. All done,” Calum said.

Mika was the first to say something after that.

Mika said, “Calum, that was so awesome. How did you know what to do, and how did you have the supplies for it with you?”  

Calum replied, “I just keep a first aid kit with me. No big deal!”

Everyone looked towards him in awe, like he was some First Aid King. Calum decided he could get used to that look. The last thing Calum thought before he and Mika retreated back over to their spot under the tree was, Maybe this gift wasn’t that bad after all. Although, he still wanted his harmonica.

 

The Stealer

Once there was a butterfly who was named Carl. He lived in the West District of New Yorkie in the United States of Animalerica. Where Carl was from, everybody was an animal. Carl was grumpy and had an open dislike of the world because he could not get the precious Purple Spring Flower Plant. This plant was the most important thing in Carl’s life. It was the only thing that could give him even the slightest bit of happiness. Carl had wanted this flower all his life from the day he first saw it in the Museum of Botany. He was visiting the museum with his mother on a special trip for his fifth birthday. The ironic thing was that the day Carl glimpsed it, the massive Gorilla, Matt, broke in and stole it. Carl realized that the plant would’ve been easily accessible if it weren’t for Matt.

Matt was huge and was made up of pure muscle. He could crush a 50 pound weight with his toe. Like Carl, Matt adored the Purple Spring Flower Plant, and he thought he could protect it and cherish it in all its glory forever. That was, until Carl.

Now, you may be asking why this plant was so precious to some. There was a myth that if you kept the Plant in the perfect amount of heat and sunlight, it would produce an elixir that could give someone immortal life. Carl wanted the plant, not because of the immortal life, although that would be pretty nice if you ask me, but purely because he thought that the Plant was absolutely stunning. Matt the Gorilla only wanted it so he could become immortal and take over the world. Matt had the flower for a long time, waiting for the elixir. But for some reason the Plant did not want to make its elixir for Matt. Carl realized that since the Plant didn’t like Matt, he might have a chance at getting it and taking it for himself.

So he devised a plan to reclaim the Plant and finally receive true happiness. Carl needed to think about three things: Matt the Gorilla, getting in, and the alarms. To deal with Matt, Carl thought that he could sneak in to Matt’s cave in the underground Mines of Zoo. The Mines were created by the moles that used to dig for diamonds there. Carl also needed to deal with the alarms. Carl knew that Matt was an absolute madman and had stolen many various objects and hurt many people in the past. And if he caught Carl, he would rip him to pieces. Carl chose the tunnel entrance to the cave, which was behind the cemetery a couple blocks from the Museum of Botany. The moles had used and made this entrance to get into the mines easily. He would use these mines in his map for his heist. Carl would sneak in through there and then find the room where Matt was hiding the Purple Spring Flower Plant. Even though this would be difficult and frightening, Carl would do anything for the Plant.

The day had finally come. Carl needed to make his move at night so it would be harder for Matt to see him. He had drawn a map and a plan of what he was going to do and how he was going to do it. It was starting to get late in the day, and Carl was still prepping and planning. He put on his robber clothes, a black jacket and black pants, and started sneaking down his street. He snuck past the Museum of Botany and slowly got closer to the Mines. When he got there, he realized that Matt might not be asleep, which could make the job harder, but Carl still went on.

Carl was inside the tunnels when he heard an electrical sound. He turned the corner and saw a full-on laser wall with what looked like over 50 lasers that seemed practically impossible to get past. He hurled a rock from the ground into the lasers, and they cut the rock straight in half. Carl used his flying maneuvering skills he learned at a camp one summer when he was little to get past the lasers. He did kicks and dives and rolls to get past the wall. He almost did it perfectly, but he missed a jump and a little bit of his left wing was cut off. He was in major pain, but he couldn’t even shout because he didn’t want Matt to hear him. He saw he was dripping blood and could feel it trickling down his body and onto the floor but couldn’t do anything about it. So he kept on going.

In the next area, he found a room made up of stepping stones on the floor that had symbols on them. He knew that they needed to be stepped on with a pattern so he thought about what it could be. Then it hit him. What would Matt use as a password to defend the Flower? He’s a dumb gorilla for goodness sakes. He would just use “Flower”! He realized the signs were Roman numerals, so he did the number equivalents of the word “flower” in the alphabet. VI, XII, XV, XXIII, V, XVIII was the pattern, and to Carl’s surprise, it worked! He did it, he had gotten past the steps of doom! Or so he thought….    Carl was elated that he had figured out the passcode but he didn’t notice one thing: the part of his wing that had been lasered off had been dripping blood the whole time and had been activating the silent alarm Matt had set up. Carl didn’t know it at the time, but Matt was being alerted of Carl’s presence at that very moment.

Carl kept moving and finally arrived in a room with many doors. Each door had its own little pattern, and each doorknob was carefully carved with wood. One of the doors had the flower and Matt in it and that one would be the most dangerous. Carl looked in each and every room twice, and none of them had anything in them.

Carl was about to leave when he heard something moving behind him. He felt the hair on his neck stick way up. He slowly turned around and saw the one thing he didn’t want to see. Matt! Carl turned an odd shade of green and felt the need to run. So he did exactly that. He turned and ran.

Even though he knew Matt would probably catch up to him, Carl knew that he was smarter than Matt and could divert him with a distraction of some sort. Carl ran to a crossroads and ripped out some of his wing feather  to distract Matt and make him think he went the other way. Matt, the dumb ape that he was, somehow fell for it. Carl immediately turned around and went searching for the Plant. He could hear Matt’s screams of rage and disarray but kept running.  

Finally, he glimpsed one room and saw the flower out of the corner of his eye. He opened the door and felt amazing as he ran towards it without thinking about anything else. He looked at the flower, and tears started welling up in his eyes. He gently picked up the plant and started running out the door. He heard Matt coming so he ran back into the room and closed the door. He could hear Matt’s heavy breathing. Matt started walking away, so Carl opened the door and ran.

Carl finally found his way to the tunnels and started climbing up one of them which was especially rocky. The footholds were very small and the handholds were even smaller. He heard Matt go into the tunnel room and heard him checking each tunnel. He was getting to Carl’s tunnel when a mouse made a noise that sounded like a footstep, and Matt went over and checked what it was. At that moment, Carl decided to climb as fast as he could. He got to the top and started running as fast as he could and got to his house. He called the police and sat on his couch with an awestruck look. The police answered, and he told them everything and so they came, picked up the Flower, and thanked him profusely. They went off and arrested Matt for thievery of many items including the Plant. Carl knew he would get a good night’s sleep knowing he had done a good deed for society.

It was a day after the taking of the Flower. Carl was inside his home in the living room watching the news about how he, Carl the Butterfly, stole the Purple Spring Flower Plant from Matt the Gorilla. He was still shaking and feeling the excitement over and over in his head. Carl was thinking about how he had sent Matt to jail and how great it felt to give the Flower back to the Museum of Botany, even when he knew he slightly wanted it for himself. He had never been so happy in his life. Carl just sat there smiling while looking out the window at the sunset. He had no idea I’ve been watching him this whole time….

 

Darkheart’s Curse

Guide To The World of The Prides

  1. Ceremonies A very common ceremony is a Dragoning ceremony, in which a fledgling becomes a dragon. It gives this new dragon a new name (if they wish) and they receive bursts. Another ceremony is a Fledgling ceremony, in which a hatchling gets a teacher and officially becomes a fledgling.
  2. Chores and Status: Fledglings are in training to become dragons, so they get a good share of all the dirty work, like cleaning out bedding and washing underneath the elder’s wings. They also are in charge of the runaway hatchlings. Dragons are in charge of teaching the fledglings. They also must hunt and fetch water soaked in leaves, lichen, moss, or rotting wood. Elders are, well, elders. They are very old dragons that deserve respect. They spend all day napping in the sun or telling stories from their adventures as a young dragon.
  3. Leaders get their names based on their Pride. Ex: Coraltail of LeafPride- CoralLeaf, LeafPride’s leader.

 

Prologue

Rain quivered with excitement as she crouched atop the Leaf Rock, watching as CoralLeaf, their leader, sauntered with her head held high towards her sister (Rosy), Weaver, Blazing, and herself. Blazing was letting out little peeps of anticipation, awarding a venomous hiss from Weaver.

Don’t mess us up!” Rosy whispered angrily. “We’ve got to look good in front of our Pride leader!”

“Shush!” Rain whispered as she looked out over the entire of LeafPride, feeling twice as jittery as before.

“Shush yourself!”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP! SHE’S COMING!” Weaver whisper-screamed.

All of the fledglings on the rock tried to look as innocent as they could possibly muster, hastily smiling at their leader.

CoralLeaf smiled knowingly at them, and they all relaxed. Maybe CoralLeaf wasn’t the scary, ruthless leader everyone portrayed the pride leaders as.

“It is time to announce the Dragoning ceremony for these fledglings. They have learned the ways of the pride and deserve to be accepted as full dragons.” CoralLeaf announced in her deep, booming voice that made you want to turn and listen.

In a Dragoning ceremony, fledglings received their new name and bursts. Bursts were circles surrounded by little circles, spreading out like bursts. They can be red (firebursts), brown (earthbursts), pink (rosybursts), black (nightbursts), etc.

I hope that I get rose-goldbursts, Rain thought excitedly as the others received their bursts and new name.

“Now, Rain, step forward…”

Rain nearly threw up. This was the scariest, and best, moment of her life.

“Do you wish to alter your name?”

Rain thought hard about this. It took her about ten seconds, but then she responded, her voice wavering, “Yes, CoralLeaf.”

Rain’s claws scratched at the rock in anticipation.

“Rainfeather, welcome to the Pride.” CoralLeaf touched her muzzle to Rainfeather’s, and rose-goldbursts appeared all over her light blue body.

Rainfeather caught her mother, Quiet Rain’s, eye, and it glistened with tears as she screamed with all her might, “RAINFEATHER! RAINFEATHER!”

Rainfeather felt as if she might cry a bit, too. She was a dragon now. She could eat, sleep, hunt, and guard as she wished, take a mate (although she surely wasn’t ready for that), and be respected by all of the hatchlings and fledglings. Of course, Rainfeather was going to use this power to the full extent of helping her Pride. LeafPride would be proud of her one day.

 

Chapter 1

“DARKSCALES!” CoralLeaf called from the Leaf Rock. “Where is he?” she asked Rainfeather, who was seated at the base of the rock.

“I have no idea,” she answered truthfully. “But I think he’s up to no good. Why haven’t you thrown him out of LeafPride yet?”

“Because he’s a useful asset,” she snapped. “He has been into the depths of the forest. We need him, Rainfeather! He can help us claim the land there. Great SunPride, for once, think with your brain and not your heart!”

This was a harsh blow to Rainfeather, who was a trusted and experienced dragon to CoralLeaf.

“I’m sorry, CoralLeaf. I’ll try harder.”

“No, no, it is I who should be sorry. It’s just so harsh these days. I feel like I don’t even know who my Pride are anymore… the traitors, the loyal ones… oh, Rainfeather!” CoralLeaf ran down the rock and cried into Rainfeather’s shoulder. T

he leader’s normally bright blue and red scales turned into depressing shades of purple and gray. The cold tears running down Rainfeather’s scales were a shock, so she jerked suddenly. This just made CoralLeaf cry harder, so Rainfeather tried to comfort her. As you will soon see, this is not her strong suit.

“I know, CoralLeaf, I know… everything you’re saying is true…” More tears. “But we’ll get over it… CoralLeaf, snap out of it!” She tried a harsher tone. “Do you think StrongStorm of StormPride and WindSnow of SnowPride are acting like this? Shape up! Become a leader, CoralLeaf!”

CoralLeaf gave one last sniff, then sighed.

“Thank you. Now, I will take your advice and talk to Darkscales. If your allegations are true, if he is raising an army using forbidden magic, then I will remove him from the Pride. If not, he’s still on cleaning duty. He misbehaves enough as it is.”

She suddenly saw Darkscales walking across a strip of grass, caught his eye, and beckoned him to her den with a flick of her tail. Rainfeather, however, decided to go on an evening flight. Just herself and the jagged peaks cutting into the horizon. She needed time to think.

On the flight, Rainfeather gave herself time to think about what had happened within the first moon of being a full dragon. She had been given a fledgling to train. Her name was Willow, and she had been a very good pupil until she had gotten the sickness, Cloverfever, which had made her very tired and unable to train. When she was cured by the Sorcerer Rock, she was inspired to start training for being a Sorceress.

Rainfeather’s father, River, had just been promoted to second-in-line, while Splash, River’s brother, had just been demoted to a regular dragon from second-in-line, so a lot of fights were breaking out between her kin.

In addition to both of these problems was Darkheart.

Many of the female dragons in the Pride fell for him. He was sleek, with a fit, wiry black body with night bursts. Suuuuuuuuuper handsome.

Also suuuuuuuuuuuper evil!

There is a special kind of magic called dark magic. It was forbidden by Leaf, Storm, and Snow, the ancient founders of the Prides. Rainfeather once caught Darkheart using it, and Rainfeather suspected that he was using it to raise an army (You would be sure, too, if you slept next to him in the dragon den! He talks in his sleep!)

Rainfeather sighed and tears welled in her eyes. Nothing was right with the world. Suddenly, she heard a noise and jumped.

“Rainfeather?”

“Blazingwings!”

The fiery dragon appeared beside her, and she swooped down to a nearby rocky cliff so that they could talk.

“What do you want, Blazingwings?” Rainfeather asked cautiously.

Blazingwings looked nervous, his claws scraping on the rock.

“Rainfeather…” Blazingwings took a deep breath, then let it out. “This is going to sound awkward, because we’ve been friends for years, but…” he cleared his throat.

Rainfeather began to sweat. I’ve liked Blazingwings for a long time now… is he going to ask what I think he’s going to ask?

“Rainfeather, will you be my — ” Blazingwings was interrupted by a violent screaming.

“HELP!!! DARKSCALES IS ATTACKING! DARKSCALES IS ATTA — ” The shrill scream was cut off by a sickening crack as the screamer’s neck was snapped horrifyingly. By a dragon.

“Blazingwings! We have to help them!”

Rainfeather and Blazingwings took off toward the clearing in which they lived.

“Rainfeather, if we get through this, will you be my mate?”

“What’s more important now are our Pridemates! Remove all that lovey-dovey stuff from your head and replace it with rage! Our friends are being slaughtered!” Rainfeather cried as she dove into battle.

Rainfeather came face-to-face with Nightmoon, a respected dragon that was a moon older than her. He leaped on Rainfeather and started to attack. She twisted around, and although it exposed her belly, she managed to get in a few good scrapes at his soft underside, watching as purple dragon blood welled up at his wounds.

“Why are you attacking me?” Rainfeather demanded as she slipped away from his grasp.

“I am Darkheart’s dragon now, not puny little CoralLeaf’s!” Nightmoon snarled, swiping at Rainfeather with his newly sharpened claws.

“Who is Darkheart?” Rainfeather dodged his swipe, then rolled over and tripped him.

“You might know him as Darkscales? But of course, that’s his dragon name, a name to be scorned. I am Nightheart now!”

He attempted to swipe at her face, but she caught his claw midair in her teeth and yanked it to the ground, pulling him down with it. Then, quick as a snake, Rainfeather placed a paw on his neck to cut off his air supply.

“Tell me where your loyalty lies,” she snarled. “Featherstripe raised you. We fed you, trained you, kept you safe just so you could grow up to abandon your Pride and become wicked?”

“I- I’m sorry,” he faltered. “Take… paw… off… neck… so… I… can… explain…”

Rainfeather released her paw off his neck but sat on him so he couldn’t make an escape. In the heat of the battle, she didn’t notice that Blazingwings was fighting off Splash, and that CoralLeaf was finishing up with a deadly bite to Storm’s neck, who had nearly killed her.

“Darkheart promised us fame and power, so we went into his den to talk. But then he hypnotized us, so we were his army, and we had to do whatever he said. Now I know the antidote!” he exclaimed. “The antidote is to be reminded of your family. I feel as if a cloud has lifted from my brain.”

Rainfeather leaped off of him.

“Come on, then! Let’s fight!”

They began a session of back-to-back, fending off Darkheart’s soldiers.

“Take that — and that — Lilystream?”

“I FIGHT FOR DARKHEART NOW!”

The usually kind pale-pink dragon cried. Now, you could see the enraged fire burning in her eyes.

Rainfeather broke the back to back formation and leaped on Lilystream, screaming, “REMEMBER YOUR MOTHER, FEATHERSTRIPE! REMEMBER YOUR BROTHER, NIGHTMOON!”

Uncertainty flickered for a moment in Lilystream’s eyes. “Don’t you mean Nightheart?”

“NO! Your brother made the right decision and joined us. He’s Nightmoon.” Rainfeather growled angrily.

They writhed on the ground for a little while, Lilystream tried to resist the antidote, which made her have the urge to shake the spell off. Suddenly, she gave in to the spell.

“Fine. FINE! I’m on your side now.” She looked a bit embarrassed to have given up, as if she had proven that she wasn’t strong enough a million times over to defeat her greatest foe, but Rainfeather leaped off of her and surveyed the area.

There were bodies of dragons littered across the hollow, some injured, some even dead. Darkheart stood in the midst of them all, smiling triumphantly.

“Be careful, LeafPride.” He snorted, then let out a bout of cackles that made you want to run for the hills. “I’ve raised my army. Now, if you’re with me, follow.” He strutted out of the hollow, followed by Weaver (Which broke Rainfeather’s heart), Reedtail, Tall, Bounce, Fin, Winter, Streak, and many of Rainfeather’s family.

Russetflame, Rainfeather’s favorite sister, was leaving, and so was Rainfeather’s oldest brother, Sunscales, and Splash, her uncle. And what hurt most of all…

Her mother was leaving.

Quiet Rain had gone to join them.

Rainfeather ran up to her and looked into her eyes.

“Are you really leaving?” She murmured so quietly, so softly, that she nearly mouthed it.

Quiet Rain nodded and did the tiniest nuzzle to Rainfeather’s neck.

“I will always love you. It’s not my fault that you haven’t seen the sense in leaving, but you are still my daughter and my favorite,” she added softly, so Russetflame couldn’t hear. “Goodbye.”

“No, Mother! Please! You have to stay!” Rainfeather had never felt so helpless and… alone. Mother was the only dragon I could turn to with a problem, and now she’s joining my greatest enemy! She thought helplessly.

“I’ve got to go.”

“MOTHERRRRRRRRR!!! Hurry up! Stop wasting your time on that lowdown piece of plankton. Is she harassing you? I have no idea who she is.”

Rainfeather gasped in shock when she saw who that voice belonged to. It was Russetflame, her favorite sister!

“I am not a piece of plankton! I am your sister!” Rainfeather was surprised at the rage that burned inside of her. “Your pirate sidekick! Your best friend! And now you’re betraying all of us! What you’re doing is absolutely despicable!” Rainfeather gave her a quick slice with her claws on the back of her ear, then stalked away.

Rainfeather peered behind her and saw Russetflame fuming from the public humiliation, but she flew after Darkheart.

Soon, all of Darkheart’s army had left, and LeafPride was left with a puny pack of sniveling Dragons.

Darkheart had wreaked havoc on LeafPride.

 

Chapter 2

“Okay, is everyone ready? Head count, head count! Two, four, six, eight, ten. Great, we’re all here!”

River was counting heads for the journey that the dragons would take to defeat Darkheart. Rainfeather, River, Rosytail, Nightmoon, Featherstripe, Dawn, Dusk, Lusa, Luna, and Blazingwings were coming on the journey to defeat Darkheart.

Over the past moon, Blazingwings and Rainfeather had, yes, become mates. Rainfeather was excited to go on their first mission together.

“Are you guys ready? Everyone packed?” River was the leader for the mission, so he was taking his role very seriously.

“Stop being such a bossypants!” Rosytail exclaimed impatiently. “Yes! We’re ready! We are not helpless hatchlings!”

Rainfeather butted her side.

“You will respect our father! He’s earned the right to be bossy. He’s our second-in-line!”

Rosytail muttered something under her breath, but she set off after the others without another word.

Along the way, they picked up some healing plants in case someone got hurt. That was a good move. Dusk got thirteen scrapes! He also hit his head on a rock and was knocked unconscious — a rough start to a heroic journey.

When he came to, everyone crowded around him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” he insisted. He stood up. “Lusa! Luna! Stop pestering me!”

“We are your sorceresses, and we will not stop. If you are seriously hurt, then it’s important that we help.” Luna attempted to explain, but Dusk kept on fighting her.

Finally, Luna gave in. “Let’s keep on going,” she muttered wearily.

They were going on this journey to find Darkheart’s whereabouts. Find him, and then defeat him. LeafPride was suffering greatly due to the lost Pride members, so the elders had held a council and decided that if Darkheart was dead, the curse would be lifted, and everyone who was hypnotized would come home.

Suddenly, Rainfeather felt a jolt of pain in her belly and cried out.

“Lusa! Luna! What is wrong with my mate?” Blazingwings demanded.

“It’s just a bellyache,” Rainfeather moaned. “No need to check me.”

The sorceresses in training rushed over to feel her belly to see if anything was wrong.

“Yep, just a regular old bellyache,” Luna conceded. “Here, eat a bit of this.” She handed Rainfeather a bundle of bitter-smelling herbs. “They’ll help!”

After she managed to keep that bitter stuff down, she leaped to her paws. “Let’s go!”

They trekked on for the entire day, and they did not stop until the sun disappeared from the horizon.

“We’d better go to sleep now,” said River. “There’s no point in continuing on in the darkness.”

***

Suddenly, Rainfeather awoke to what felt like a poke from a hatchling’s claw. It poked, and poked, and poked again.

“Mmmpphhhhhhhhhh!” Rainfeather moaned exasperatedly and rolled over.

Right onto a hatchling.

It was the most bloodcurdling screech Rainfeather ever heard. She jumped up.

“Are you okay?”

In the early morning light, she could make out an orange and purple hatchling crossing her stubby arms and glaring at her.

“MOMMY! That was not nice!” the little dragon yelped.

Mommy?” Rainfeather asked. “I am not your mother!”

“Yes, you are! I hatched last night, while you were asleep! And my sister is here, too!”

A little green, purple, and blue dragon appeared beside her sister. Rainfeather was awestruck. Children? Surely she wasn’t ready!

“What are our names, Mama?”

Rainfeather was very surprised that no one else had woken up from all of the racket.

“Uh…” She thought fast.

The second dragon had watery colors, so she could be named Misty. The other was harder. Maybe she could be named Aurora. It was her grandmother’s name.

“You are Aurora,” she said, pointing to Aurora, “And you are Misty.”

“And you are Rainfeather,” said Misty.

Wait. Rainfeather had never told Misty that.

“How do you know?”

“You dreamt so last night.”

“You can hear my dreams?”

The little dragon thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes. I think so.”

 

 

The Wilkołak

I never left the town much. It’s safe there, warm, especially in the winter. But we were in trouble now. The well had frozen up, and the rest of the animals were hibernating. The Król appointed me to hunt in the forest, so I had to accept.

I tightened my bowstring as I entered the forest. When I was a child, I would hear stories and fairy tales about this place. One that particularly came to mind was the Wilkołak, a creature that dwelled in the forest because the foliage would block out the sun. It was said to be half-man, half-wolf, and when you were bitten, you would instantly start to become one. My good friend from when I was in school, Marcel, told me that. Today when I left, he said, “Vladek! Be careful of the Wilkołak!”

I knew he was joking, but as I walked in, it felt real. As far as the eye could see, there were trees. I walked a few meters and heard a rustling noise. I jumped and scraped my hand on the sharp and coarse bark. I looked and saw a small rabbit bounding along. The leaves from the trees must have been so thickly woven together that the snow barely got through.

The further I walked, the darker it got. The separations from the trees became more varied, making the light harder to get through. I dug around in my pocket and pulled out a box of matches. I lit one and carried through.

As it got darker, the wildlife and animals seemed to get more sparse, with more fallen leaves than before. I sniffed the air and picked up the scent of blood. Looking around with my match in my hand, I saw it. It was a boar, dead, with its stomach torn out by a beast far stronger than anything else I’ve ever seen. I tried to get some meat and carried on.

One thing about this part of the forest was that sticks and fallen leaves piled up, making traversing it extremely difficult. I was crawling over a fallen log when I heard a large growling. I immediately dropped my match and drew an arrow. Frantically looking around, I waited for another sound. Rustling came from the pile of fallen leaves.

I slowly walked forward, until I stepped on a broken branch. I heard another growl and the sounds of an animal running. I quickly pulled back the drawstring and let go the arrow. Fwing! It quickly left my hand and went forward into the darkness. I lit another match and went forward to see what I had hit. With a snail’s pace, I stepped over. I smelt blood and heard the slow heavy breathing of the animal. Looking over, I was horrified at what I saw. It was the Wilkołak.

It looked up, with its bright yellow eyes and stained claws. Its breath smelled of blood, not because of the wound, but because of its prey. Marcel told me more about the Wilkołak, namely its metal-like fur that was stronger than iron, but as soft as a dog’s. It was impenetrable, but only by a single material. Srebro. Argentum. Silver.

When my father was still alive, and I was nine, he gave me a small knife after he came back from his journey around Europe. He said to me: “Vladek. Remember this. Keep this with you at all times. It might save your life one day.” It was an Italian switchblade, made by a great cutler from Istanbul. I knew it cost him much, so I always carried it with me. But the one part that always stuck out to me was the material: Ottoman Silver.

Slowly, not to provoke it, I slid the dagger out from my pocket. My palms were sweaty while trying to flip open the blade. Knees weak, it finally flipped open. With all my might, I stabbed that foul beast! And it howled, oh it howled! The depths of the Piekło opened up and swallowed it. It was gone.

I picked up my blade and walked back. Light seemed to fly through the leaves, and wildlife sprang to life. It was like a demon was expelled from this place. My arms were heavy, but I manage to get  some game. I was tired. It was late. But I had to get back home. This forest was a maze, but I had killed its monster.

I finally reached the exit. My face was gaunt and sleepy. Marcel greeted me at the gate.

“Bóg! What happened to you?”

I managed to softly say, “Wilkołak,” but he didn’t hear me. No one would believe me. No one else questioned. They were all just happy I brought meat back. The Król crowned me a hero. I was not a hero. I just did what I had to do to survive.

***

I was on my porch, watching the town bustle around. I was also reading a book about history and the Roman Empire. After that hunt, I tried to make my leisure activities more intellectual. Even though it had only been a day or so from then, my hair seemed to gray. My face was paler, more gaunt. My jacket looked more worn. My boots looked ages old. The town crowned me as a hero now, but they did not know of what actually happened. Even though we were still in deep winter, they held a feast in my honor. Bah! What a waste. I saw the hunters on their way. Bows, knives, torches, everything the town had to offer on their backs. Of course they’ll come back fine, for as far as I knew, there wasn’t another Wilkołak out there, but who knows? Maybe someone else will know what I’ve seen.

***

It’s been quite a while since I killed the Wilkołak, maybe three or four months, but it still haunts me. There hasn’t been another sighting yet. Every hunt I am invited to,  I always decline. I cannot go back there. I will never go back there. I will never leave the town again.

 

The Worst Roommate

 

**CONTENT ADVISORY: The following story contains sensitive content regarding suicide that some readers may find disturbing and/or may not be suitable for younger readers.**

I had the worst roommate on the planet. You may think I’m exaggerating, but someone has to be the worst, and I genuinely believe it was this guy. The university I’m at has an absurd policy regarding changing your roommate, and if yours isn’t actively plotting to murder you, you’re out of luck.

Anyways, on the first day at school, I walked into the dorm and I found him sitting in the fetal position on one of the kitchen stools. He had an unfortunate combination of greasy long hair and a messy beard that did not compliment anything about him. He was wearing a long sleeve, flannel shirt with some ominous stains and nothing else besides some boxers. I paused for a moment but decided that I was nobody to judge and nodded to him. He gave no signs of having noticed my presence, his eyes fixed on the entirely unremarkable wall opposite of him. I went and unpacked my stuff in the room he hadn’t taken and returned to the common area to find him sitting in the exact same position, looking like he hadn’t moved a muscle. I cleared my throat. No response. I cautiously offered a simple verbal greeting. Nothing. At this point, decently creeped out, I slowly made my way over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. His head violently spun around, and he focused his beady eyes on mine. I had no idea how to react, and apparently neither did he, because we sat there staring at each other for a moment. Finally, he broke the silence with a line that I’m now sure he has tried dozens of times.

“Let me tell you about the Jews and their lies,” he said sharply.

What followed was a very uncomfortable and very one-sided conversation about lizard people, the moonmen, the world government, Hillary Clinton and of course, the Jews. I was finally able to make my escape by claiming a need to use the restroom.

“Make sure not to drink the water from the sink!” he shouted after me.

Although it had originally upset me, I was suddenly very glad that my pet lizard was safe at home, being taken care of my Jewish, liberal family, far, far away from this madman. I spent a few moments mentally preparing myself for the year I would have to spend with this man. I stepped back outside into the common room, calming myself with the knowledge that this was probably the worst it would get. Boy, was I wrong. When I had exited the bathroom, my roommate was once again intently staring at the exact same point on the wall as before.

“What are you looking at anyway?” I asked, curiosity having finally got the better of me

“Ghosts,” he muttered.

I decided to end the conversation right there and walked into my room and pulled out my laptop, hoping to find some distraction from what had just transpired. I mainly played video games on a console back home, but I had finally caved into the pressure from my friends and bought a gaming laptop and a few games I hadn’t gotten around to yet. I fished around for the paper with the wi-fi information and password I had been given, and once I connected I started downloading a few games that my friends had recommended. I opened up my web browser and mindlessly browsed the internet while I waited for the games to finish downloading. An hour or so later I alt-tab-ed over to see how the download progress was going and was shocked to see that it had barely downloaded anything. The download speed was abysmal, significantly lower than what was promised by the university. I was annoyed at myself for actually believing the promise of high speed internet when something occurred to me.

I walked out into the common area and was briefly surprised to see the stool that my roommate had been occupying was now empty, but I figured he must be in his room. I walked up to the closed door and knocked on it.

“Who is it?” shouted his muffled voice.

“It’s just me,” I responded.

Labored footsteps could be heard approaching the door, followed by the sound of many locks being undone. When the door was finally open, he had a toothy grin.

“Well, you should have just said so!” he stated excitedly as he welcomed me in. “But for future reference, could you knock three times? That way I know it’s not the police,” he requested as he closed the door behind him and locked it’s many locks.

My feeling of discomfort only strengthened as I entered the room. In only a short few hours, he had managed to make the dorm room that had been meticulously cleaned only days ago look like it had not seen any love in a very long time. The window was covered by a black painted piece of plywood and the lights were off, so the only source of light was coming from a nice-looking computer monitor sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. It was attached to an impressive looking PC with a fan that sounded like a jet engine, and a blanket and some pillows were sitting around the setup with the keyboard and mouse, all strategically placed on the floor in what was most likely the only possible comfortable position. There were a few cardboard boxes lying around, all unlabeled. The only decoration was a bright and happy poster for some K-pop act, which only managed to make the room altogether even sadder.

“You wouldn’t happen to be doing anything bandwidth-intensive, would you?” I inquired, after having taken it all in.

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah! I have a special program that encrypts everything I do online so that it can’t be monitored by an ISP or the government and right now I’m downloading some stuff so it kinda eats through the bandwidth, sorry about that. I set it up for you if you’d like though!” he said, emphatically motioning over to the monitor, where an unfamiliar user interface sat, doing … something. As I looked closer I realized that he was torrenting some file with a name that appeared to be Japanese written in the English alphabet. An idea hit me.

“Hey, I gotta go out to do something, but I just realized that I don’t even know your name,” I said cautiously.

“Oh, you can call me Wiley,” he responded.

“Thanks. I’m Logan,” I said as I started towards the door. I reached for the handle when I realized that I had no idea how to undo the hastily installed extra locks.

“Sorry, I’ll get that for you,” Wiley said.

When I was in the common area, I took out my phone and Googled the name of the Japanese file he was downloading. It was anime porn.

***

“What!?” I spat.

“Can you prove that you have been threatened or are in danger?” repeated the annoyed-looking lady in the campus dormitory offices.

“Well, no, I just got here. He just creeps me out, okay?” I responded.

“If you can’t prove anything, we can’t do anything, got that?” she said, rolling her eyes.

“He said that the Jews are controlling everything! I’m Jewish!” I said, bewildered.

“Well, that’s just his opinion, okay? Now, if you’re done complaining, I have work to do,” she said, turning her body away from me and making it very clear that the conversation was over.

Feeling defeated and offended, I returned to the dorm room to find Wiley in the common area setting up a TV that had probably been impressive a few years ago. It was connected to a very long cable that snaked over to and under his door.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s you! I was thinking that maybe we could play some video games!” he said excitedly, motioning over to the couch where a wireless controller was sitting there waiting for me. I was going to just head back to my room without saying a word, but when I thought about how much time he had put into setting up the TV, I decided to indulge him for a bit and sat down on the couch. He started up Portal 2, one of the games I had attempted to download earlier and had always wanted to play. He selected the co-op mode and we started playing the game. It was fun. A lot of fun, actually. At first neither of us said much, but as the puzzles ramped up in difficulty, we were forced to communicate and actually ended up with some decent banter and jokes and ate some pizza. Although many of the jokes were somewhat offensive (most notably when he referred to the game’s villain as “what happens when you have more chromosomes than IQ points”), he mostly seemed to be in good fun. Thankfully, he never brought up any of his conspiracy theories, although he did examine the pizza for an unnecessarily long time before allowing either of us to bite into it. When I finally got to bed, my face had taken on a smile.

***

“So there’s this girl in one of my classes, and I think I might be interested in her,” I said during a lull in the gameplay. It had been several months now, and us playing games and talking about unrelated things had become a fairly regular occurrence.

“What’s her name?” Wiley asked in the same monotone voice he always spoke in.

“I haven’t talked to her yet, but I believe her name is Rochelle,” I responded.

“What’s she like?” he asked.

“Well, as I said, we haven’t talked yet, but she has this adorable smile and laugh, and she seems super nice and likes a lot of the same music as me,” I said, barely concealing my excitement.

“I see,” Wiley responded in the same cadence as before.

***

“Listen, he’s just creepy, okay?” my girlfriend Rochelle said.

“Look, he’s not that bad once you get to know him, and besides he doesn’t have the long-term planning skills to murder someone anyways,” I said.

“That man is a school shooting waiting to happen, and you know it,” she retorted.

“That sounds like something that he would say,” I teased.

“Shut up!” Rochelle said, with an embarrassed smile on her face. She continued, “Going back to the topic at hand, do you want to come over tonight or not?”

“Yeah sure, but I already told you that I’m going back at 10. Wiley and I have plans to finally finish up Castle Crashers,” I responded.

That night I had found myself cuddling with Rochelle when I suddenly became aware of the time. It was 10:45.

“Oh fuck,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “I gotta shoot Wiley a message to let him know that I’m busy.” I hammered out a basic text message saying that I was with Rochelle and that I was busy. I then put my phone back down and slowly drifted off to sleep.

I woke up and reached for my phone to check the time. It was dead. I had forgotten to plug it back in after I sent the message to Wiley. Shit. I checked the physical clock on the wall and saw that I was late for my engineering classes. Shit. With no time to charge my phone, I quickly threw on last night’s clothes and ran to my class.

Wiley wasn’t in class that day. Not that him skipping class was an unusual occurrence – in fact he he did it more often than not, but I was eager to see him in person to apologize. When class ended, I dashed back to our dorm room to find him. I found a small, handwritten note on the common room table.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough for you. It was nice to know what it felt like to have a friend. Goodbye Logan.” the note read.

Terrified, I looked around for him. His door was closed. I reached for the handle. It was unlocked. As long as I had known him, Wiley had never had his door unlocked, whether he was there or not. With a massive sense of dread, I slowly turned the knob, pushed, and stepped into the dark room.

A great roommate leaves you with a friend for life. A good roommate leaves you with a friend for college. An average roommate leaves you with nothing. A bad roommate leaves you with a pain in your ass. The worst roommate leaves you feeling guilty for the rest of your life.

After his suicide, I was invited to Wiley’s funeral by his parents where I learned a lot about him. Wiley wasn’t his real name. His family was Jewish. He had a very similar upbringing to me. He suffered some kind of head trauma when he was seven, seemed to have developed schizophrenia and began to suffer from intense paranoia and anxiety. After that point, he rarely ever left his house and didn’t have any friends. I was the only person outside of family at the funeral.

Personality seems so constant, so baked in, but is it really? I wonder if the only true difference between the two of us was that he hit his head as a kid and I didn’t. Was the only deciding factor between a decently happy college kid and a paranoid suicide victim random chance? I’ve come to the realization and accepted that any moment anyone could die, but I’ve always looked at it from the point of view of the person dying, not the others. What does it feel like to watch your child reject everything about himself and isolate himself from everyone?

Wiley was certainly crazy, had an abrasive personality and was sometimes an asshole, but I cared about him. He was probably the worst roommate on the goddamn planet, but he was my friend.

 

Untitled

Waking up is a shock, a flash to reality I do not desire, a pain put simply. I keep my eyes closed, just like I always do. Blackness is preferable to the greyness of life. And just as it always does, the fan with its choppy hum brings the whisper to my ear. What had once been affection is now a stab from the knife of everyday life.

“What did you dream of?” it would whisper.

A wince would always follow, and through closed eyes, my dreams would reply. And a lie would sputter out of my mouth.

“Stars…” I would whisper back.

Lies always helped. Denial felt preferable. I couldn’t admit it, for was it really true? Was it a dream? And whether or not it was real or not, I would relive the night again. The night my life took this turn into despair.

***

It was a night like every other night, curled up with some book or another, sitting on the sofa, facing the bright lights of Los Angeles. The telephone rang, and I picked it up slightly annoyed, for I was at a good part.

“Good evening, who’s calling?” I casually spoke into the phone.

A sob followed, strange in truth, but I remained on the line. Then the voice picked up, and I reeled in confusion.

“Hello… This is Logan Abernathy… I am your wife’s cousin…”

The breaks into silence were weird, and so were the sobs, but Margaret’s family, through their hatred of me, had always been a strange one. The fact that one of the Abernathy’s had even decided to call me was a shock, and no matter how much it made me want to chuckle a bit, I held it in, for I had won the stalemate we had held for years.

“Yes, Logan, why is it that you have called me?” I responded in a calm tone.

“Two days ago there was an accident. The roads here in Montana are icy now… It was instantaneous…”

It was a punch in the gut. Worse, it was inconceivable how it felt. Disgust, hatred, depression, fear, shock. Every feeling but happiness all at once. Pictures flashed through my mind:  when we first met at the pier, our wedding day, our honeymoon under the sun in Mexico. Brief flashes of my life, and my life which was forever changed.

I pulled off my spectacles and held back my tears…

“When will the service be? Where will it be, Logan?” I responded in a calm tone, as sobs and winces broke through my demeanor.

“It was yesterday…” he said in an almost sorry, consoling tone.

I did not say anything back. I just sat there, tears falling down my face in silence. I put the handset down gently onto the telephone. Sitting there, with the same feelings tearing at my insides, I felt everything, but happiness, all at once. How would life go on without Margaret… Rage took over. All sounds and all colors drained from the world. Lights dimmed, and all seemed grey, dark, unforgiving, like a motion picture without the emotion. I grabbed the phone, taking it from its cord, and threw it against the large windows. The windows shattered through the silence, and I flashed back to real life.

***

The whisper of the fan ends, and my dream is always the same, but Margaret is not here to listen to it. She is not here to console, to listen, or to be there for me, for her absence is the root of my problems. Her death had killed me, and yet I remain with nothing left. A big house, a good job, food, water, a feather bed, for I own it and have no one to share it with. I feel like I’m drowning and can’t die, like my suffering will not end, and I can’t bring myself to the surface.

All the while, I stare at my ceiling, and I cannot even remember the color that it is. There is no reason to care. All these things I own but do not want, and I must keep them in my possession. I sit up and begin my routine, another day at work. It goes like this:

I shower, brush my teeth, dress in the required attire, grab my camera, my suitcase, and the papers I have graded. Jenny has already made breakfast. She will be back in a few hours, but she will be gone as soon as I arrive home. How ironic that the only person I share my house with is never in it with me. But I eat and exit the door to another day at the university. All these tasks are chores, just as I feel my life itself is. My dreams from when I was a young boy have come true, but I was more happier as a moody teen than I am as the successful adult. My neighbor stops me, and I chat, agree, nod, laugh, and smile. Ms. Smith is always kind to me, why should I have a broken face then?

“Are you okay today? You are looking a bit glum, sweetie,” she says, her sweet, old lady voice, full of concern and worry for her neighbor of all people.

“Yes, I am quite alright, Ms. Smith. Just had a bit of insomnia is all, but I am sure it will all subside in time,” I respond cheerfully to her.

Sighing under my breath, I sit down in my car.

She walks up to the window, taps on it, and says, “Well then, have a great day!!”

Waving goodbye, I wave back with a smile and let it go. I am alone again, left to my thoughts.

I will miss you most, Ms. Smith…

I open the glove box to my car, grimace, and pull out the revolver, with no rounds in the cylinder. I practice how I will do it later by putting the barrel against the roof of my mouth and pulling the trigger. As expected, a click follows and I am still there, but soon it would be different. I will miss you Ms. Smith… But soon all this suffering I have will end, all with a click and a bang.

All the way to the university, I practice with the barrel of the revolver against the roof of my mouth. Again and again, I pull the trigger to hear the click and no bang, and I still remain in the car, driving into Los Angeles, with the sun’s light slightly piercing over the hills to his right. Every so often, someone notices the gun in my mouth and the pulling of the trigger. Their puzzled looks turn to horror, but back to confusion when the gun doesn’t fire. And, every time, I would flash a grin to them. For today is the happiest day I’ve had in a year. Today I will finally be rid of all the suffering and would return to Margaret, wherever she may be in death. Today will be carefree, and everything I see will be the last time I saw it. Even if my grey world is still grey, I feel it brighten to know when and how I will die. I will have no fear in my last few moments, only anticipation. Pulling into the university, I feel a bit of sorrow as the students pass me, some smiling, some waving to me. I realize that perhaps even my smallest ounce of joy was poured into those students, or at least the ones who cared to pay attention.

I sigh to myself, take one last look at the key to my escape, and close the glove box it sits in. I grab the suitcase, the camera, and take a look at the photo that sits on my dashboard. Margaret sits in the grass, simply smiling. I smile back at the photo.

Not even glimpses of before can ever be in color… Soon I will be with you.

I open the door, straighten my tie, and begin my walk to the Arts Wing of the university. Students, teachers, and visitors sit on the green, smiling in the sun, chatting away, and laughing with each other. I throw some waves at people I know, shocking them, for did I ever once appear happy to them? Can they see the flaws in my facade this day? Can they see that, this day, I appear happier than most? I walk at the same pace, perhaps even gloating about this strange enthusiasm I feel. Get through the day, and it will all end.

Just then, a scrawny, shy boy appears next to me. Oh no… It’s hi–

“Professor… Professor! Please wait up for me!!!” he shouts, chasing after me.

It is John Titor. He is, perhaps, the worst student in my class. All his talent, all his potential, and he does not express it. He failed on purpose, and I never had the energy to try and reach out to him. But the fact that he walked up to me is weird, and exciting, breaking the monotony of everyday life for me.

“You surprise me, Mr. Titor, coming up to me on a day like this, when you could be skipping class…” I tell him in an irritated voice.

I am almost sure he wants to break my peace in his own special way, and I do not want to bother with this wasted talent, especially when my time is soon to pass.

“Professor, please, it’s not some joke or anything…” he pants from his run. “I know it’s late… but I have the project to turn in to you.”

He hands me a photograph, along with the paper that is meant to go along with it. I reluctantly grab the papers from his hand and take a glance. It’s probably the same as the others, a failure in photography.

“Come to class on time, Mr. Titor. You are lucky I am taking this from you,” I reply with a sigh.

“Thank you so much, sir… I’m sure you’ll like it!!!” he yells, running off to some other place.

And so I continue on to my room, and my mind wanders as I walk in. The hot air is a smack in the face as I pull off my jacket, loosen the tie, and sit at my desk. I sit there, flipping through photos, repeating the critique over and over in my head.

The school spends thousands of dollars on these cameras, and they waste them on family photos and pictures of trees… I will be rid of these students soon.

Flipping through them, and throwing them aside, I reached one for one that catches my eye. There was no happy family, or no trees, or beaches, or pet dogs. It was simple, yet heart-

wrenching in its own way. An indigent man sat on the ground crying and huddled in ragged clothes. Close to him, two well-dressed, wealthy-looking people stood up, eating ice cream, and paying this poor man absolutely no mind.

This person… Whoever they are… They deserve a perfect grade… This… This captures life… Its morals… Its truths.

John Titor walks in, and soon everyone files into the room, looking at the shock, despair, and awe on my face. We sit there for minutes, and everyone looks in an awkward demeanor around the room, except me, still staring at this photo.

Minutes later some random person calls out in question.

“Professor?”

They are clearly uncomfortable saying anything.

I stand up from my chair, pick up the photo and hold it up. It is too small to see, but it is a master piece in the darkness of my life.

“What did I name this project? Anyone, tell me please,” I said, in an inquisitive, driving tone.

“Glimpse into life,” someone called out.

“Yes. Yes. Glimpse into life. I tried to challenge you, my dear students, to do just that, to show me a glimpse into real life. To show the emotion, the challenges, the real aspects of life in a single photo. To tell one million stories, in one moment, that you can capture in time with this device.” I held up the camera. “But all of you… all of you failed. You took family photos, tree photos, beach photos, anything that you thought looked pretty. You captured that moment in time with this precious device. A photographer is useless if he cannot capture in time what makes life life. Your family does not display life, trees do not display life, the damn beach is definitely not life.” I describe, my voice rising.

I take a pause, letting that sink in, and continue.

“A photo should tell one million stories. I should learn some moral from your snapshots and looking at this damn beach snapshot 20 times over from different people tells me nothing. All of you failed… All of you. But you, Mr. Titor, you pass the grade. You pass. A-plus for you, dear friend. You are an artist. Take your snapshot, show it to the world, and let everyone learn what you did. And all of you, besides Mr. Titor, enjoy your F, and have a great rest of the day. ”

I grab a stack of photos, throw them in my garbage can, and throw my lighter in with it. It catches fire. I walk up into the row of desks, and I hand John his photo very quickly and awkwardly.

“Congratulations…” I mutter, before storming out of the room.

Walking down the hallways is a blur. Anger, disappointment, happiness, and awe… they all fill me at once, take charge, and lead me directionless around the campus. Where am I going? What purpose do I have now?

The dean runs up to me and pulls me roughly on my shoulder.

“What the hell were you doing back there, Professor?”

I relent and punch him in the nose, my feelings in control.

“Telling those shits the truth is what I’d call it.”

He pinches his nose to stop the blood, and curls over in pain, the red liquid pouring down his face.

“GET THE HELL OFF THIS CAMPUS, YOU’RE FIRED!!!” he yells, as I stomp off to my car.

Sirens ring off in the distance, as a small tower of smoke rises from the Arts Wing. Crowds of people pour out in front of the building, panicking, crying, in complete shock at the madness that just occurred. In front of the crowd, I see John, standing completely still, just staring at me, his eyes wide with awe. I rip the door to my car and slump down into the seat. With a frown on my face, I began to sob, the pain on my soul too much. I slam the door closed and rip open the glove box. As I sob away, I pull up the gun and the heavy steel feeling almost natural in my hand. I try a few more practice shots on myself. I’m almost there… I’m almost there, Margaret. I slam on the car horn as I tear out of the parking lot. I catch one last look at John, as his shocked stare pierces deep into my soul.

***

“Professor, get down from that ledge!!!” John desperately shouts at me.

Somehow the boy had found me, standing on a concrete ledge next to a small bar, on the edge of the Los Angeles River. My gun is loaded, and the least I want to do is get drunk before I off myself, but somehow, he had followed me all the way here.

“Get the hell out of here John!!! Just leave me in peace!!!” I shout back in slurred speech.

“Professor! Get down from there… You’re crazy… Just talk to me and let me help you!!!” he argues back.

I down another large sip of amber whiskey from the bottle and wipe it away with my sleeve before shouting, “Look who’s talking, how dare you call me crazy… you… you–”

“Professor, am I the one holding a half-drunk bottle and a gun, standing 100 feet above the LA River?” he says in a calmer tone.

I can sense his game. He wants desperately for me get off the ledge, but I won’t let some stupid kid ruin this. I was finally going to have peace.

“Don’t mind me, John. Just go. I’m not your professor anymore. Just go home, please… leave me in peace,” I sob, dropping the bottle and slumping down to a sit on the ledge.

I hold the barrel of the gun against my temple. The cold, steel eggs on my release from the mortal plane. But… I can’t. I just can’t no matter how much it tears at me.

He sits down at my side. Just sitting there. He sits in pure silence as I cry. I lose all understanding of time. All that exists is the two of us and that ledge.

After what seemed like hours of my awkward crying, he opens his mouth. In a very calm voice, he asks, “Professor, what’s wrong… what happened… why are you like this?”

I sniffle a bit, and almost laugh, for an ignorant child had talked me out of my month-long plans. I open my mouth stating, “This… this is where I met her… well, not here, over there in the parking lot.”
I point into the lot, and the day, 15 years ago today, rings through my mind as if it were yesterday. I am still fresh in love with Margaret.

“Who, professor?” he said.

After I explain, he contemplates my words.

“This is where I met Margaret, the love of my life.”

“What happened to her? She was your wife?”

“Yes, yes, we were married for 10 years, and she died last year in an… accident.” I manage to say before tears stream down my face again.

John sits, contemplating, and while his look is of concern, and sadness, I can almost see a hint of understanding in his eyes. That look where you understand everything that is said, but can’t bring yourself to say that you feel the same way. For it is too hard to admit that you feel exactly the same.

“I feel like… I feel as if I am drowning, trapped underneath the waves. And everytime I try to escape, I just sink deeper. And no matter how much I want to escape, I can’t. No matter how much I want to drown and end this torment, it won’t happen. I’m trapped. Trapped by 10 years of marriage. I loved her so much, John, I really did. She was my life. She was the beauty in this world. Without her here, I have nothing, I am nothing… No big house matters, no money, no material matters, lest we can share it with those we love… And me, I have nobody to love… So… So will you please leave me to my fate, John? Will you allow me to finally be rid this feeling, this hatred, this–”

“Give me the gun, professor…” he mumbles, his head still pointed towards the ground.

“Leave. Now… Or I’ll take you wi–”

“GIVE ME THE DAMN GUN!!!” He shoots up from the ledge, his fists balled, and his eyes popping with rage.

I could see the tears in his eyes too. He felt the exact same way. I did not know what it was. But everyday he came to school, put on his face, and struggled to interact. No matter how deep his depression, here he was, shouting in my face, talking me down from giving in to my wish for death. While any day he could have done what I was doing now. He endured. He stayed strong.

“John…”

He jumps forward in a rage, ripping the pistol from my hand, the loaded rounds sliding out of the cylinder. My only chance for escape, spills on the ground, and into John’s hand as he draws it back. It’s a fluid motion — the snatch and the throw, arching back at a sharp angle, his arm sailing forward, and the gun flying out into the dark of night, to the concrete expanse of the LA river. I lose sight of it as it flies into the black, and the only hint that the gun had hit its target is a far off plop into water.

He lets out a sigh, and slumps back down onto the ledge, his face buried into his palm. I slump down next to him, staring dead forward, in a daze, not dreaming, not thinking, not knowing. Where would he go next, how would he carry on? What would he do now? I turn my neck back, and look out into the black, the edge facing out to the river, plummeting immediately down into black. I look down and scoop up my half-bottle of whiskey. I take a long swing, the golden liquid burning the inside of my mouth. But I feel completely numb, still completely empty. I tap John on the shoulder with the bottle

“Drink.” I mutter.

He grabs it, takes a long drink from it too, and gives a refreshing gasp when he stops gulping down the amber whiskey.

“This your first time drinking?” I mutter. “You could be a professional drunk from the way I see it.”

We laugh exhausted laughs out into the night as the dim lights create a relieving, yet almost unsatisfied mood. I only feel worse.

“Let me get you something, professor, we’re right here.” He points to the bar.

The taint of alcohol iss on his breath and slurs his speech.

“Another bottle of whiskey and a pack of camels for the road,” I mutter out, in a sort-of drunk and carefree chuckle.

He gets up from the ledge, and begins to stumble over to the bar. When he is halfway there, I call out to him, in the same drunk chuckle as before. “John!” He looks back at me. “Thank you for everything. ”

“It’s no problem, Professor!” he calls back before stumbling off to the bar.

When he enters the bar, and the door swings closed, I stand up and step up onto the edge. First, I look off into the black expanse, at the street lights across, and then down, to the darkness below. I sigh and close my eyes. The pictures flash before me. I see Margaret, when I first met her, in this parking lot, our first dinner together, the first time I pronounced my love to her, our wedding day, and our honeymoon. Relaxing under the Mexican sun. The last time I saw her, walking her out of the door. Stopping at the car door.

“I love you, David,” she whispers to me.

“I love you, too,” I whisper back to her.

We kiss each other, but only for a second. If I could have stayed there, stayed there forever, I would have. I would die and live again a million times to go back to that split second. That one moment of eternity. I would kill, I would murder for her. For Margaret. She gets in the car, and as she drives off, I see her for the last time. We lock eyes. She smiles. I smile back, and she is gone. Gone forever. I would never leave you, Margaret. I will be there soon.

My arms are out. I feel the wind in my hair, on my body, blowing me away from the darkness where I will go. I open my eyes to the night.

“I love you…” I whisper to the wind as it buzzes in my ear.

“I love you too,” the wind whispers back.

I look down one last time, take in the last sight I will ever have in life. The lights across the river. The cars driving by. The Hollywood hills standing imposingly over this city.

“PROFESSOR!!!” The shout shatters all of silence there had once been.

I look back. John is there, standing at the doorway. His left hand is clenched around the neck of the whiskey bottle, and his right is holding a pack of cigarettes. His face is in pure shock, pure awe, pure pain, and anger, and everything in-between.

I turn my neck around, facing the black again, and fall forward.

 

The Pactus Story

Once upon a time, there lived Pactus. He was a cross between a passport and a cactus. He looked like a cactus, except he had a face and arms and blue rectangular wings with passport stamps on them and spikes all over his body. Everyone thought he looked ugly, so he stayed inside his house all the time. People called him the Pactus Insider. He was very sad because he had no friends. He wanted to not be ugly so he could have some friends, but every time he went to the fashion store, the cashier would not sell him anything because he was ugly.

One day, he decided to go to the airport. Since he was partly a passport, they let him onto the plane. When he got on the plane, everyone laughed at him, and one person threw up. The people demanded that he get off the plane and go far away from everybody. They thought he was so ugly that there was no point in him going anywhere because everybody hated him.

On the plane, Pactus found a potion that changed his name to Josiah. Josiah was a smart, sleek name. Josiah felt that his name change should also spur a change on his outlook on life. He realized that when he smiled and stood a little taller, his body would somehow find a way to trick his brain into feeling better about himself. Josiah, the passport/cactus, was on his way to becoming a dark memer. He bought a 144hz monitor and COD Modern Warfare 300. He played all day, and no one could see his face. He just looked like a normal teenager in-game. He became the best and went to MLG 2100. He won first, and the trophy looked like a passport-cactus. He worked to become even better by drinking Red Bull and playing all night. But the Red Bull gave him wings, so he flew away from Earth and went to Pluto.

The Plutonians were very nice, and they became his friends because they were all ugly, too, and didn’t care about looks. However, then NASA sent a mission to colonize Pluto. All Josiah’s Plutonian friends were very scared and moved to Jupiter, but they accidentally left Josiah behind. Josiah got very sad and started calling himself Pactus again.

When the NASA people arrived on Pluto, they realized that Josiah was actually Pactus, and they got so angry that they killed him. But the Plutonians found out, and they went to Pluto and held a funeral for him. Then, they went to Earth and found a passport and a cactus and put them in a blender and turned it on. The passport and cactus mixed together and became Pactus Jr. But the Plutonians created a potion that changed his name to Kanye, so he never knew that he was actually Pactus Jr. He always went around thinking that he was Kanye, and other people thought it too. Thinking he was Kanye, he rapped so much that nobody would ever think about him actually being Pactus Jr. But there was also the real Kanye. Real Kanye and fake Kanye got suspicious of each other. The Plutonians got worried that Kanye or the other Kanye or anybody else would realize that Kanye was actually Pactus Jr. One day, the two Kanyes met. They got into a fight. All the Kanye fans came to watch.

“Yo, I’m Kanye!”said Pactus Jr.

“No, I’m Kanye, yo!” said the real Kanye. “Yo!”

“Yo, I’m the real Kanye, yo-yo!” said Pactus Jr. However, he did not know that he was Pactus Jr. so he thought he was the real Kanye. They started fighting. Pactus Jr. beat up Kanye. When they were both about to realize that one of the Kanyes was actually Pactus Jr., the Plutonians threw in a potion that made them think that the other Kanye was Pactus Jr. and the fake Kanye was really Kanye.

Now, the real Pactus Jr. thought that Kanye was Pactus Jr. and he was Kanye, so he said, “Yo, you’re not Kanye, you’re Pactus Jr., yo! Yo-yo, you will pay for this, yo!”

Then, he called the police, and they arrested Kanye and gave an award to Pactus Jr. When Pactus Jr. got home, the Plutonians were so happy that they forgot to call him Kanye, and they accidentally told him that he was Pactus Jr., so then he realized who he was and that the other Pactus Jr. was really Kanye. He felt guilty of lying, so he went and broke Kanye out of jail. They became friends, and Pactus Jr. took Kanye to live with him and the Plutonians, and they lived happily ever after.

 

😉 (Not the end)

 

One day, Kanye realized that if Pactus Jr. was called Pactus Jr. and not just Pactus, then there was another Pactus. So they tried to find Pactus. They traveled all over the world until they finally got back to their house.

“Hello,” said a Plutonian. “Where have you been?”

“We were looking for Pactus,” said Pactus Jr.

“He is dead,” said the Plutonian. “But there is a potion that will make him a ghost.”

So Pactus Jr. and Kanye and all the Plutonians went to the place where Pactus was buried. They poured the ghost potion into the ground, and it went over Pactus and he became a ghost.

“Hellooo!!!” said ghost Pactus.

But then, the ghost potion was absorbed into the soil, and it went to all the buried dead people in the graveyard, and they all became ghosts and attacked them. But the only one they could actually attack was Pactus, because he was also a ghost, but he was unable to get injured or die because he was a ghost, so their attack failed, and they all left. Then Pactus, Pactus Jr., Kanye, and all the Plutonians went back to their house. But the ghosts were angry, and they made the apocalypse happen. All the humans were very scared. But then, Pactus came in to save them, and he killed all the ghosts because he was partly a cactus. The humans were so happy that they made him their king, along with Pactus Jr. and Kanye. They lived in a castle in New York, and the Plutonians were their servants. They lived happily ever after.

 

Autumn

The sunlight hit him like a wave, crashing over his skin, irritating his face. He shielded his eyes from the wave, squinting, and pulled his hood over his head. When he disappeared within the security of that hood, shading his eyes and looking at the ground, the world faded away, smearing into a big blur. He took a step forward, then another. Shifting the weight of his pack on his shoulders, he set off down the sidewalk, staring directly at the flat concrete.

As the boy took flat, silent steps, people whispered, almost inaudibly. They stopped and stared at him, giving him suspicious looks. But, inside the hood, he didn’t hear anything, and he just kept walking. Inch by inch, step by step, mile by mile, he walked. One foot in front of the other, like a tightrope walker. His face was shielded by the hood, and all he saw was his feet, moving over and over.

Finally, he looked up, and the smeared world began to come into focus. A bright red object, thin as paper and quiet as the teardrop of a mouse, fluttered to the floor.

He picked it up, the flaming red leaf, and turned it over. It was beautiful, and it gave him the shivers. Beautiful things weren’t his style. But as he looked back down, looked forward to keep walking, he saw the sidewalk was covered with the things. Orange embers fell from the trees, coating the ground, and the flames licked up the side of his black sweatshirt and jeans, coating them in flames.

He sighed, sank to the ground, and closed his eyes. He would stay here a while, letting the trees cover him in fire, and once he was aflame, he would go back.

And his eyes closed, and he leaned against a tree, and he was asleep.

Almost effortlessly, Chloe floated through the hall on dainty, light feet. As she swooshed past, her hair a gleaming black river, every head in the hallway stopped and stared. Her beauty she resented, with her pale skin, soft pink cheeks, and dark eyes.

She had wished for shorter hair, for when it was cropped up by her neck, it hid her face from prying eyes, and she had wished for less freckles, for when they were effortlessly splattered across her face like they were, they shone and gleamed. She also wished for darker eyelashes to hide her dazzling brown eyes. She didn’t want to be noticed like she was. Chloe didn’t want to be known for being beautiful; she wanted to be known for her intelligence, her strength, her kindness.

As she dashed lightly across the hallway, she caught the eye of a boy, mid-class. He stopped writing and stared, mouth agape. She crossed her eyes at him and kept going.

She threw open the doors and sang to the world, charming skeptical faces with a dazzling smile and wave. As she flitted along the sidewalk, almost sprinting but not quite, she looked around and saw the tree grove, fiery and perfect. She went towards the grove, where she hugged her favorite tree and watched as a flaming leaf fell off of it. She picked up the leaf and stuck it into her shirt pocket, close to her heart.

Chloe walked along the tree path, marveling at the trees. What had once been green was aflame with bright oranges and yellows, and it looked like the branches themselves were on fire.

Her long hair swished down her back with every step she took, and the leaves on the ground were nearly crunching, but not yet. As she took ginger steps among the sidewalk, coated with beauty, she sighed. These leaves were beautiful, she knew, and she’d love to take one home, but she couldn’t bear to press it under pounds and pounds of dictionaries, letting the beauty become a flat picture whose memory was gone; nor could she bear seeing it on the fireplace and letting it shrivel up until it was nothing but dust.

The fiery leaves were in the most dangerous place, and she’d better do something quick: conserve it forever in a realm beyond reach, or toss it over her shoulder and forget? Both options seemed awful to her, and she found herself thinking about how the leaves got stuck with such an unfortunate fate. It isn’t their fault, she thought, marveling at the leaves. Why does the fire deserve to be quenched?

She re-pocketed her flaming treasure. It doesn’t matter now, Chloe thought, standing up from a sitting position she didn’t know she’d taken. It doesn’t matter. Now, the leaf is there, and it’s tangible, and I can enjoy it; and I will cross that rickety, creaky, dangerous bridge when I get to the cliffside.

She stumbled; a pile of leaves, deliberately placed, was in front of her foot, tripping her and sending her sprawling. Chloe regained a standing position, brushing herself off flusteredly and coming back to poke the pile of leaves. The heap was heavy and, when the leaves shifted, she caught a glimpse of dark gray.

So it was a rock, then. But it was an awfully big rock to be lying in the middle of a sidewalk like that, even one that was covered by leaves.

Chloe began to prod, then tug at it. As the leaves shifted, it revealed not only a rock, but a shoe… she smiled satisfactorily. Someone must have lost their shoe. But as she began to walk away, she remembered the heaviness of it; it couldn’t have been just a shoe. And indeed, when she went back and peered at that shoe, she saw the smooth white curve of a sock.

And the sock joined into a leg and, as she stepped back, she saw an entire sleeping person, concealed by the tongues of fire that fell from the branches.

As she took her hand and brushed leaves off of the contour of the head, off of the face and the arms, she gasped.

And she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

Caleb woke with someone shaking his shoulders violently.

It was not the most pleasant of ways to wake up.

As his vision came into focus and pinpointed itself on a stunning face that portrayed a perfect frown, his mouth twisted into a grin, then a frown, then a grin again.

Before he could speak, though, she stomped her foot and shook her perfect head angrily.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here.” She glared at him until he squirmed.

Caleb relaxed, took a few deep breaths, then said icily, “You’re not, either.”

Her face contorted visibly with surprise, then parried his response, “People are looking for you!”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. He knew by the way she sounded defensive and turned away from him. But he sighed and slid down the trunk of the tree until he touched base with the ground. He tossed his head like a horse, flipping the hair out of his eyes, and sighed huffily like a teenager would.

“I appreciate your concern, Princess.”

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, dripping with sarcasm, he sealed his lips. Even he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Chloe’s face flushed with anger, and she simply took him by the arm and dragged him. For a princess, she sure is strong, he thought and was about to voice his concern for his throbbing bicep before he remembered he should probably shut up.

But he couldn’t help himself from wondering why he’d never noticed her strength before. Sure, they’d spent lots of time together, and both had dark hair, almost black. But other than that, they were nothing alike. Their eyes were both a dark brown; but as hers shone light, his reminded people of a swirling black hole: cold, and unforgiving.

And he tried to remind himself as he was being pulled along by the “princess.” That was his nature. He didn’t want to be warm and bubbly. He was himself: cold and dark and distant. Also, he didn’t care about things, which is an extremely hard thing to keep your mind on when you are being dragged by your best friend to meet your demise. He tried to think about being cold and distant. He thought about cold, distant things, like stale cornbread or frozen pancakes.

And then, his posture became cold and distant. Instead of being dragged, he tried to make it look like he was being gently guided, and it took a long time to find a position that portrayed a confident image. She tossed her head huffily, and he noticed how her hair rolled down her back as she adjusted her grip to squeeze tighter.

Chloe burst through the door of the school, lugged him in like a heavy package, and shut it, sealing them inside. She simply dragged him through the empty hallsCaleb thanked his lucky stars that class was in sessionand into an empty classroom.

He exploded.

A blur of loud yelling, insults, and anger occupied the next few minutes. He noticed how her cheeks burned when she was angry or insulted, and he made a pact to notice things like that in the future.

And then, as the flames of the argument died down, each of them became lost in their own world. He looked outside and remembered only a few hours earlier when he had arrived at the tree grove and how, secretly, he had loved the fire that engulfed the trees, had loved the fall colors and how they swirled around him. How could someone cold love fire? How could someone dark love color?

He resolved to answer this question, and he knew there had to be a way. There had to be a way to be both cold and hot, to be both dark and light.

A glance at his best friend confirmed this theory; as she clenched and unclenched her fists, her blood seemed to run both cold and hot at the same time. He wondered how this was possible. He knew it was possible, as he had experienced it; he just didn’t know how.

He liked how the trees had engulfed him in flames. But he wanted to be an ice cube, too. It was hard to be in-between.

She stared into his face and sighed. She could feel herself heating up to the boiling point. She loved him as a friend, of course she did. How can best friends not like each other?

And then, she thought the better of it. Many best friends don’t like each other, she thought. But I do.

It was hard sometimes, though. He was like a dragon. The reptile was cold-blooded; sometimes icy and distant, sometimes warm and affectionate. He seemed to adapt to whatever was around him, like how a dragon lying in the sun was warm and easy to please, while one shivering in the snow was cold and irritable.

Yes, she thought, a dragon. He’d like that. She opened her mouth to tell him so, and her best friend shot her a look that could slice through a dragon’s hide in seconds.

She turned away and stood up, looking at her leaf one last time. It had already begun to darken, taking on a brown hue, but it was still undeniably an ember in her hands.

She pocketed it and set off for the tree grove again, trying to bury herself in fire.

She knew the risks. How could she not? She had just rescued her own best friend from the fiery flames of school-less life. But, she remembered as she ran back towards the grove, that moment before she had found him, when she thought she had been alone, had been one of the happiest moments of her life.

When she arrived, the leaves were still falling hard, and a soft, orange carpet had already begun to form beneath her feet. It was comfy, and she curled up on it, and tears began to fall from her face.

Instantaneously, she was asleep.

He ran. Oh, how he ran. And, as he ran, he thought.

His mind, like a compass, pointed him toward the tree grove, so that’s where he would go. But why? There wasn’t a reason in the world why he would be chasing after the very girl who dragged him by the arm twenty minutes ago. He stopped, only to rub his bicep. It still throbbed, but dramatically less.

Caleb had no idea why he ran. But he did. And he found himself not caring; I run because I run. I go because I go. It’s quite simple really.

And he ran towards the furnace of burning wood. He knew she would be there.

And at that moment, he perfected his theory: It’s impossible to be both cold and hot at the same time. But, he thought, you can be one and then the other.

Yes, he was an ice cube. The flames melted him, and he became a puddle, which soon thereafter became a frozen puddle. The cycle of cold, hot, cold again made him smile. That was right. It felt right.

He arrived at the grove, and he saw her hair, a black river that fanned out beneath her. She was curled up, like a wolf sleeping in a den.

He wanted to shake her awake. Chloe! Chloe, come in, Chloe!

But for once, he ignored what he wanted. He did what was right. He did it because of his heart, because of the sudden surge of love he felt for the sleeping Chloe, helpless and confused.

And he curled his fingers underneath her, and lifted her up, and carried the sleeping girl all the way home.

 

The Unicorn and The Cloud

One day, in the Kingdom of Unicorns, a special unicorn was born. He was named Magenta because of his bright pink color. His coat was such a popping neon color, it was almost hard to look at. His parents loved him, but as he grew older, he started to notice how his parents treated him a bit differently than his sister. Magenta would look up at the clouds in the sky and wish he could be like them. They were cheerful, and they reflected the sunlight. And they were the same color as all the other unicorns. Magenta was scolded for looking up at the clouds because unicorns and clouds are enemies.

“I wish I could be like them,” he would sigh, and his parents would yell at him.

“Why would you say that? Clouds are our enemies! They block the sunlight! They are dangerous, and we could die without sunlight!”

This made him feel very sad.

On the same day Magenta was born, a little cloud formed in the sky. He was a dark gray color, and the sunlight wouldn’t bounce off of him. This made him sad and, sometimes, he would cry, which is something clouds aren’t allowed to do unless they are given that job by the king and queen.

“You will make all the creatures on the ground hate us even more if you keep up that behavior!” his parents scolded him.

His only wish was to be a happy cloud like all the other kid clouds. He was bullied a lot, and he was given the nickname “Gloomy” and, after a while, that became his name. Even his parents called him that.

Gloomy had always looked at the beautiful, white unicorns with awe. Their horns glinted in the sunlight. Gloomy always wondered what they looked like up close. He had only been flying over their kingdom once. But that’s all it took. He was caught and scolded about the dangers of unicorns.

Clouds and unicorns were enemies. There was a long history of why they have fought.

Unicorns need sunlight. Their horns are made to absorb it, and the sun in their horns is what gives them their healing power. Without their power, unicorns would be very weak, and they could die because unicorns are naturally frail. Their healing power keeps them strong. Of course, clouds block the sun. So unicorns are afraid of the clouds. Now, this could have been easily solved a long time ago if the clouds would just stay away from the unicorns. But unicorns began shooting burning sun lasers when they had maximum health and, when the unicorns would become afraid, they would kill the clouds they saw. The clouds got mad and started to block off sunlight so the unicorns couldn’t shoot any more lasers. The unicorns were getting very sick, so they had to make a treaty with the clouds. The treaty made it so unicorns had the right to shoot a cloud in their kingdom, unless it was a patrol cloud with a patrol cloud uniform. Thus, clouds would stay off of unicorn territory.

So soon, the unicorns’ memories of clouds faded. They only considered the patrol clouds and not all the other clouds that were out of their territory. Gloomy soon realized they would not shoot at him because he was a gloom cloud. They would not recognise him and run away. That is the reason Gloomy went into the Kingdom of Unicorns.

One day, Gloomy was flying over the Kingdom of Unicorns. He knew he wasn’t allowed to do this, but it’s not like the scolding bothered him anymore. He saw beautiful trees and ponds dotted with colorful butterflies. The land was spotted with silver unicorns grazing in grassy fields. While he was looking down, he observed a scene he could relate to. There was a bright-pink unicorn that stood out like he did. The other pale-white unicorns were calling out names like “pinky” and “light bulb.”

“Hey, Pinky!” the unicorns would shout.

“Can you change to other colors?” they would laugh.

“We need a disco ball for the party tonight. We’re hiring! The job pays one dollar. About the amount you’re worth.”

“Stop it!” the bullied unicorn would shout, but it was to no avail. Gloomy knew this feeling, so he decided that if he couldn’t help himself, he would help this unicorn. He knew how he would do it right away. He did what he was told never to do. It was something he had worked every day to hide. He started raining on all the mean unicorns. He rained harder and harder. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning sprang from him and hit the ground, scaring all the unicorns into running away, even the pink one.

Gloomy followed this pink unicorn that had been bullied all the way to a pond. He was deep in the Kingdom of Unicorns now. He sank down until he was face-to-face with the unicorn, and he knew he was breaking the most important rule of clouds, but he spoke to it.

“Hello, there, what’s your name? I’m Gloomy,” he said carefully.

“Ah!” the pink unicorn cried. He calmed down after realizing this was the cloud that had scared away the bullies. “I’m Magenta. Thanks for helping me back there. Why did you do that? I thought it’s forbidden for gloom clouds to rain,” said Magenta.

“I’ve been in that situation before,” Gloomy said. “I know how that feels. It’s terrible.”

“Thanks for helping me. You’re very nice. I’m sorry you have to go through this too. Why are you bullied?” Magenta asked kindly.

“I’m a gloom cloud. They bully me for being dark and rainy. It’s kind of a similar situation to yours,” Gloomy replied. “By the way, I like your name. Magenta is my favorite color. Your coat is so pretty.”

“Thanks,” said Magenta, smiling a little. “No one’s ever said that before.”

Just then, a patrol cloud crossed the sky.

“Gotta go,” said Gloomy, and he started to fly away as fast as could.

“Bye!” shouted Magenta.

Gloomy raced as fast as he could away from the Kingdom of Unicorns. When he reached the border, he turned around quickly and flew at top speed toward Cloud Land. He smacked into the patrol cloud that had spotted him while at top speed. It stunned him, but the patrol was stunned too. So Gloomy used this to his advantage and made it to Cloud Land while the patrol cloud was still stunned. He hid behind a building, breathing heavily. The patrol was still stunned, but Gloomy knew he wouldn’t be for long. He needed to act fast.

Gloomy was about to make his way to his house and tell his parents he had been out playing with his friends. He quickly realized that would never work because the patrol would be at his doorstep within the next few minutes. Then, the best idea struck. Gloomy knew what he had to do. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him. So Gloomy decided to run away to the Kingdom of Unicorns.

Gloomy quickly went to his house and went inside. The patrol cloud was up now and had just started to make his way to Gloomy’s house. Gloomy was faster than the patrol, though. He snuck past his parents to the back door. He shut it, locked it behind him, and started to fly away just as he heard his parents walk to the door to answer the patrol’s knock.

When Gloomy reached the Kingdom of Unicorns, he snuck to the pond where he had last seen Magenta.

“Magenta?” he called out across the pond. He knew Magenta may have left, but it had only been thirty minutes since he had helped him.

“Magenta!” he called again. This time, the bright pink unicorn emerged from behind a large rock.

“Oh, hi, Gloomy. I thought you were one of those bullies again,” Magenta said, happy to see his new friend.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” said Gloomy.

“What’s up?” asked Magenta, ready to help his friend in any way possible.

“So, you know how clouds can’t come into the Kingdom of Unicorns, right?” asked Gloomy, afraid of how his friend would react.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Well,” Gloomy said, fear in his voice. “I was caught when I came to help you. I could be punished really badly in Cloud Land for it, so…”

“So what?” Magenta urged him on.

“I’ve run away to the Kingdom of Unicorns, and I was thinking you might be able to help me get by.”

“Oh… I can, um… I can try,” Magenta said. He didn’t doubt his ability to keep Gloomy safe. Gloomy was his first and currently only friend, after all. He was scared of what would happen if he were to get caught. Both of them could be sent to prison for life, or even executed. Magenta didn’t want to put his friend’s life in danger, but he still wanted to please his only friend.

“Ok… I know a place where you can stay for tonight. I’ll come back to you first thing in the morning with breakfast, and you can drink from the pond,” Magenta said, devising a plan of what he could do to help Gloomy even as he spoke.

“That’s great,” Gloomy said, happy his friend could help him. “You can show me where I’ll be sleeping now. And I’m a little afraid of drinking from the pond. Isn’t the water too dirty?”

“You’re sleeping in the cave I was just in. It’s very well hidden. I’m the only one who knows of it,” Magenta replied. “And the water has been purified by unicorns. Our healing power can turn saltwater to freshwater and purify dirty water so you can drink it.”

Magenta led Gloomy to the cave and showed him inside. It was a large cavern, and Magenta had put down a pile of hay for a bed. Then, he left Gloomy there by himself.

Gloomy looked around the cave. It was cool inside. Water dripped from stalactites. He glanced over at the bed, worried that it would be hard to sleep on. He had slept on his cloud bed his entire life. He lied down on it and quickly realized that this hay was almost as soft as a cloud! He knew he would be very comfortable here, laying on his bed, listening to the drops of water echoing off the walls. Gloomy quickly fell asleep, exhausted.

That night, Gloomy dreamed about his new friend. He was so happy that he met Magenta, and he was sure they would get along well. Gloomy thought it would be fun living as an outlaw in the Kingdom of Unicorns. Magenta would be his sidekick. Gloomy slept peacefully that night.

 

Treasure Map

Cow found a treasure map in the middle of the beach. He was on Waikiki Beach, and he saw something poking out of the ground. Cow went over to see what it was and, to his surprise, it was a treasure map. It had been weathered, and the crinkles made it hard to read.

Now, this treasure map was Captain Blackbeard’s treasure map. It went way back to the 1600’s, when the pirates ruled the oceans. Blackbeard had a little friend who was a leprechaun who granted wishes if you found him. The treasure map was hidden by Blackbeard on Waikiki Beach right where Cow was staying.

The map was very confusing and took a long time to decode, but Diamond Head was the spot where the treasure was. Diamond Head is an old volcano that had erupted. Cow was going there with his dad, mom, and older brother the next day for a hike, and he hoped to find the treasure there.

It was the next day, and they were getting ready for the day. Cow didn’t tell anyone about the map he had found because he wanted the treasure for himself. Cow arrived at the park and started the hike. The map said the treasure would be at the top.

Cow said to his family, “Meet you at the top!” so he could branch off from his family.

***

When Cow got to the top, he went to where the treasure was supposed to be. Cow found out that the map was for little kids, and it had no importance. Instead, it was something saying, “Congratulations, you have found me.” What a lame treasure map.

But Cow felt like there was more to that map, not just a lame kiddy thing. Cow hoped the treasure would be a skin cure because he was born with a special disease where his skin was black and white. That was how his parents named him. He wanted to find the treasure so he could cure his skin disease because kids mooed when they saw him.

So Cow searched around the top of the mountain and saw a little cave. Cow saw an outline of a figure who was kinda small, kinda chubby, sitting in the cave. Cow went over to ask him about the treasure.

Cow said, “You know anything about the treasure?”

The man said, “Yes,” with his low, quiet voice. Then, he said, “You want that treasure?”

Cow said, “Yes.”

Then, the man said, “All right. If you want to find the treasure, then you need to answer these riddles.”

Lucky for Cow, he was great at riddles, so he was prepared. The first riddle was: You throw away the outside, you eat the inside, and then throw away the inside. What am I?

Cow was like, “Easy peasey! Corn on the cob.”

Cow was correct, and the next two riddles were trickier. The next riddle was: What goes up and down, but doesn’t move? Cow had to think for a moment, but he got it correct. The answer was the road.

Cow had to get this last one right if he wanted to get the treasure. The last riddle was very confusing. It was: Three doctors said that Robert was their brother. But Robert said he had no brothers. Who is lying?

Cow was very confused, but Cow was a smart dude, and he knew he could figure it out.

He said, “There’s no way!” But then he figured it out. Neither was lying. The doctors were Robert’s sisters. Cow had gotten all the riddles correct, and the man gave Cow the treasure map. The treasure map said the treasure was located at the Sheraton on Waikiki Beach. But there were two more tasks Cow had to overcome to get the treasure.

***

The next task was sword fighting a dead pirate. The pirate was located underwater in a cave that Cow had to swim to. It was located right off the shore of the beach. When Cow’s family got back from Diamond Head, they went to the beach. Cow said he was going snorkeling, but he was actually going to fight this pirate. Now, Cow was very scared because he wasn’t that strong or good at sword fighting. The only experience he had was playing with plastic swords with his brother, but, besides that, he had no experience.

Cow saw the cave and swam to it. Inside the cave, it was very cold, and the water dropping from the ceiling was also very cold. Cow heard this dead voice speaking.

“Are you prepared?” it said, and then a dead skeleton pirate with ripped up clothes, glowing red eyes, and a shiny sword with a gold handle dropped from the ceiling.

A sword magically appeared in Cow’s hand, and the fight was on. Now, Cow wasn’t strong, but he did have brains to the advantage. He figured he couldn’t kill him with the sword because he was already dead, but he could make the stalactites fall on him. So Cow lured the pirate right where Cow wanted him, threw his sword at the stalactites, made them fall, and they smashed the pirate.  

Cow had completed this task. A magical piece of paper floated up from the skeleton’s body, telling Cow that the next task was located in room 654 in the Sheraton on Waikiki Beach.

Cow was super lucky because that’s where he was staying! He rushed to the 6th floor and sprinted to his room! He used his key and rushed into the room to find nothing. Then, he heard a low, quiet, Irish voice that kinda sounded like a leprechaun. He turned around and saw a small figure standing next to the coffee pot.

The leprechaun said, “If you want the treasure, then you need to beat me in a labyrinth race.”

Cow agreed to the challenge, and the room magically turned into a labyrinth. The labyrinth was filled with twists and turns and monsters around the corner. Cow was at a severe disadvantage because he didn’t know the race, but the leprechaun knew it inside and out. Cow sprinted around every corner, looking everywhere to try to find the exit. The leprechaun, on the other hand, was just mindlessly walking throughout the course confident that he was going to win.

Then, the leprechaun saw Cow sprint ahead of him, going toward the exit. The leprechaun was worried and thought he might lose. The leprechaun caught up, and he stopped right before the exit. The ground shook, and the piece of land rose up. The boss battle was on.

The land was a field filled with cows, and the boss was a giant, red-haired, shaggy, longhorned bull as mad as a hornet.

The first person to dodge the attacks and get the finish wins, Cow thought. I could use my skin to camouflage with the cows and then run to the exit. The leprechaun just tried to dodge the attacks, but that didn’t work out so well. Cow was so camouflaged that the bull didn’t know where he was, so then Cow ran to the exit and won the labyrinth. The room transformed back into a regular hotel room, and the leprechaun said that the treasure was three wishes.

The first wish was that Cow could turn his skin any color so he could always camouflage. Cow had decided that he didn’t want to be a normal boy after all. He wanted to be different. After all, being different is what helped Cow win these three wishes. The next wish was that Cow could transform into anything he wanted, like a plane or even a shark. The last wish was that Cow and his family could stay two more weeks at the Sheraton.

Cow had a great time in Hawaii and showed his parents his powers. His parents almost fainted and couldn’t believe their eyes. He loved taking his family on tours by turning into a helicopter. Cow would only use his powers for good, and his family lived happily ever after without anyone bullying him again.

 

Rouge

“Try the blue button. Maybe that opens up the entrance to the ship, Hoshiko,” Coco suggested.

“No, I don’t think so. This might have just been a waste of time. With luck, they may come and find us themselves,” I replied, sighing.

We’d been on the run for three days now, and our faces were undoubtedly plastered across the Collectors’ bulletins. If the Rouge didn’t come rescue us, the Collectors would find us before them, and we would be taken back and executed. Probably. Actually… I didn’t want to think about it right now. Right now, we just had to figure out how to crack the code and be done with this random machine we found. We thought it might open up a hatch or something to the Rouge ship, but we weren’t not sure.

“So… you know, I don’t really know much about you,” Coco said, tilting her head in earnest.

Her swishy, blond hair slipped off her shoulder and covered one of her green eyes.

“We should get to know each other.”

Coco and I had just met a couple months ago, so we were not exactly on close terms.

“Okay…” I said slowly. “What about your family?”

“Well… I’m an only child… My aunts, uncles, and grandparents all lived under our roof with my cousins and my parents, though, so it was still a pretty full house. One of my cousins is still at the facility, but she’s supposed to get out in a week or so.” Coco’s smile disappeared at the thought of her cousin.

“It’s okay, I know how it feels,” I told her. “My family essentially disowned me when the ordinance was passed. My twin brother and my dad wouldn’t talk to me, and my mom just avoided me for days.”

“Wow.”

We fell silent at this, thinking back to our families. Would they even miss us?

“So what about your favorite food, Hoshiko? I love milk chocolate and caramel covered googleberries,” Coco laughed.

She threw her milky, brown arms in the air and fell backwards.

“I love pasta. That’s the one thing I miss about the facility. The pasta there is to die for,” I replied, clutching my heart.

“What’s your favorite pasta sauce?” Coco asked, giggling.

“ALFREDO FOR LIFE, YO!” I cried out.

We rolled around on the ground, laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. And then we realized part of the reason they hurt so bad was because we hadn’t eaten in a day. Crud. I was about ready to eat my shaggy, ebony hair or even my bony arms.

“I guess, for now, we should just try to find some food, since we didn’t think to bring any with us.” Coco stood up with a groan. “Ow! I think I hurt my foot.”

I officially hated this forest. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Hate hate hate hate hate. It was impossible to navigate, and now it did that to Coco.

“Well doesn’t that make things all the better,” I muttered.

Then I saw Coco’s face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Cue the uncomfortable and awkward silence.

“So uh, I’m going to go find something edible to eat. You can rest here, but make sure to watch over the machine. We can’t risk losing it, in case it leads us to the Rouge.”

“I get it, Hoshiko,” Coco said, annoyed. “See if there are any googleberries around here.” Her face brightened at the thought of googleberries.

Too bad there’s no chocolate around here, I thought.

“There won’t be. Googleberries are made in the labs, so there’s no way I’m going to find any here,” I called over my shoulder, already walking away.

I could hear Coco grumbling, and I felt the corners of my lips rise just a bit. Coco brought happiness to anyone, she just lit up the room like that. Or woods, as in our case.

I tore off a strip from my blouse to bundle any food I found. I found a small berry on the ground, but I doubt it was clean enough for anyone to eat. Plus, it had a brown spot on the side that looked suspiciously like feces.

Just keep walking, I reminded myself. I didn’t know if we’d make it long enough for the Collectors to forget about us, but I just didn’t have the heart to tell Coco. She’s so sweet and innocent. I wanted to get her out of that dump into a place where she couldn’t be spoiled. It’s hard not to though, especially when I might break down myself. It’s almost like… I don’t know, like I felt a responsibility in me to protect her. What was this feeling? It’s so sudden, so new!

Suddenly, I heard a voice. Not Coco’s, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t talking to myself right now.

“Ugh! The one thing I liked better about the facility is that it was actually clean,” a girl said haughtily.

The facility?! No way. Are these people… them? The Rouge?

“Ah shut up. That’s one thing, Amy. It’s not a big deal, so suck it up, buttercup,” another voice chuckled.

The voices faded away, and it was like that set me off. I instantly sprinted back to Coco.

“Coco! Coco! I heard them! The Rouge! They’re here!” I shouted, cackling gleefully.

No response. Perhaps Coco was sleeping. I ran towards the clearing where I left her, spinning joyfully.

But Coco wasn’t there. No! She can’t be gone! Then I noticed.

The machine was gone too.

***

Did Coco leave me? I thought… I thought we were friends. Why would she leave me? And the machine, why would she take it? What did I ever do to her? Was there something she was hiding from me? And I thought she hurt her foot. Wouldn’t she have made some noise? Did she lie to me?

I couldn’t bear the thought that Coco, the one person I thought needed to be protected by me, would betray me and leave me stranded here.

I sank to my knees in the grass and gave a cry of despair. All my life, I’d been abandoned by everyone I thought I could be close to. Before the girls were collected and brought to the central facility, I had a good life. My parents were respected engineers, and I was popular among my friends. I just had my twentieth birthday before the new governor passed an ordinance to collect the girls in the state under twenty-one. My twin brother celebrated with me, and we had the best time together; we went to the theater and watched his girlfriend perform in an original play. This happiness we shared? All of it gone after the ordinance.

My friends ditched me. The boys looked at me with scorn, and the older girls ignored me whenever I tried to talk to them. I had a week to say my goodbyes, but I didn’t have anyone anymore to say goodbye to. It was like the ordinance had cut me off from society.

And then my family. My mother was sympathetic, but she would never dare to cross my father or the state. She always stuck by my father’s side, even when he called the Collectors to come early so that I was not seen until I was perfect. It was like she knew what repercussions her show of empathy for me could hold. My father made sure I was hidden until I had to go to the facility and wouldn’t speak to me directly. Even my brother. Danny made it clear that even though I was six minutes older than him, that he held the higher authority. He said I didn’t mean anything to him, that I was just a body. I couldn’t believe him, that he would just ignore all the memories we shared for the last two decades.

For the first time in a long time, I felt so alone. Then I met Coco at the facility. She shared my values and wanted to get out of there too. I thought I was finally on my way back to social recovery. But now, I guess that dream was over. I guess I would always be alone.

I had to find Coco. If she abandoned me, I’ll knock some sense into her. If not, she could be in serious danger.

Something hit my arm. A sharp object. I turned my head slowly and saw a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my arm with a white puffball.

The Collectors.

And the sedative took over.

***

I groggily moved a hand to my arm, where the tranq dart hit me. There was a small bandage covering it, but it was still a bit sore.

A hand slapped my face.

“Wake up.”

“What…” I mumbled, slowly sitting up on the bed.

I pulled a bit of my hair from my mouth, knocking my slim body onto the hard frame of the limp bed. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. A pair of young men, in maybe their mid-twenties, stood in front of me, arms crossed. There was only one exit in the bland, small room, and there were no windows.

“Follow me,” a man said gruffly.

He had a sandy-blond buzz cut, and wore a snug, grey t-shirt that hugged his bulging muscles. His rough, calloused hands pulled me up and shoved me out the door. His partner didn’t exactly look like a soldier, as his arms were so much thinner than the first man.

“Wait… what are we doing?!” I cried.

“We’re preparing you for execution,” his partner said cheerfully.

“Shut up, Dillon,” the first person snapped.

They kept pushing me down the dark, smelly corridor.

“Ex- execution?” I whispered, my legs turning to jelly.

Dillon caught me as I stumbled, his short, tousled brown curls bouncing.

“Yup!” Dillon said. He turned to me and whispered, “Sorry, Travis is really grumpy.”

“Shut up!” he roared, slamming Dillon into a wall. “I am not grumpy, but I am your boss! So you’ll do as I say! Got it?!”

Dillon instantly quieted down.

“Yes sir,” he said meekly, shrinking down against the wall.

Travis continued walking, and Dillon quickly followed him. I started crying as they shoved me along. We entered a large room with electric rods poised towards a hard chair with metal restraints, which I assumed was the torture room. Travis pushed me into the chair and activated the restraints while Dillon got the control panel ready.

“NO! PLEASE!” I screamed, sobbing.

I tried to get out of the restraints, but they were too tight. I shrieked as Dillon started up the electricity.

“NO! PLEASE NO! MY FAMILY! COCO!” These words barely came out of my mouth through all the screaming and crying.

Travis adjusted the rods to point closer at me, and I kicked him in the crotch as I thrashed around. He punched my face and told Dillon, “Do it!”

Dillon pressed a button, and a pulse of electricity came running down the rods and shocked me. Screaming, I writhed in the chair.

“PLEASE! STOP!” I shrieked, letting out another bloodcurdling cry.

Travis shoved Dillon out of the way, who stumbled and fell to the ground. He then punched another button which increased the electric charge.

The electricity seared my skin and lit my insides up. It felt like my entire body was on fire, a burning and stinging pain. Sweat seeped down my arms and legs as I continued to scream and thrash, watching the electricity run all over my body. Travis cackled and stopped the electricity to say something.

“Where are the Rouge?” he screeched, staring at me with wild eyes.

“I don’t- I don’t know!” I cried. “I’m not one of them! I don’t know where they are!”

Dillon silently got up from the ground and punched Travis, knocking him out. He then turned the machine off completely and ran towards me. My sorry self was still jolting and sobbing as he undid the restraints and helped me off the chair.

I crumpled to the ground and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then the world turned black.

***

I had a nightmare, just the same scene playing over and over. Travis, knocking Dillon to the ground as electricity flashed before my eyes. I woke with a start, sweating all over and breathing heavily. Dillon came over and helped me get up.

“I got you back to the forest where we found you,” he said, without much emotion.

“Thank you,” I said shakily. “I- why did you do that? Help me, I mean?”

“Because Travis is an idiot, and he wasn’t supposed to increase it that much. It could’ve killed you, and I can’t just… I hate torture and death of any kind, but I’m forced to work there,” he sighed, handing me a piece of bread. “Sorry, that’s all I have.”

“No, it’s more than enough,” I responded, grateful for some food.

“You have to get going. If you stay here, they’ll find you again, and you’ll be shot on the spot. And I have to get back too,” he said, worry creasing his brow.

“But… what about Travis?” I asked.

“They think that you got out because he wasn’t watching you, and that you knocked him out. I erased the security footage, and the admin found out Travis was a little tipsy anyway. That way, his story will be seen as a delusion,” Dillon said, giving me a reassuring smile.

“Thanks again,” I said.

Was there something I could do for him? It wouldn’t be long until things added up for the other Collectors, and Dillon could be executed himself.

“Thank me by going now. Get as far away from here as possible,” he said, reading my mind.

I nodded.

“I will forever be in your debt, and don’t let Travis get you down.”

“I swear, I won’t ever let him again,” he responded, shaking my hand.

I waved as I limped out of the clearing. It was so hard to move now. Every breath took a huge amount of effort, and I could feel the electricity still in my body, stinging away. My throat was burning, hoarse from all the screaming. It was like the electricity fried my insides. I was not able to move now without a biting, searing pain shooting up and down my arms and legs, into my neck and my feet, and balling up in my stomach.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. That voice again.

“Come on, Del! We’re going to be late for supper,” a girl whined.

I think her name was Amy?

“Well, sorry that I’m not as tiny as you are! I can’t just bounce around in the woods, you know!” Del said good-naturedly, pushing Amy.

Amy skip-stumbled and landed a yard away from me. Her bright smile faded into a panicked face, and her wavy, silver hair fell in front of her face. She scrambled back on her chubby body, and said frightfully, “Um, Del? There’s someone here…”

“GET BACK, AMY! IS IT A COLLECTOR?!” Del hollered from behind a thicket of bushes.

“No, I’ve been looking for you guys. The Rouge, right?” I said.

Del joined Amy, and they exchanged a glance, but I couldn’t read their faces.

“Did you come from the facility?” Del asked, her brunette bob swinging as her large muscles flexed nervously, with one hand on her dagger.

I nodded. “I escaped with a blonde girl. Her name’s Coco?”

“Coco? She did say she was expecting someone,” Amy amended, looking to Del for an answer.

She stood up carefully, brushing off her hands, and then hid behind Del’s large body.

“We’ll see,” Del said apprehensively. “Come with us. Hoshiko, right? Coco told us a lot about you, but we need to corroborate your stories.”

“Then by all means, corroborate away,” I said, smiling.

***

“Hoshiko! HOSHIKO! Over here!” Coco cried.

I looked up and saw her leaning over the balcony on the ship. She quickly scampered down the stairs, and then barrelled into me with a bone-crushing hug. Despite her gymnast frame, she could still do a lot of damage with her hugs. Youch.

“Agh… ow, that hurts, Coco!” I groaned.

“Oh. Uh… nice to see you too?” Coco said, hesitating. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to get back to you after they got me here. They didn’t want me to, as a safety precaution, in case you were Collected or something. So yeah.”

“It’s okay, Coco. I get it now,” I responded, winking at her.

“Okay good. I was beginning to worry about you. They told me how you were tortured. Are you okay? Nothing broken? Oh, and the Rouge gave me a two-bunk room, in case you came. And since you did, you can have a bunk. Top or bottom?” she said quickly, wringing her hands.

“I’m fine, really, and I’ll take whichever one is empty,” I said, grabbing her hand and jogging up the stairs to our room.

***

Three years we’ve been here. More girls and women have escaped from the facility and came here to the Rouge ship, but no men have been spotted in any of these parts. It hurts a little to see that even my twin brother won’t see our side and join us. Coco and I created a school for the younger girls, where they can learn about our lifestyle and how to survive on their own. The Rouge is our family now, a family of strong escapees. All we need is us.

 

The Three Dogs

Chapter One: The Old Woman

I walked past a door and smelled dogs. I could hear them barking. There were three of them, and they wanted to be walked. My job was dog walking, so I rang the doorbell, and an old lady opened the door who looked about eighty years old. She had gray hair and green eyes. The dogs were different breeds and sizes. One was a miniature poodle. The next was a pitbull, and the third and last dog was a Great Dane. I asked the woman if she wanted me to walk her dogs, and she said yes.

At first, the only reason I offered was to make money, but then I saw how hard it must be for her to walk the dogs, so I wanted to help. She had a cane and looked tired, but the dogs were very energetic. Some of them were bigger than her, so it could even be dangerous if she walked them. This is because if they ran, she would practically fly behind the dog. I made $60 that day from the old woman. Soon, me and the old lady became friends.

Then after nine short years, she died of old age and left me with her three dogs. It was the saddest moment of my life, and the dogs even felt bad. There was a small funeral because the lady did not know many people. There was only me and the three dogs because her family as all dead by now. There was a small, brown coffin where she slept, and there was a priest that spoke. I thought it was sad how no one was there except me and the priest. She trusted me with every possession she had, and that is why she wanted me to have the dogs. We used to do many things in her home, like drink tea and play with the dogs at least twice a week. She was one of my best friends, in fact, maybe my only best friend. On a different note, I would at least remember her by her three dogs.    

 

Chapter Two: The Dogs

I took them all home and was thinking about what to do with them. They could not all fit into my small apartment in New Jersey. The tables had many things on them and were cluttered together. Things were stuffed in drawers until they were ready to burst open. The dogs would jump, run, knock things over, and track hair all over the place. The place was a wreck. It was just too busy!

Then it hit me: keep one of the dogs and give the other two away. I felt the closest with the pitbull, because whenever I went over to the old lady’s home, the pitbull would follow me wherever I went, and it was the perfect size. I gave the other dogs to friends of mine. This was a very hard thing for me to do because that is how I remembered the old lady, and it was hard on the dogs. All of the dogs got along as well as anybody did. They did not fight or cause any trouble with each other. The next day I woke up and saw my dog on the couch sleeping. I woke him up, got dressed, and went outside with the dog. The dog seemed sad without his friends and so did his friends. I did not want them to be so sad, but I did not have enough space for all of them. I needed to get a new home where they could all live.

I started to look for houses that were on sale. I looked all over New Jersey and did not find any I liked. It needed to be enough space so they could run around and jump and most of all be happy. But where was I going to get enough money to buy such a big home? Now I needed a new job.

I walked on street after street after street looking for a well paying job, and then I found one. I would be a waiter at a restaurant. It was an Italian restaurant. If I was employee of the month, I would get $10,000. Otherwise, I would get $700 a week without work on the weekends. I worked as hard as I could for 2 months, which was $5,600. And I was employee of the month, which got me $15,600. I just needed to move somewhere cheaper and work there for a year or so. It was finally starting to work out for me.

 

Chapter Three: A New Life

I finally had enough money for a nice big home. Now I was going to go to a different country and live there so I could have a new life. I decided on Mexico, because I thought it would be a cool, different experience. I made sure that the people would let me put each of the dogs in their own cages in the cargo space.

When I got to Mexico, I got off the plane, and in the airport I realized something: I could not speak Spanish! This would be a problem in the near future. How was I going to get a job to keep my home in my hands and not somebody else’s? I finally got to my new home and unpacked my stuff. It seemed amazing how I forgot that people in Mexico spoke Spanish.

Now I decided I was going to move back to America. The next morning, I repacked my stuff, took the dogs for a walk, and then went straight to the airport. I tried to get on the plane, but a man named Peter stopped me. I wondered why he had done this to me, and then I suddenly remembered! My passport expired! I couldn’t believe that it had happened overnight! I had no idea what to do and if I would need to speak Spanish to get this problem solved. I went to the Mexican post office, and there I was happy to know that they could also speak English.

There, I renewed my passport and was on my way back to New Jersey. Once I got back, I bought a nice home and finally had a good life set up. Now, I needed to get my job back. But once I got to the restaurant, there was a problem. They replaced me! My heart started to beat really fast, and I started to sweat a lot. I had no idea what to do. I went into the restaurant and begged for my job back. After I was done begging, they kicked me out, and I had find a new job.

I looked everywhere: online and in the streets, but there seemed to be no job openings. I had to do something way different than what I had done in the past to get a new job. There were no jobs anywhere, so I only had one choice. I joined the NYPD training camp so I could become a police officer. As a child, I always dreamt of being a police officer. I thought it would be fun, and I would be a hero to everyone. It was the hardest training I had ever thought of. Well, except for the Navy SEALS and the military. The only fun part was going to the shooting range and learning how to shoot a police-issued gun. But most of the training was pushups and learning what to do in certain situations.

 

Chapter Four: The Police Break

You are not everyone’s hero. I realized this because there have been some racial issues in the news, and it has a lot to do with cops. I even knew this when I lived in New Jersey. If you do something wrong, then it is a big issue, and sometimes it even gets in the news. At least I would be doing good for the city, and I would be helping people. It was a bit of a commute going from New Jersey to the Big Apple every day, and I had to hire a dog walker because I was almost never there. The next day was my first day on the real force. I would start as a meter maid, but I was going to work my way up to a big-league cop stopping criminals. Now, I started to go around making sure there were no tickets to give out, and once it was 12:00, I had given 78 tickets out to people. This job seemed boring, but I needed to do it, and my boss said if I did well without complaining for the first six months, then I could take a week of break, and if I did it for the whole year I would get a raise. So I hung in there and eventually got a week of break. I was going to Alberta for a camping trip with my family and put the dogs in a kennel. This was because I didn’t want to go to Mexico anymore. Once I got the dogs situated, I was ready to leave for camping. I was going to meet them there.

Once I got there, I saw my family for the first time in years. It was great seeing my family again, and all of the wildlife was really cool. We saw all different forms of it, like bears, muskrats, and deers. It was the best time I had had in years. My family was not rich, so we could not afford to do this kind of thing. I was an only child, so I did get them all to myself, but sometimes I got lonely. My family was happy to see me as well! It felt good that they missed me too. Now we had to a get a campsite, and I would tell them about what I had done over all these years. We found the perfect one. You could see the mountains and a shimmering lake. Everything was so green, which was the opposite of where I lived. It was nice to be out of the city for once, and I could not wait for the next day. The next day we went out for a hike, and when we got to the top it was amazing. You could see everything from that mountaintop.

 

Chapter Five: The Saddest Day of My Life

When we were coming down that beautiful mountaintop, we saw a deer. It looked like Bambi with its little white freckles. Then, the scariest moment of my life happened. A bear jumped out of the woods and on the deer. It tore its flesh and we were so stiff we could not move. And then it happened. The bear saw us as a threat to him and his food, and the big brown bear went after us. We ran as fast as we could, but it was no use. The bear ran faster, and then it pounced on my mom and ripped her head off. My dad and I turned off of the trail and straight into the woods. The bear did not come, but I was sobbing more than ever. After that, we went back to the campsite, and then to make my day even worse I got a call that the dogs had been stolen from the kennel.

I was a cop, so at least I could take this case and try to solve it, but I needed a day off after what happened. This would be one of the harder cases, and I was lucky that my boss gave me a raise six months early because I was doing a really good job. I said goodbye to my dad and went home as fast as I could. My heart felt empty. I had nothing left but myself and my dad. It felt like torture. The next day I would try to forget all of this and get on the case so I could have something nice in my mind again.

 

Chapter Six: The First Case

In the morning I got up, went downstairs, and had cookies and coffee for breakfast. They were good, and at least my heart was fixed a little bit. Then I got right on the case. I went to the police station, and they gave me all the stuff they knew about him: 24 years old, last seen walking dogs, always wanted a dog but could not afford one.

I needed to find him so I could bring him in and get my three dogs back. They put me on this case because since they were my dogs, I would want to solve the case more than everybody else. It was a good feeling being able to solve my own case instead of having to tell cops to do it for me. It was better because it would give me the feeling of revenge, and that was something I needed now. There was not much important left in my life, and I could even work later because going home to an empty house made me feel sad. I used to come home to a bunch of happy dogs running and pouncing on me, just the same way that stupid bear pounced on my mom. I would never be the same after that, and it was a burden to carry on my back. I just wished the old lady was here to help me and cheer me up, just like the way she used to do. I did miss her, but this thing with my mom made me forget about her. After reviewing the case folder, I when out and started looking. I went over to the scene of the crime and asked all they knew about him. All they knew was that he did not have a car, and he instead ran away. This was not a very helpful hint, but I was not mad. I instead asked another question so I could try to pull more answers out of them. I asked which way he went, and they said left. They also said they saw him go inside a building and not come out. They believed that was where he lived. I went over to the old, broken-down house, and then I heard barking! I knocked on the door with my hand on my gun. I was ready to point it right at that man. But no one opened, so I had no choice but to kick it down, and that is what I did.

Then I ran upstairs to where I heard the barking. I saw my dogs and went straight to them so I could untie them. But that was not the only part of the mission. I have to catch the man too, I thought to myself. The dogs would only make it harder to do this. I looked all around the building, but he was not anywhere to be found. Then I went back to the dogs, and when I went to untie them, I was caught in a net and trapped. I then called the police to come and untie me. Well, I was waiting just a few minutes. After I called the cops to help me, I heard the door open. I knew that this was not the police, because it was far away from the station. Then I heard loud thumps on the old wooden stairs. A man came in the room. He looked me in the eye and said no words, but after that he left the room. Quickly after, he came back in the room, this time with a gun. He shot. I moved my head just out of the way, the shot cut the wire, and I fell free. Then, I quickly ran towards him as he was reloading. I tackled him and took his gun. Then, I threw it out of the way and started to punch him until he was knocked out. Then, I untied the dogs and waited for the police to come. Then, we loaded them up and made our way to the station.

 

Chapter Seven: The Raise

When we got to the station, we put him in a holding cell before we took him to a prison. Then I went home happily with the dogs and finally felt happy again.  The next day, I went to work and I was ready to do work, but the boss said I should take a day off because of all the sad things that had happened around me, and because I also found the man I needed to find. Then, I went home happily and slept. The next day, when I went to work, my boss gave me a raise. Now I was not just a cop. I was something more. I asked him what I would be doing that day, and he just said to patrol the streets. That is what I did. I thought of the busiest streets and went there to do my job, because that was where most accidents occurred. When I got over there, I bought a lawn chair, brought it close to the main street, and sat down. This was the best job ever! Once my shift was over, I brought the lawn chair home and stacked it over all the other ones.

Then, I started to talk with my dad about the funeral plans for my mother. The dogs were out on their third walk of the day like usual. We decided to hold it in Italy, because she had always wanted to go there, but never did. We decided not to bring the dogs because we thought they would make a mess at the funeral.

 

Chapter Eight: Italy

Once we got there, it was the most incredible place I had ever gone to. You could see mountains everywhere, and the little village was built on the side of one. No wonder she had always wanted to come here. It was just amazing. We had a priest, just like the little old lady had. The difference was that she had friends and a family, and the old lady did not have that. We had a nice hotel and a great view from there. You could see the whole village from that spot. The next day, we went out looking in shops, but tomorrow the funeral was going to take place, and then I would have to go and work again. But for now, I will enjoy the time I have left here in Italy. Tomorrow is about my mother and only her. The next morning, I got ready to go to the funeral. I put on my only suit and combed my hair. When we got there, I read a sign that said: Funeral starting 11:30 AM for Susan Pande.

 

THE END.

 

What You Don’t Know (Excerpt)

“Ouch!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she felt something cold and hard hit her directly on her ankle bone.

There was sand in between her toes and salty water up to her shins. She reached down to her ankle to try removing the irritating feeling something was causing. The water was cloudy, so she didn’t really know what she was looking for. She blindly found her way to a glass bottle with a shriveled cork screw top. There was a sad looking red bow around the bottle neck, and inside the bottle was a slightly crumpled small piece of paper. She quickly turned around and headed in the direction of the parking lot. She gathered her beach towel and bag and rushed to her car. Not knowing what was in the bottle made Elizabeth more curious, but at the same time, more cautious. She was nervous to find out what this eerie bottle was holding. She was all about the mystery. She loved watching Law and Order on TV, and her favorite childhood book was the Nancy Drew series. She loved trying to solve mysteries, and she liked the thrill and shock the mystery gave her.  

She situated herself in her car. She had the air conditioning on along with the radio blasting the newest pop culture music. She took out the bottle and slowly untied the bow. She struggled to take the corkscrew out of the bottle and ended up using her car keys to pry it out of the grip of the bottle. She reached into the bottle and brought out the tiny piece of paper. It was no bigger than the size of her palm. She had to unfold the paper about eight times for it to reveal its mystery. Elizabeth was shocked to see what was written on the paper.

She read to herself, “The five steps to answer all of your questions”.

Elizabeth did not understand what that meant. Especially since, besides that mystifying title, the page was blank. She flipped the page over, hoping there was more information. Though, there was nothing on the back except a poorly drawn smiley face. After examining the sheet of paper for five minutes, Elizabeth slipped it back into the bottle, stuck the bottle in her beach bag, and started to drive home. She made the music louder and rolled down the windows. She tried everything to forget about the bottle and move on with her day.

Two days passed since Elizabeth had found the bottle. She mostly forgot about it. Though, when she got back home from the beach on that brisk Friday evening, she found the bottle lying on her bed. It looked fresh and new. The bow no longer looked sad, and the corkscrew was not shriveled. The paper inside the bottle was folded with crisp creases. Elizabeth examined it in awe. She took the paper out of the bottle and unfolded it.

Again she read aloud, “The five steps to answer all of your questions.”

Except, this time, underneath the title, it was not blank. In small cursive print, there was the first step that said Step One: Get closer to the water. Elizabeth was confused at this step. She was already very close. She came to the beach every day. How much closer could she get? She looked at the print, and it somehow looked familiar. She was so puzzled about what the message meant, but she was more baffled about how it appeared on the paper. The last time she checked the paper in her car two days ago, there was no message. She flipped the paper over and saw how the poorly drawn smiley face was now colored. She was bewildered at this new paper. But it wasn’t a new paper. No one knew about the bottle, and it had stayed in her bedroom closet since Tuesday. She frantically stuffed the paper back into the bottle and threw the bottle onto a pile of clothes in her closet.

She sat on her bed, staring at her bedroom wall and trying to think about anything but the obscure bottle that laid in between her gym clothes and purple dress. She cringed and slowly arose from her bed. She walked over to her desk and turned on her sticker covered computer. From Avatar: The Last Airbender to Disney princesses, Elizabeth collected stickers with all of the characters. She showcased her favorite ones on the top of her computer. She brushed her fingers against the pop-up stickers, surrounding the glowing apple as she opened the laptop. When she brought up a new tab, she prepped her fingers to type something she knew was absolutely crazy. She typed into the Google search box, “bottle paper appearing messages”.

Elizabeth spent at least an hour trying to figure out what was going on with the eerie bottle she found in the ocean and decided to bring to her house. She was prepared to take notes on anything she would be able to find. She couldn’t think of anything else. She had literally asked all of her questions, and she couldn’t find any answers. There was nothing on the entire internet that was able to help her solve her problem.

She decided to take notes anyway. She reached into her desk drawer for a loose leaf paper. She found one crumpled up in the corner of the drawer. She flattened out the paper and picked up her new fountain pen that she was so fond of. She grasped the pen where the shiny golden pattern was as she touched the sharp tip to the paper. She titled the document, “Mystery Bottle”. She continued to write all of the information she had. She mentioned where she found the bottle, how she found the bottle, what she saw on the paper, and how the paper changed. Along with every event, she wrote an entry beside it, showing how she was feeling at the time of that event. She was determined to solve this incredible mystery. She was really enjoying feeling shocked and slightly scared when the new message appeared on the paper. Forgetting about this was not something Elizabeth planned to do.

She folded the paper and put it back in the corner of her desk drawer. She was satisfied with the effort she had put into the notesheet, but she couldn’t shake off the memory of the new bottle and changed piece of paper. By the time she finished doing the rest of her homework on her laptop, she decided to go eat dinner. Her parents had already started eating when she came downstairs. She glanced over her mother’s shoulder to see what they were eating. Chicken and rice with no seasonings and no spices. She crinkled her nose and walked away. She made herself a sandwich and had some yogurt for dessert. She then ran back to her room. She eventually dozed off, and she woke up to the sound of her fifth alarm indicating that she was running late for school. She rushed to get ready, and she finally reached her car after what seemed like five minutes of participating in an obstacle course. She finished her granola bar and then proceeded to drive to school.

Elizabeth was lonely at school, and she was lonely at home. Her only friend moved away from Florida last year, and Elizabeth had not been able to make any new friends since. At home, Elizabeth felt lonely without her sister, who was in college. She was so ready to finish high school and join her sister at the University of Florida. Elizabeth was a wonderful student, and she was able to receive good grades. Though, when she was told to work with other students, she struggled. She was very awkward and was not able to communicate her thoughts and ideas properly. During lunch, she did homework in her homeroom class. She was not a part of any after-school clubs, and she did not participate in class. After school, she would go home and eat a snack while finishing her homework. Her favorite place was the beach. It was one of the few places that allowed her to be at peace with herself. On the beach, she was able to collect her thoughts and relax. She tried to go to the beach everyday after school. She had become acquaintances with all of the people who worked around the beach. All of the lifeguards knew her, and people who worked at the food truck knew her, but they were polite, nothing more.

 

Here Together

The sky was downcast the day my mother left. She packed up her things and drove away, leaving Julian, Dad, and I alone together. The day was gloomy enough without the thought that I would probably never see her again. I tried to continue the weekend without breaking down and crying. I missed her so much. I could smell her perfume throughout the house, and the taste of her home cooked meals lingered in my mouth. Dad was in and out of the house, working and sulking. He would meet with his lawyer everyday to talk about the divorce and what they would say in the courtroom. Dad never talked about Mom or his lawyer. He just said that Mr. Taylor was a work friend. But Julian and I knew what was happening. Our parents were separating, and we knew there was hole in everyone’s heart the size of a Skittle. It was small but painful, and it was incredibly difficult to heal.

***

After brushing our teeth, Julian and I go to bed. He worries about Dad, but I assure him that everything would be okay. I position myself to look at my brother’s baby face before I fall asleep. As I close my eyes, I see a single, shiny teardrop slide down my twin brother’s pale face. He sniffles as I get up to give him a hug. I sit with him until he falls asleep.

When he does, I crawl back to my bed and curl up in a tight ball. I shut my eyes and try to fall asleep. All I can think about is the image of my mother’s angry face driving away from our home. I had seen her angry at my dad before, but nothing like this.  

I wake up to the smell of quesadillas and eggs cooking on a hot skillet. Though, it doesn’t smell like normal eggs and quesadillas. It smells like Mom’s grandmother’s secret recipe for huevos rancheros. I jump out of bed and peek my head outside the door. I inhale the beautiful aroma as my brother wakes up. He stretches his arms out in a circular motion.

We hear someone coming upstairs, and like a natural instinct, we rush to our beds and pretend to be asleep. Dad walks in and “wakes us up”. He pulls us downstairs for breakfast, which is cereal and bananas. I nudge Julian, who also expected huevos rancheros. We eat our breakfast in silence and pretend nothing is wrong.

Just as we are finishing the meal, there is a loud knock on the door, and we hear Mom’s voice.

 

Sincerely, the Aliens

It was late. Megan was walking home from after-school activities when she saw a white light coming down from the sky. She thought, That must be a shooting star. I wish for one million dollars, shooting star. Then, she started floating in the air.

She screamed, “HELP, BOB!”

But no one was around. Then, after 30 seconds, which seemed like forever, she reached the inside of a weird ship. Then something or someone put a sack over her and gave her a shot of something that put her right to sleep.

***

I woke up. I called out to Megan, “Megan, wake up. It’s time to go to school.”

But no one answered me. I looked on the top bunk, where Megan slept, and saw that she wasn’t there. That’s weird. Maybe she’s downstairs, and for once, I don’t have to wake her up. I got dressed and put on my clothes and started going downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, but Megan wasn’t in the kitchen either.

I screamed, “Mom, did you see Megan this morning yet?”

“No, why are you asking. Did you see her yet?” Mom answered.

“No,” I said, “That’s why I was asking. Maybe she had something at school so she left early.”

I finished eating breakfast and put on my shoes.

“Bye, Mom,” I screamed.

“Bye,” she said, and I walked out the door to school.

I arrived at school and asked the secretary if Megan was at school yet.

She answered, “No, I don’t know where she is. You’re her brother. Shouldn’t you know?”

I said, “Yeah, I probably should know, but I haven’t seen her since yesterday at school.”

“Okay,” said the secretary. “I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks for your help,” I said and headed out to class.

When it was lunch, I met up with my best friend, Jeff, and sat down and started eating.

Jeff asked, “Where is Megan? She wasn’t in my class today. Was she sick?”

Jeff was a surfer. He had big muscles and had blonde hair. His dream was to become a professional surfer.

“I don’t know, Jeff. She wasn’t in her bed this morning, and the secretary said she didn’t come to school yet,” I answered.

Jeff said, “Do you think she was kidnapped?”

“Of course not! Why would anyone want to kidnap her?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you if I find anything out about where Megan is.”

RRRIIIINNGGGG. And we started the next half of the day.

After the final bell, Jeff and I started walking home together, and I saw a note on the sidewalk.

“Look, Jeff, a note. I wonder what it says.”

I picked up the note and read the note out loud.

 

Dear Bob,

We are the ones who kidnapped Megan. She is with us, and you will never see her again. We are always watching. She is now our specimen for testing. Don’t try saving her. It will just be a waste of time, and you will also become a specimen. We took Megan to study the human race. We are still on your planet. Don’t try telling the police, or anyone like that, or they will all just die. Have fun with your last few days on Earth.   

Sincerely,

The Aliens.

 

“ALIENS?! THEY’RE GOING TO DESTROY US!!!” Jeff screamed.

“Yes, aliens, Jeff. But remember, we can’t tell anyone,” I said. “Plus, this note is probably just written by someone who overheard us talking at lunch, so let’s not worry about it. Bye, Jeff, see ya tommorow at school.”

And we walked our ways to home.

***

Meanwhile…

I woke up. My vision was dizzy, and I had a really bad headache. Where am I? I thought. I saw that I was in a white room with no windows or people. Maybe I can sneak out of here. I tried to move my hands, but they were chained to the bed I was on. Crap! What am I going to do?  I lay there for another five minutes until I heard some voices.

“What are we going to do with the human female?”

I heard another voice say, “Shut up! We are just going to do tests on her, and when we are done, we will throw her into the black hole.”

Oh no, I must escape! Who are those people, and how will they get to a black hole? I thought. Then something came into the room. When I saw them, I almost passed out. It was an alien! It had three eyes, its body was green, and it was all slimy, and it had tentacles as legs.

***

At Home…

I finally got home.

I asked my mom, “Is Megan at home? She wasn’t at school today.”

“No, I didn’t see her. Should I call the police and start a search party for Megan? I’m getting very worried.”

Oh no! What should I say? The aliens said the police couldn’t get involved. I guess I’ll have to lie my way out of this. I feel so bad for lying.

I said, “Actually, Mom, she was at school today, but she went to a sleepover at her friend’s house.”

“Whose house did she go to?” Mom said. “She wasn’t allowed to go. I need to call them and tell them Megan has to come home right now!”

“Uh… umm, I don’t know. She didn’t tell me,” I answered. “I need to go upstairs to do my homework. See you at dinner.”

Phew, I almost was going to be a specimen too. I must find out where they are and free Megan!

After finishing my homework and having dinner, I went to bed and tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t! The fact that Megan was abducted by aliens didn’t make me want to fall asleep.

I need to think of an idea of how to find her and free her.

After almost an hour of thinking about ideas, I thought of the best idea ever! But I needed help from my friend, Jerry.

The next day passed by quickly, and I didn’t get anymore notes from the aliens. After school, I went to Jerry’s, my other best friend’s house. Jerry was great at hacking and always got good grades. One time he failed a test, so he hacked the school’s system and changed his score. Jerry had brown hair, and he always wore his round glasses wherever he went. He also always wore a buttoned up shirt everyday, even if it was 90 degrees. Jerry and I went up to his bedroom, and he turned on his computer and started hacking.

After an hour of hacking, Jerry screamed, “I GOT IT!”

“Where is her phone, Jerry?”

“It’s at, it’s at… the dump?! They must have built a garbage fort.”

“No, Jerry, I doubt it. But tomorrow you, Jeff, and I can go there.”

***

The following morning…

Woo hoo! Today is the day we save Megan!

“Wake up, Bob. You have to go to school. Tell me if you see Megan at school today. All of Megan’s friends said that she wasn’t sleeping at their houses.” Mom said.

“Okay, Mom.”

I started walking to school, and I met up with Jeff like I always did. But this time, he was flexing his muscles in front of a bunch of girls. So I decided to back away until he was done. When he was done, I walked over to him.

“Hey, Jeff.”

“Hey. Did you find your sister yet?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah, we did! Jerry tracked down her phone. She’s with the aliens in the dumpster. Jerry and I are going there today after school. Do you wanna come?”

“Of course I do!” answered Jeff. “I’ll meet you at lunch with Jerry to figure out a plan, and then after school, we’ll meet up right outside. Does that sound good?”

“Yep, that works. Let’s do it.”

RRRIIIINNGGGG went the lunch bell and lunch started. Jeff, Jerry and I all met up at our usual table.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

“I say we all go home and wear our best spy things, bring a few snacks and drinks. Then at 12:00 A.M., we meet up at school, and we go to the dump,” said Jeff.

“Thats a great idea!” Jerry and I both called out.

“So let’s do it” I said.

And we all go back to class. After school, we all went home and got prepared. I decided I would wear black jeans and my black shirt. I would bring my water bottle and some snacks with a flashlight. I ate dinner and went to my bedroom.

“G’night, Bob,” said Mom.

“G’night, Mom.”

I closed my eyes and pretended to go to sleep. After around ten minutes, I reopened my eyes and made sure no one was looking. I got out of bed, but I still had to kill some time. It was only 10:34. I started reading books. After around an hour of reading, it was 11:43, so I started to make my way downstairs. Luckily, no one was awake, so it was easy to sneak out. I put on my shoes and started walking to school. I got to school at 12:00 sharp. It was a clear night with no clouds. The moon was full, so it was easy to see where I was going.

***

“Who are you?” I asked. “Why did you kidnap me you stupid alien.”

“DON’T CALL ME STUPID, LITTLE HUMAN GIRL!” said the alien. “Soon we will take over your pathetic world.”

“You still didn’t answer my question. Why did you kidnap me?”

“We kidnapped you so we can do tests and learn about the human race. When we came to earth, we saw you, and we knew you would be perfect because you were young,” answered the alien. “Now it’s time for your first test. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt.”

“It better not.”

The alien put a blindfold over my eyes. Then, all of a sudden, pain bursted throughout my body. I felt like someone shocked me and punched me a million times. I tried screaming, but I couldn’t. It was like my mouth was taped shut.

“WHAT WAS THAT?!” I screamed. “YOU SAID IT WOULDN’T HURT! YOU LIED.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, little girl. I forgot to tell you that it wouldn’t hurt has bad as what’s coming next,” the alien said. “Mwahahahaha.”

I really, really hope Bob saves me. I really don’t want to do what’s next. And I went back to sleep.

***

Meanwhile, at school…

When I got to school, I saw Jeff waiting for me. I asked him, “Did Jerry come yet?”

“No, I didn’t see him. Maybe his parents caught him. Let’s wait another 10 minutes for him,” said Jeff.

“Good thinking.”

After around five minutes, Jerry came.

“I’m sorry I’m late, my parents almost caught me, so I waited another five minutes and then went out.” said Jerry.

“It’s fine, Jerry.” I assured him, and we started walking to the dump.

It was a long walk. It was all the way across town.

It took about 45 minutes to get there. When we got there, we walked inside and started looking around for something unusual.

“Does anyone see anything?” I asked after around a half an hour of searching.

“No.” Jeff and Jerry said.

“Neither do I,” I said. “Let’s go look on the other side of the dump.”

“Great idea.” Jeff said.

I started running, and then I tripped on a garbage bag, and I saw under it was light.

“Guys!” I whispered. “Look! Theres light under that garbage bag. Let’s go check it out!” We all tiptoed to the garbage bag, when we got there, I said, “I’m going to lift it up. After I lift it up, I’ll look inside for any aliens. If it’s clear to go in, I’ll put up two fingers.”

“Good thinking, Bob.” said Jeff.

I took a peek under the garbage bag. I knew it! There was a big white room with lights. I saw a few doors leading to other places. There were desks with testing tubes and weird alien things on them. I gave Jeff and Jerry the all clear sign. We all went down the ladder and came into the room.

“Woah,” Jeff said. “Look at all the cool stuff they have!”

Then, all of a sudden, we heard movements.

“Everyone hide!” I whispered, and everyone hid.

Jeff and Jerry hid under a table while I hid inside a closet. After around ten minutes, we came out of our hiding spots.

“Phew, that was a close one. Did you see what the alien looked like?”

“I did!” said Jerry. “It was green and slimy. I saw three eyes, but there might be more. He had squid legs. I’m not sure how many.”

“Good job, Jerry. Let’s go into the next room.”

“WAIT!” said Jeff. “Look what I found! It looks like a gun. We can use it to kill aliens.”

“Nice find, Jeff!” Jerry said. “Keep it. It’ll probably come in handy.”

“Yes,” I said.

The gun looked like a gun, but it was dark blue and had some weird green liquid inside, and it didn’t have any bullets. We walked into the next room, which was all white again, but it had a bunch of cages with animals like deer, dogs, and cats. There was another doorway, which had weird letters on top that looked like, “ܐܒܫܣܝܬܫܣܝܐ ܧܡܤܐܤܞܫܧܖܐ ܝܒܣܧܣܝܒ”.

“What does that mean?” asked Jeff.

“I don’t know. It’s probably alien language.”

“Let’s just go inside it, guys. We know this room doesn’t have Megan in it,” said Jerry.

So we walked inside the room, and inside, we saw five aliens!

“Quick, Jeff! Shoot them!!”

Jeff shot them all, and they turned into ashes.

“That must be a vaporizer gun! That’s so cool, Jeff!” Jerry said.

“I know!” said Jeff. “I want to keep it forever.”

“C’mon, guys, we have to find her fast. We can’t miss school, otherwise our parents will freak. It’s already 4:00 A.M.”

We started into the next room. It was a big room with big tubes coming down from the ceiling. In one of the big tubes, Megan was sleeping.

“Look!” I said. “There she is!”

The problem was that there were around five aliens walking around the room. Some aliens were sitting at table, looking at something that looked like a virtual computer. Some other aliens were holding shots that you would get at the hospital. They looked very busy.

“Okay, guys. I have a plan. We need to find another two of those guns. When we find more, we surprise them all and shoot them down.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” said Jerry, and we started looking around for more guns.

After 20 minutes of looking, we still didn’t find anything. It was already 4:56 in the morning. We needed to leave soon. So I leaned on a wall for a second, and all of a sudden, a big panel inside the wall opened up with guns, grenades, and a bunch of other alien weapons. Jackpot!

“Guys!” I said. “Come look at what I found!”

Jerry and Jeff came over, and they saw it.

“Woah,” said Jeff. “We can take some grenades to blow up this place after we save Megan.”

“Smart idea, Jeff. Jerry take a gun.”

Jerry and I took a gun. We all had the same ones. I took a few grenades for after. We went back to the room next the aliens.  

“Okay, guys, when I give a thumbs up, we are going to run into the room and destroy the aliens. Sounds good, guys?”

“Okay,” they both said.

I peeked in the room. They were still doing the same things as before, and Megan was still asleep. I was ready to give them a thumbs up. I showed three fingers, then two, then one, and then a thumbs up. We all ran into the room. Jeff took out two aliens right away. Jerry and I also killed one. There were six left. Then one of the aliens took out a gun and tried to shoot us, but we shot him faster. But there were still five left. I shot two more, and Jeff and Jerry each shot one. The last alien quickly ran to a big, red button and pressed it right before we killed it. Then the lights turned red. Alarms went off. The door closed shut, and metal surrounded the door, making it impossible to break. Then a voice said, “Self destruction in 20 minutes.

“Oh no, guys!” I screamed over the alarms. “Let’s free Megan and try to escape!”

Luckily, Megan woke up with all the commotion. She said, “Bob, is that you? Are you here to save me?”

“Yes, Megan. C’mon, we have to get out of here before this place explodes! Do you know how to get out of that tube?”

“Yes, I saw the alien do it when we did tests. I think he clicked that button,” said Megan.

“Jerry, go click that button over there. It should free Megan.”

“Okay, Bob,” said Jerry.

Jerry went over and clicked the button. A door in the tube opened up, and Megan was free.

“Thank you so much!!” said Megan.

“C’mon. We don’t have anytime to be happy. This place is going to blow up in like 15 min-”

Self destruct in 14 minutes,” said the automated voice.

“Hey, I wonder if our gun can destroy the door?”

“Try it,” said Jeff.

I tried blowing up the door, but it didn’t work. It didn’t even leave a scratch.

“Well, that was a fail,” I said.

“We need to find an off switch or something to blow open the door,” said Jerry.

We started looking for an off switch, but we gave up because there was only ten minutes left.

“Guys, I’ll use the grenade I took, and hopefully it’s not too powerful.”

“DON’T,” said Jeff. “You might blow us all up, and we’ll all die.”

“It doesn’t matter. No matter what, we’ll all die anyway. We have to try it,” I told him.

“Yeah, I agree with Bob. We have to try it. It’s our only hope,” Jerry said.

“Okay, fine,” said Jerry.

Self destruct in nine minutes,” said the machine.

“I’m throwing the grenades in three… two… one…”

BOOM went the grenade.

***

Meanwhile… Martin was next to the dump.

It’s been a long day, I thought. All I want to do is go home and crash on my bed. I’ve been having such a bad day. When I was walking next to the dump, I heard a grumble, and the ground started shaking. I thought, Oh no! Earthquake! This day is getting worse by the minute. Then in the sky, I saw something hovering off the ground. ALIENS!! They must be hiding in the dump. I HAVE TO take a picture. I took a picture of the aliens and called the 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“I’m next to the dump, walking home, and the ground just started rumbling. Then I saw a flying saucer hovering in the sky.”

“Are you sure this is true?” asked the operator.

“Yes! Of course. I’m watching it happen right now.”

“Okay. I’ll send over some police to go investigate.”

“Thanks,” I told them, but they already hung up.

I waited around for the police to come. Luckily, the alien ship wasn’t moving. It was just hovering in the air. The police came two minutes after I called them. The alien ship was still there. The policeman came up to me.

He asked me, “Hello, I’m Anthony. I’m go- Holy shit is that what I think it is? Just a secl. I’m calling backup.”

Five minutes later, 15 police cars and helicopters where surrounding and going inside the dump.

***

Inside the alien hideout…

“LOOK” I said. “There’s a hole that we can crawl through.”

Five minutes till self destruction.” said the machine.

We crawled into the next room. I took out my last grenade.

“This is my last one, guys. I don’t have another one for the next room. What are we going to do?!”

“Let’s just escape this room. Then we can worry about the other one,” said Megan.   

“Okay, sheesh,” said Jerry.

“Guys, I’m blowing up the next one in three… two… one…”

BOOM. And the next door exploded.

Three minutes till self destruction.”

“OW!” screamed Jeff. “I can’t walk. I got hit in the leg by some of the debris, and I twisted it. I might have broke it.”

“Don’t worry, Jeff. Put your arms on me and Jerry. We’ll help you walk.”

Jeff put one arm on each of our shoulders. Then I noticed that I didn’t have another grenade.

“GUYS! I don’t have another grenade! What are we going to do!”

“Let’s try to find a hammer or another grenade,” said Jerry.

Two minutes till self destruction,” said the robot voice.
We spent one minute looking for things to break the door with.

One minute till self destruction.”

“Guys, “Jeff started crying and said, “If this is our last time together, I just wanted to say, I eat my boogers.”

Then Jerry said, “I also do,” and he started crying.

Thirty seconds till self destruction.

“Bye, guys,” I said. “It was nice knowing you all. At least we got to see Megan one last time.”

Then Megan spoke up.

“I also wanted to say that my whole life, I always loved you. You’re the best brother ever.”

***

Look!” I screamed. “The police.

We ran to the police. We only had 15 seconds to get out. We all sprinted out of the aliens’ secret hideout with five seconds left. We continued to run until we heard the place exploding. When we walked out of the dump, we saw news reporters, police, and worst of all, our mother. I walk over to my mother with Bob, and she told Bob, “Great job! You saved Megan. But you’re grounded until you’re 18.”

“By the way,” I told Bob, “everything I said before is not true.”

“Oh, Megan,” said Bob, rolling his eyes.

When we get home, I crashed into bed, and I saw a note.

 

We’ll be back one day.

The Aliens

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

Subsequent of the Smoke

I remember that day. I remember the darkness of the smoke, lifting off from the ground, taking my child from me. He had been taken, at only three years old, to some planet called Earth, forced into a normal life. A life in which he wasn’t my son.

Orlon. My husband had given him the name before he left us. It was a grand day; the curtains sparkling, the sweet aroma of flowers filling the air. It was customary, for a boy in Arionian culture, to name the child weeks after they were born. Traditionally, the child was supposed to be granted the name from a high priest, but my husband had wanted to make a statement, and he named him, to my horror. The day was filled with blessings, wishing him the very best, giving him gifts to bring prosperity to the planet. I thought nothing of it when a man, his face barely visible in the ink-black robe, came to my son and sprinkled ash on his forehead. Ash was a sign of rebirth, a new beginning. I thought nothing of it, until later that evening, when I went to check on Orlon, only to see him missing, and pieces of ash were spread in the symbol of the rebellion on his bed frame.

I remember the terror, the scream that erupted from my mouth when I saw the ash. They had taken him, taken my boy, the only thing that I had ever truly loved, they had snatched him away from me. Running to the courtyard, tears stroking down my face, I finally caught a sight of them, for only a moment, the greasy black cloaks of the men. Yelling, screaming, begging them to simply give him back, that I would do anything they asked, only to say goodbye to my son. That I would give up the whole world just to see his face again. That’s when I saw the smoke. Filling up my lungs, dancing along my fingertips, making me want to crumble to the ground. That’s when, through the haze of the pitch black smoke I saw the ship, flying into the clear, starry night, in the direction of the small planet called Earth.

Unlike my son, the smoke never left me. It consumed all of my thoughts, seeming to control me. I was lying on my bed, crying, tears pouring from my eyes as the sun rose. A new beginning, a new start. But this time, I was going to Earth.

***

My husband was dead soon after the incident. I was forced to play the weeping widow, forced to speak like he meant the world to me. Required to cry at the funeral, made to disguise my inner happiness. The man who had seduced me that night, forcing me into his little game, was dead, and I had killed him.

I could still feel the weight of the gun in my glove clad hand, the bullet coming loose from my steel like a grip. Ripped through him, almost like the smoke defeated me. I saw his eyes, widen in that last moment, before I kissed him, rough and haphazardly, before I felt his body grow limp, his blood trickling down my lips. I smiled, joyously, for the first time after my son was taken from me. I felt the blood trickle down my teeth, my lips stained a crimson red. The smell of decay along my senses, the weight of him, the weight of my son being gone, the smoke gone for only a moment.

Curled up against him, the smell of blood around me, I was at peace. His heart, the thumping of his soul, was finally put out. I smiled at him, his glassy eyes staring up at me unmoving before I let out a scream.

The guards came running to me, holding me back as I cried, not for my husband, but for my son. It seemed almost too easy. The smoke had been lifted. I was allowed rest. But I could only see the blood. The feeling of a feeble life being crushed by my own hand, the feeling of cutting someone’s thread to the world overwhelmed me. I needed more, I had to get more.

Blood. The sickeningly sweet liquid, crimson to the touch. The blue veins, pulsing, heart beating, creating life. I was addicted. Addicted to the taste, addicted to the smell, even to the feeling. Being able to unravel the threads of a being’s life, allowing them a release nothing else but death could give them. But a gun, it was too easy, wasn’t it? Too quick, too fast, too permanent. The heart was too fragile for such things. The rest of the body, however, was less febile. The skin, although easily cut, didn’t allow the bearer easy access to the long awaited pleasure of death.

The smoke, I had believed that the smoke had finally left me. At first, it released me for hours, I could see through it, I was fine. Fine. That’s all I was. I was living. I was breathing, therefore, I was fine. I could sleep, the smoke no longer encompassing me, and all my thoughts. I could sleep without a piercing scream waking me. Later, I had learned that the scream that woke me from my nightmares was my own.

The staff thought I was insane. They drugged me, hoping to sedate me. They thought their primitive drugs would work, that they would be safe. But nobody was truly ever safe, not even those of the rebellion headed towards Earth.

Pill after pill, day after day, I was incarcerated in my mind. My body was limp; it was useless, unresponsive. I was cast aside, left for nothing but a shell of a power hungry leader. But the smoke was only thicker, it was all around me, choking me. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but no one wanted to save me anyways.  

That’s when they left me. The pills, the staff, they all left me for dead. I was alone, left to fend for myself against the smoke. It was seeping into my pores, clogging my airways, soaking into any opening it could. I knew it was going to conquer me. I saw the haze of gray moving closer and closer to my eyes, teasing me. It knew that it was going to kill me. It was smiling at me, the wisps whispering in my ear, asking me to try to fight them. But I didn’t want to fight anymore, I wanted release. Death had found me, smiling in the midst of the night, as the full moon lighting up my glazed eyes. The smoke had finally left me. I was safe from its grasp forever.

 

The Floor is Lava

When I awoke, the TV was beeping like crazy. All the stations were showing the local news channel.

“Do not touch the floor,” they yelled. “It will kill!”

Of course, this made me curious. I threw my shoe at the ground to see what would happen. For a second, my shoe was fine, until it burst into flames. It started at the toe, then it went all the way to the heel. It sort of looked like this spontaneous combustion TV show episode I watched once. They were talking about how there were some gases in the body that when mixed with static could light on fire. After watching the shoe, I wondered why all the furniture wasn’t on fire. I had a new plan, which was to throw a pillow at the ground. When the pillow touched the ground, it didn’t light on fire. Now I knew how to get around. I looked at the clock and saw it was 5:15 P.M.

“Mom! Do you know where scissors and tape are?”

No reply.

“Mom… MOM!”

Still no reply. I realized she wasn’t home.

I need to find her, I thought. I threw a few pillows and the couch cushions so I could walk over to the kitchen. I was still too scared to test if I would go up in flames like my shoe. I found some of my supplies in the cupboard next to the wastebasket. My plan was to tape my feet to a pillow. I really hoped this would work because I would be literal toast if it didn’t. As I took my first steps with my new invention, I was incredibly nervous, but it worked! My new task was to go find my mom and other living people. The local news channel had gone offline.

As I stepped outside, I saw my neighbor on top of her car.

“Ms. Morrison!” I called out.

“Jonathan, what are you doing? You’re going to die!” she replied.

“I taped two pillows to my feet so I won’t burn up,” I said, walking towards her car. “I really need your help. My mom hasn’t come home yet, and I don’t know where she is! Does your car work?”

“I was listening to the radio as I was driving back from the supermarket when I heard the news, so yes, my car does work. However, can you make me one of those foot protector devices?”

“Only if you take me to my mom.”

“Deal.”

Ms. Morrison drove us to the local plant nursery where my mom worked as a landscape architect. They designed gardens for other people. She seemed to always be complaining about rude clients or not having anyone to actually plant the plants. Maybe this would be a good change for her.

Once we arrived, it looked deserted. Nobody was in sight. Our footsteps could be heard from a mile away as we walked into the store. Everything was normal, the plants were all labeled and in the right place, and the power was working, just no one was around.

“AAAHHHHHHH!”

As I turned around, Ms. Morrison had tripped over a vine on the ground. We locked eyes as I reached out my hand to help her up, but it was too late. I watched her burst into bright, orange flames as high as the ceiling, then vanish into only a pile of miniscule, gray, unwanted dust.

I sat on the counter for a good 30 minutes wondering what I should do. I felt like I needed someone to talk me into finding my mom or living my life. But I knew my mom needed me. As I looked down at my feet, the pillows were beginning to disintegrate. Some of the down feathers were falling out and leaving a trail. I either needed to find new pillows soon or I’d have to jump from table to table. If my mom was in the store, she probably would be able to hear me.

“MOOOOOM! WHERE ARE YOU?” I called out.

“Jonathan?” I heard quietly.

“MOMMA, WHERE ARE YOU?” I called out again.

“Help me,” I heard even quieter.

I ran as fast as I could to the backroom where I thought she was. Sure enough, she was there, but in a horrible state. She was crying and her left leg was completely gone.

“Oh my god Mom, what happened?”

“I was walking over to my minifridge to grab a Coke when I felt like my leg was on fire, and it literally was. I jumped on my desk and looked at my wound. My wound was completely closed, no blood, no skin, no pain, just no leg. First I heard Jim scream, then Dave, then Kevin, then Janet, and it just kept going on and on. Do you know what’s happening? How are you fine standing on the ground?”

“I was taking a nap on the couch when our local news station was saying something about the ground being on fire. I threw one of my shoes on the ground and watched it go up in flames. I realized pillows wouldn’t light, so I taped two onto my feet. We should get home soon to fix up our pillow shoes.”

“I can’t drive now because of my leg, so you’re going to have to drive us back home,” she told me.

“Woah, now, Mom, slow down. I’m only 11 years old. I can’t drive. I can barely look over the dashboard,” I stated.

“Jon, list our other options right now.”

“Well… yeah, you’re right, I need to drive.”

I took one of the pillows off my feet and taped it to her only foot. We sort of did a three-legged race to the car, but only with two legs. As we got in the car, she taught me the basics of driving. I had a bunch of trouble turning and almost crashed into a parked car, but since there were no cars on the road, I was fine. I also could barely reach the brakes, but that didn’t cause any problems. Our car did get pooped on by a bird though. It was really funny but, also, really startling. One thing I noticed now, that I hadn’t noticed with Ms. Morrison, was that all the stores were vandalized and looted. Everyone was panicking, the streets were trashed, and nothing was normal. Once we arrived home, our pillows were almost completely degraded. We stepped inside and called everyone we knew. Strangely, no one picked up except for my cousin’s cellphone, but all I heard was a single scream.

“Momma, I think we have some crutches in the closet in my room from when I broke my leg. I’m going to go see if I can find them,” I told her.

Sure enough, there were crutches in the closet. We also needed to repair our pillows. I took some duct tape while my mom grabbed a bunch of our smaller, sturdier pillows. We attached them to our feet using Krazy Glue and some more duct tape. My mom and I decided we would venture outside to find more people.

“This California heat is really getting to me,” I told my mom.

“Yeah, it’s almost 100 degrees out here.”

We heard a man screaming. I saw him running on the street and pointed it out to Mom. As he got closer, we could see that he had a few fingers missing and a huge scar on his face. His legs were covered in what looked like rain ponchos and torn-up cardboard. As he approached us, my mom noticed he had a knife lodged in his belt.

“How are y’all doin’,” he asked.

“What are you doing screaming in the street like that?” Mom questioned.

“I want to take your skin off and wear it as my own.”

“Get outta here, you creep,” I said.

“What’d you say?” he said, taking his knife out of his belt.

My mom swung her crutch at him, barely missing. He started charging at her when I shoved him into the ground. He burst into flames and vanished from sight.

“That was weird and scary,” I said to Mom.

“He seemed like one of those doomsday, end-of-the-world predictors.”

“Did you hear what he was screaming?”

“No, did you?”

“I thought he was saying it’s shaking.”

Right after I said that, the ground began to rumble. An enormous fault line appeared right in front of us. The shaking was too much for my mom, and she fell over and was transformed into worthless dust. I ran back inside and jumped on the couch. I didn’t want to be here anymore. All of my family, my friends, and everyone I knew and cared about was gone. I didn’t have a purpose anymore. I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped off the couch and disappeared.

 

Ripped Jeans

It’s never comfortable, but I do it anyway. Just because my legs will go numb soon enough. Just because I’m way too stubborn to bring a chair and, honestly, I probably don’t deserve one.

So I sit.

Ripped jeans on rugged rocks ripping into my skin. I actually took some time to count it one day, when I wasn’t doing anything (I usually am), and there were twenty six. Twenty six old scars and new scrapes. Twenty six days I sat at the corner of a beach no one goes to, waiting for a person who, in theory, doesn’t even exist.

Anymore.

Waiting for someone who might not even be on the face of the Earth anymore, and someone who might have never existed in the first place.

It hits me just now that I might be crazy. Like actually “wrap me up and throw me in the loon house, boys, turns out I created an entire person in my mind and wait for her everyday after school for hours” kind of crazy.

Oh, man.

I can feel my palms start sweating at the thought — because that’s super messed up, right? — I could make it on TV or something. Chills.

Dr. Phil, if you’re out there… who am I kidding? Dr. Phil is always out there. Dr. Phil, buddy, you’re perfect, and I love you, and I know you can read my thoughts right now. I know.

Ha… just kidding.

I weigh the pebble I stuffed in my pocket earlier in both hands and choke down a laugh because I really shouldn’t be laughing. I might not think Dr. Phil is secretly monitoring my thoughts now — but you know, if I’m really crazy, I might soon. Or maybe I’m onto something?

I chuck the rock into the sea. Probably not.

Tracing the ripples as they surface with my eyes and my fingertips, I think about the sea, the stars, everything beyond everything. Time and space. Me and Gwen. Dr. Phil and my possible mental delusion, and how beautiful the beach is on winter afternoons. Even in ripped jeans and freezing, I can appreciate beauty.

And this, right here, is beautiful.

It would be more beautiful if it weren’t below fifty degrees, but you know, I’ll take what I can get.

“Hey,” a voice calls out from a couple yards behind me — probably just on the outskirts of the rock cliff I’m on now — and I jump at the sound, my heart all of the sudden interested in a track/cross country combo. “What up, Maxine?”

Ah.

I know that voice.

“Hey, man,” I say, coolly. “Good to see you.”

And it is good to see him. He may be the only person it’s good to see right about now — and I smile — because having someone here will have to put a pause on my existential crisis.  

Jude.  

My best friend.

It really is good to see him.

Hey uh,” he calls out, starting to climb the rocks, pausing to eye one falling down the abyss, “Didn’t see you at school?!”

“That makes sense!”

Then his eyes dart to me, shining. Alive. The color of storm clouds and concrete and steel. His hair, cocoa brown, falls loosely over his olive skin, and his smile beaming brightly at me silently says, go on.

“Didn’t go in today,” I say. “Cici’s sick.”

“Yikes.”

Cici’s my little half sister. She’s cute. Around four or five —  really sweet — my only complaint is that I can recite around three episodes of Danny Phantom and make mass amounts of pizza bagels. Big enough to feed like three grown men. And apparently, one Cici.

He nods. Closer now. Halfway up.

“So, how long you been up here?”

I have to stop and think about it. And when I do, I recognize I have no idea what time it is. I freeze.

“I got here around three?”

“Oh lord.”

“What?”

“It’s eight.”

“No kidding…” I say, taking my phone out of my back pocket. And to really no one’s surprise but my own, it’s eight thirty seven, and I’d magically been here for five hours.

“That sucks.”

He sits beside me, and there’s a faint moment of silence. Remembrance. Grief for all the hours I just wasted sitting on this big rock thinking about famous talk show hosts and the ward.

“So, spider Max… tell me, how’d I know I’d find you here?” he asks.

“Easy.” I say. “You’re super creepy.”

He staggers backward, as if somehow wounded by the thought, and leans against the rock, facing me. Me and only me, and somehow, I know. I know what he’s about to ask.

I say nothing.

“Are you ever going to tell me?”

Nothing.

“I mean,” he catches his tone. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

Zip.

“But you can trust me.”

Waves.

“If you want.”

You can trust me. I repeat in my mind. You can trust me. I brush my hair behind my ears and rest my head in between my arms, draped at either side. Are you ever going to tell me? My throat chokes up, and I breathe in the sea air. If you want.

I can trust him? Trust him? And tell him what?

My vision super focuses on the sea, straight through him and his questions. The “oh, you poor thing” face I can tell he’s ogling at me. That classic untimely look. Coupled with a ridged brow and a sympathetic half cock of a smile, squinted eyes, pouted lips… he feels bad for me. Or something. I cannot stand it. I cannot stand when people pity me.  

I grit my teeth and ball my hands in fists, tightly squeezing the color out of them. They’re so blue, they’re purple at this point. Everything around me goes blotched and hazy, and I want so badly for the world to just stop for one second. Stop so I can catch my breath. Stop so I can figure out what’s wrong with me.

There’s something wrong with me. I feel like I’m dying.

“Is this what dying feels like?” I say, as I swallow the lump in my throat, and it falls to my chest. Now I’m not about to break down crying, but I feel the exact same.

“Am I still alive?”

Maybe I’m talking to Jude. Or Gwen.

“I think I’m crazy.”

And I do. And I am. Or? Who knows. What.

He sits up, looking at me, looking for my eyes. Which, by the way, are not looking at him. They’re looking at the sea.

“For Gwen,” I say.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his expression. He’s shock and confusion embodied in a teenage boy. He’s lost. So am I, actually. Haha. I turn to him. I can feel how bland my face must look to him, the numb exterior I’ve put up to the world. No one can touch me now.

His eyes, once strong and fierce and confident, are scared. Full of love that cannot fix me now. The color of loose change, pencil shavings, hair in old age… they look to me in empathy. Screaming silently.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. I absolutely should not be laughing. Nobody’s laughing. Nothing is funny.

“Hey,” I say, “hey” being the only thing that I can get out of my mouth. “Jude. You said… I can trust you?”

“Yes. Yes, you can. I, uh, are you alright? Maxine?”

“When I was eleven, I used to love swimming.”

“Ah… I’ve never seen you swim. You swim?”

“Not anymore,” I reply.

Not until I know she’s okay.

“It was July or something. I don’t remember.”

“Oh?”

“I came out here with baby Cici and my parents. We sat over there.” I point to a strip of sand to our right. It’s covered in snow now. “And it was one of those, you know, we had another kid but we still love you the same spiel, so they let me do what I wanted. Helped me build sand castles and stuff. You know. Then we went in the water.”

“That sounds… nice.”

“And the tide pulled me away from them. Pushing me under the waves. I couldn’t breathe. No one could get to me. I was in the middle of the ocean. Oh man, I have never been so scared in my entire life.”

“What the hell.”

“Then I was under, and I kept going down. I was going to die there. My life was, like, flashing before my eyes. It was terrible. I was falling under so fast, Jude. I saw fish I’d never seen before. And the sun. It was so far up, I thought I’d never see it again. I was so scared.”

“…Max?”

“It was starting to hurt. The not breathing and stuff. Then…”

“Then?” he asks, putting his right hand on my left shoulder.

“Gwen.”

“Gwen? As in ‘for Gwen?’ That super ominous thing you said a couple minutes ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Go on.”
“She saved my life, broseph.”

“Is that who you’re waiting for? Is she like… a–”

“Mermaid,” I say, tearing my stare away from him and back to the sea, a smile growing on my face as the thought of her surfaces. “It was green… some kind of beautiful, arctic green tail and lavender hair. Tan skin, brown eyes. I saw her face underwater, then I saw it on land. She saved my life. Pulled me up, or something, I don’t know. I don’t know.”  

He doesn’t say anything to that. I get it.

So I go on, “She was… young. Like me. Beautiful. You know. Perfect. And we talked. She told me about mermaids. I told her about people. We talked until it was night, and she said she’d come back one day. Back for me. Then she dived headfirst back into the water.”

“And you wait for her,” he says.

“And I wait for her,” I repeat. “I told my parents.”

“Oh man.”

“They think I’m crazy. That I swam all the way back to the beach somehow and passed out. That Gwen was never here, and I just made her up because I watched The Little Mermaid and couldn’t process the idea of death.”

He presses a fist to my cheek, lovingly imitating a fist to the face.

“Damn.”

The way he says it is breathless. I can almost see his brain trying to process everything. The wheels that must be turning in his head. I kind of feel bad, you know. Usually, he’s thinking about soccer, guys, and video games.

“So,” I say, leaning forward, letting my hair cover my face. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Why would I think you’re crazy?” he asks. Like the idea never even crossed his mind and I’m the sanest person in the world. “Of course not. I’m big on the supernatural stuff. You know that! Plus, like, seventy percent of the ocean is unexplored, and y–”

My shoulders heave as tears stream down my face. Like a broken waterfall… the rain.

“Hey…”

His voice sounds apologetic. Like he’d done something wrong, that telling me I’m not crazy is the opposite of what I want to hear, that somehow, getting the biggest secret off of my chest and welcomed with open arms would make me sob. And, okay, I guess he’s right. But I’m not heaving because I’m sad. I’m heaving because this is the best I’ve felt since that same day in July I can’t remember.

“Thanks,” I say, picking up my head and wiping a tear stream off my face. “Thanks, Jude.”

“Of course.”

 

We stayed there the rest of the night, and I told him about Gwen. The stars beamed, ocean rushed, and cherry rose gas station. Vodka kept us warm and safe from the bitter cold. Everything about it was perfect. And after that, I had someone. A secret henchman.  A sidekick.

***

 

Three Years Later: College

Warm conversations and light-hearted small talk escape into my earbuds as I get on my bus home. Lights whizz by. As do people. The only constant being me, my music, and my thoughts. The drip of the air conditioner, the binder in my lap. Everything is at peace.

I feel like this is the end scene of a movie where you drive into the sunset with the girl or guy of your dreams and a tank load of cash in the trunk. Feels just like it.

I smile to myself. A big one, too. Teeth and everything.

I look forward, seeing some of my classmates a couple rows ahead. We usually get off at the same stop and gossip about professors and our futures and what to do with my psych major and what a liberal arts major is, but not today. So I keep to the back and get off a couple stops early.

The beach breeze flows through my red scarf, and as I take it off, I spot him.

“Jude!” I call out, running as fast as I can in ripped skinny jeans and knee high boots.

It’s nice to be so close to him. He’s studying in Greece, I think. Greece or Japan. We text and facetime, but, you know, just being next to someone is unmatchable.

As the night goes on, we rekindle what we used to be. He tells me about a guy named Chris, and I tell him about my evil professor, Mrs. Garfee. It’s so easy talking to him.

“Really?” I ask, shrieking slightly in laughter, trailing on my “y” and turning to face the ocean I used to spend so much time in.

I’m not an artist, but I promise I could paint this from memory any day. Easy. The blues and beiges of the water and sand, and how it mixes in with the dark black of the rock cliff.

“Uhhh, of course? Never in my life have I ever been that disrespected, so of course I hi–” He inhales sharply, and his eyes widen.  

Like he’d just seen a ghost. I know that expression. But not why it’s on him.

“Jude?”

He points to the water, and alas, there she is.

He hadn’t seen a ghost. He saw a mermaid.

“Hey, Maxine.”

 

The End  

 

Downward Spiral

THURSDAY

George woke up sweat-drenched and anxious from his slumber. Before he could think, George’s thirst couldn’t be contained, and water was what he desired. Unfortunately for him, this was not possible. His surroundings began explaining themselves: the absence of windows, the tiny lantern serving as the room’s only light source, and worst of all, the rope that tied him to a wooden chair. Suspicion only increased when he noticed a massive trash can next to a writing desk. Recalling the past events was a struggle for him, but the reason for this difficulty was unknown. He was certain that he was being held captive, and George thought, Food will be brought any second now. And seconds passed, then hours, then days. His stomach screamed in agony, and his throat cried in pain. Tied to this chair for the past three days, George began to ask, “Will you comfort me when I die, Mr. Wallace?”

But Mr. Wallace didn’t respond. Instead, he slowly vanished as George reached his long-awaited death.

 

TUESDAY

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t hire someone with a crime of this magnitude on their record,” said the employer. “Jobs don’t come easy for a guy like you, Mr. Wallace.”

Walking away from the building as fast as he could, George’s hopelessness became more agonizing than ever. His fridge was empty. He wouldn’t be able to live in his apartment for much longer. He couldn’t wash his clothes, and his depression was corrupting his brain. As a last ditch effort to save his life, he bought a stack of loose-leaf paper and a pen, and walked back to his two-room apartment. When he entered his old, dark, and sweaty home, he hastily sat down and got into his writing position. George was never a great writer, so ideas were quickly scrapped, and papers were crumpled. After four hours of torturous disappointment, George fainted from heat exhaustion.

 

WEDNESDAY

George woke up.

Dehydrated and hungry, George managed to lift himself from his chair and wondered, How long have I been asleep? As he rose from his wooden chair, a wave of inadequacy washed over him once he saw his trash can filled to the brim with failed ideas. Walking out of the room, George began to notice something strange. An old friend that he had met in prison, Mr. Wallace, was waiting for him, with only a rope in his hand.

“I always knew you were a disappointment.”

Mr. Wallace jumped onto the skinny and frail George, overpowering him with his unfathomable strength. Blood was spilled as each one of Mr. Wallace’s sharp knuckles rushed into George’s skull. Succumbing to the pain, George became unconscious.

 

When the Lights Go Out

Three minutes before total darkness. Three minutes before a killer’s in my house. Three minutes before the lights go out.

And tonight at 9:30 P.M., we will be talking about th-” the spokesman stopped talking as I changed the channel to a random TV show.

“There is absolutely nothing good!” I said as I threw the remote over to the other side of the couch.

Why don’t you want to be my fri-

The TV shut off, as well as the lights. Plunging me into total darkness.

“What! There’s no storm!” I said, whining to myself.

I stood up, and my giant, fluffy ears folded over themselves. I started to walk over to the front door. I reached out to grab the shiny, gold door knob.

Bang. My head shot up, as well as my ears.

“Who’s here?” I whispered under my breath.

BANG!

BANG!

“Where is it coming from!” I shouted, annoyed.

I walked back over to the couch and sat down, crossing my arms over my chest. The TV turned on, and the bright light filled the room. Standing out in the darkness. Commercials were playing, so I ignored them. I sighed and reached over to the remote and tried turning the volume down, but as I turned it down, the TV got louder. I tried turning the volume up, just in case the buttons mixed themselves around. But again, the TV got louder. I screamed as the news turned on. I could hear the spokesperson again.

“So, Linda. Have you heard about the crazed killer?”

“No, George! But how does he attack?”

“He goes to the victim’s house and turns off their power. He then stalks them for hours. And it all ends in a bloodbath.”  

The voices stopped.

“Is that why the powers out?!” I screamed into the darkness of my home. “If so, please don’t?!”

I slammed my hands onto the couch, stood up, and ran over to the stairs. I slid on my feet and felt them fly out from underneath me, and I was lying on the floor. I scrambled up and sprinted up the stairs. I stopped in the hallway to catch my breath. I put my head down, and my hands on my knees. I lifted my head back up only to see a dark figure in the hallway only a few feet away from me. I screamed and stood still. Frozen in fear. Frozen in shock.  Frozen in time.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I felt dizzy. I was scared. No. I am scared. I don’t  want to die. I want to live my life.

“I-I don’t want to die…” I said in a shaky voice.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” the figure said in a demonic sounding voice.

It wasn’t natural. It sounded almost glitchy. I could feel tears well up in my eyes, stinging the corners, wanting to fall. I wanted to lock myself in a room. I ran to the stairs and bolted down them. My feet slipped out from under me, and I screamed as I tumbled. I hit the floor with a loud thud. My ankle was hurting, and I could feel warm, sticky blood trickle down my arm. I pushed myself up with shaky arms. I could feel my tail fall limp at my legs. I stood and looked around.

“Samantha…” the voice called out.

It was coming from all around me. Even if I covered my ears, I could still hear the voice. I started to slowly walk around with my hands in front of me. I screamed as I felt something cold touch my hand. I jerked it back and cradled it. I started to make out the shape in front of me.

“Just some stupid vase,” I whispered to myself, turning around.

I continued to walk around, trying to find a room to hide in. I smiled slightly as I saw a hallway in front of me. I ran down it, thinking of which room to hide in.

“I need to hide. I need somewhere small. The bathroom,” I said thinking aloud to myself.

I ran over to the door and grabbed the handle, turning it. But it didn’t work. I fumbled around with it a bit more, but I soon gave up. I turned around and put my back against the door, sliding down. I could feel tears slip down my cheeks. I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my head into them.

“Samantha. You better run,” the voice sang.

I shot my head up and wiped the tears away. I slowly stood and looked around. My tail was wrapped around my leg, and my ears were bent to the sides. I was shaking in fear. I didn’t know what to do. I could barely walk, let alone run!

“I-I can’t,” I said, wanting the voice to hear me.

Or not to hear me. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I felt something wet splash onto my leg slightly. I turned my head to the right, to see a bright light. A match, standing out from the darkness. The only source of light. I watched as the person dropped it. A small flame started to fall, spinning in circles. My eyes widened as everything seemed to slow down. I jerked my leg away from the floor and put it behind the other leg. I watched as the match hit the floor, and it all lit up. Flames shot up and started to slip up the walls, making it look like there was a portal right in the middle of the hallway. I screamed as they grew bigger, the orange in the flame dancing around. I turned around, not wanting to see the flames, only to see the shadow. He was forming from the darkness in my home.

“I told you to run, but you didn’t listen,” it said in a monotone voice.

It had an aura with a fiery red glow that seemed to hold sorrow, hate, and fear. Sadness from other souls. Hate from being betrayed. And the fear of death. The aura was familiar. I’ve felt it before, whether it was from my Aunt’s basement, or in my room at my parent’s old house. I know he’s seen me before. I shook my head, getting the thought out of my mind.

“Sammi… You need to run,” it sang.

I could even hear the smirk in its voice. My eyes widened, and I whipped my head around to see the flames disappearing.

“H-how did you do that?!”

“Don’t ask questions. Just run…” The smirk was so big in its voice.

“You just want to torture me for as long as you can,” I spoke, trying not to stutter.

I put my feet behind me. One after the other, backing away slowly. I heard it laugh, the tone was dark and fearful. It seemed to be made of fear. The fears trapped in the house. The fears in my mind.

“You’re made of fear itself,” I paused taking in a shaky breath. “You were created by the fear, hate, and sorrow trapped in the world. You aren’t real unless I want to believe you are,” I stated, trying to not let my fear show.

“Silly, silly Sammi. You couldn’t be further from the truth,” it chuckled under its breath. “Sammi, why won’t you listen to my warnings?” it asked, laughing a bit.

“B-because I know you won’t let me run. You just want me to suffer,” I whispered, making him laugh at me.

“I only give the warnings to the people who shouldn’t suffer more than they already have, but you just won’t listen! I’ve given you three chances!” it started to shout at me angrily.

I could feel tears slide down my cheeks and onto the floor.

“Why do you want me? Why is it me?” I asked clenching my teeth, to stop myself from crying.

“Because your name was picked,” it spoke, coming towards me.

I gasped, my eyes widening. It chuckled, pushing me to the floor.

“What do you mean my name was picked?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. Why is my name in something to be picked?”

“Because it is.”

“Why is it?”

“Because you were cursed when you were younger!” it yelled, annoyed at me.

But I wanted answers. I didn’t care what happened, no matter how angry he got.

“Why was I cursed?”

“Because you were born on October 13th, and it happened to be a Friday!” it shouted louder.

It leaned over me, and I cowered in fear underneath It. It burst into laughter. I glared and kicked it in the leg. It stopped laughing and growled at me.

“What? Can’t handle being kicked?” I asked, laughing to myself.

He growled louder, and his eyes lit up. They were glowing orange.  I nervously laughed and backed away.

“Big mistake, Sammi!” it growled, leaning closer to me.

I could feel its breath on my face.

“Dude! Get a breath mint!” I yelled pushing his face away, which only caused It to growl at me again.

I yelped as it grabbed my wrist and started to twist it. I was screaming in pain. It was unbearable; it felt like my wrist was on fire. There was a deafening crack. I dropped to the floor and cradled my wrist, crying. It burst into laughter, watching me.

“Shut up!” I screamed, still in tears.

It continued to laugh at me. I lifted up my leg and kicked it in the knee. It stopped laughing and started to snarl at me. The growl kept getting deeper and deeper every second. I stopped crying and wiped away my tears with my good hand. It shot out one of its arms and grabbed me, dragging me across the floor.

“Please stop! I don’t want to die!” I screeched. “Please?!” I begged, wanting him to stop the torture.

CRACK!

I grew silent when I heard a noise. It stopped moving and pushed me in front of itself.

“You should have listened. But you didn’t, so you can come with me and suffer,” it said, stomping on the floor.

I screamed as I realized what it was going to do.

“No, please no!” I shrieked as I watched the walls warp and rip open, revealing a purple mist pouring out of it.

I cried as it began to drag me into the hole. I grabbed onto the wall, trying to hold myself from going in with It. I soon gave up as my wrist was burning from being broken. I let go and was dragged in. Screeching for someone to save me, but all there was… was the darkness in my home.

 

The China Doll

For days, I hadn’t been receiving mail… But the flag was finally up! I got mail! I burst out of my front door and opened the mailbox. Inside was a small parcel and a letter attached to it. I opened the letter, anonymously sent…

Hello Charlotte!

Hasn’t it been a long time since we have talked? You should be about 20 years old already, right? Anyway, I got a new house full of these intricate little details that will allow you to find me. (I still remember the time when you told me how much you wanted to play an adventure game when I got a new house.) Remember, I am in the last room. By the way, there are a lot of rooms, and in every room, you will find clues that will help you move to another room. Please come visit me anytime today.

– Your Best Pal

I had a best pal. Her name was Lucy, but she moved to Australia five years ago. It was even more curious that the letter was sent by my “best pal” from the address of my school. Rumour has it that she had, in fact, come back to start a strange paranormal business really close to our old school. I knew there was something to do with making china dolls, but I couldn’t seem to remember it all. So I decided to set off at once, but before that, I needed to open the parcel. It was packed really tight, as if something would break.

I opened the parcel carefully and found a china doll inside that looked just like me. A little me? How scary is that? Beside it lay a small note: Bring me, it said. I was hesitant, but I did as I was told. I got into the car and looked back into the box and found that the doll was standing up. I never stood it up before.

As I neared my old school, I realised that there was a small hut at the back of the school. The doll was pointing at it. That had to be my “best pal’s” new house. Behind the looming, gothic tower of the school, the hut seemed eerie. I didn’t even want to get any closer than I was to this house. The tower was exactly how I left it when I graduated: the gargoyles still as magnificent, the stained glass windows still as shiny, the doors still as tall. But something in the air just made everything off. I never remembered the hut being there, but it seemed really old. Two eyes stared at me from beside the hut. What was it?

Anyhow, I made up my mind. I had to go in there to investigate. First, I had to check whether the small but quite handy, tactical knife my dad gave me was in my pocket. We never went anywhere without it, for we were looked upon as allies with the enemies in the civil war.

I opened the front door as slowly as possible, trying not to make a sound, but the door gave a chilling creak, and bats flew out into the warm summer air. As I stepped into the hut, I realised that it was very dusty but well furnished. I picked my way through what seemed like a never ending hallway, but there were no rooms on either side of the hall. Only pictures with ghastly creatures all staring down at their intruder, in this case, me, hanging everywhere and anywhere you could imagine. At last, the moment that I had been waiting for, a door appeared up front. When I reached out to turn the brass knob, I heard a deafening crash behind me.The main door was locked! Oh, why did I have to walk into this trap? How was I supposed to leave now?

A gust of cool wind blew past me, and the box I had brought with me opened slightly, just wide enough for me to take a glimpse at the doll trying to get out. On its back was a small note — never saw that before — it told me to let the doll lead the way. How is the doll supposed to lead the way? I thought. Just then, the doll jumped out of the box with a clank and pushed open the door to my first room. It was surprisingly big, only a bit smaller than a ballroom. On the far side of the wall, there was an engraved riddle and two doors. The riddle said, “In one room, there is a blazing, hot sun that will burn you to ashes; and in the other, there is a fearsome dragon that will eat you alive. Which door would you choose to open?” Both were very bad endings, but the sun always sets, so… I’d have to wait until sundown.

It was not a long wait, in fact it was only a few minutes before the room with the sun became dark. The sun was actually artificial, made by the brightest lights you could ever imagine. I eased open the door, avoiding the spot where the sun had just been. I darted to the door standing wide open on the opposite side of the place where I was just standing. Suddenly, a figure stepped out into view. It was a doll, a life-size china doll! I gasped. He wore an outfit for riding, his eyes gleamed.

“Come and choose your horse,” the doll taunted, “You will race with me. The person who arrives to the door first wins, and gets a pass to leave this room.” He smirked.

There were two horses, one with three legs, and one with a crooked neck. Their coats were rough, and their eyes were glazed over. How was I supposed to win?  I got my strategy ready and decided to use the horse with a crooked neck, since I only had to ambush the dolls horse by riding my horse a bit slower than his. Once the race started, I reflected a light from above against my knife to catch my horse’s attention. Then, I rode the horse a bit slower, and plunged my blade into the doll’s horse’s back legs. It slowed to a stop.

“You evil woman!” the doll screamed, “You outsmarted me! You will pay for this!” And with that, the door appeared in front of me, and I stepped into the next room.

I was in a library. There was a book sticking out of one of the shelves, and I took it down. I opened it, and it turned out to be a box full of letters. I found my name on all of them. They were the letters that I wrote to my friend while we were on vacation. I flipped to the last letter — It was addressed to me! I opened it up carefully, not wanting to make even one crease in the paper.

Dearest Charlotte,

We are sending this to inform you about something that you should have known about us. We are spies for our nation. Since the war has started, we want you to know that we will be on a mission for our country. Because your best friend’s (who I  think is called Lucy, correct me if I am wrong) parents are allies for the opposing country, we may have to kill them. I am sorry for having to do this, but Lucy’s parents wanted to keep the leader who persecuted people for no reason.

– Daddy and Mommy

Was that why my dearest friend had decided to stay and start this business? Was she really this mad to not even think of talking to me about this whole thing? Ah, now I remember the rest of the rumour: She was supposedly making dolls that would suck up all the strength and the soul of someone just for sacrificial purposes. Now that was not how I remembered her to be like. I moved to put the box back in its rightful place. As I pushed it into position, the whole shelf moved, opening the way into the next room.

It was a warm room, with a small brick fireplace, and new leather seatings. My doll plunked onto a nice cushioned seat, leaving me to sit on the hard wooden chair, but when I sat down, I fell through the chair. Was this a hallucination created to make me go crazy?

Then the doll spoke. “I see, you have found out the truth to this room, but no, you will not go crazy. You’ll only lose your strength to me!” How did the doll know what I was thinking about? “With every room that you escape from, you will lose a tiny bit of your strength that I will take in. That is why I am able to talk to you right now… By the way, to escape this room, you will have to find the key and gather all the strength you have to pick it up and leave the room. If you don’t use up all your strength, then you won’t be able to see your folks again… It’s your choice, use your strength and try to save both yourself and your folks; but if you stay in this room for too long, all three of you will die!”

With that, the doll picked itself up and disappeared into the fireplace. The fireplace! That had to be the door for me to escape from this room. Though if I were to exist for a second in this room, I might use all my strength. I had to find the key first. I scanned the room and found a small penny coloured thing glistening on one of the shelves. It was the key! I picked myself up and ran to the closet, using all my strength and focusing it on the key. It floated upwards. Now all I had to do was to guide the key to the lock and open the door. I slowly brought the key to the fireplace. Then I found the keyhole right on top of it and pushed it in. It turned automatically. All at once, a cold wind blew from behind me, sending me plummeting into a candle-lit room.

There were bodies lying everywhere in the room, from adults to teenagers, even babies! Dolls were sticking out of their mouths. Their eyes were rolled back, deep into their skulls, and they stank of rotting flesh. The dolls all stared at me with their glistening marble eyes, their mouths curled up to form evil smiles, triumph reflected in their well-polished pointed teeth. A shiver ran down my spine. I was confused, whoever did this to these young people must be a cold blooded person! A door banged open, and a bruised and cut couple were dragged out. Both had looks of anguish in their eyes. Their looks rang a bell in my mind. They were my parents.

A voice rang out of the darkness, “Finally, we meet again! Though this time, we meet not in a happy mood, but in a vengeful spirit. Your parents killed mine, leaving me with no food, no shelter, no nothing. So I had to rely on the souls of these people to survive. It was a hard life at first, but I grew used to it. Soon after I got settled in with these corpses, I realised that I will only have the strength to revive my parents when I find the family that took my childhood away from me.”

I screeched, “You’re going to kill my family? What did we do? I don’t think that my family would ever want to kill someone’s parents. They care for people rather than kill them!” I said urgently. “Please don’t do anything to them! Please!”

“Charlotte, patience,” she said tauntingly. “Going on. At such an early age, I had to find my way around, but I was soon able to get the help of my faithful servants. Listen Charlotte, it is I, Lucy, who seeks revenge upon you and your family.”

As she said that, she stepped confidently out of the shadows. Her long hair tumbled around her shoulders, and her black cloak swept the cold stone ground majestically. Her lustrous gleaming eyes shone with a hint of power over everyone. A knife glistened and glowed from underneath the cloak, her long fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, “Long time no see, Charlotte.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped forwards, advancing towards Lucy, my tactical knife held tight in my hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not so fast, Charlotte!” said Lucy, stopping me in my tracks. “There are consequences to this. You can try killing me, but if you don’t succeed, your doll will suck your soul out of your body. Remember, your strength is already running out! Also, the reason why I didn’t want to tell you the thing about my new business is because you would have most definitely disagreed on it. Adding on, it would allow you to know exactly how to avoid having your soul sucked out of your body.” She ruefully smiled at me and said, “There goes your parents!”

Then, unexpectedly, she pulled out a doll that looked exactly the same as my dad, but just as she was about to make the doll suck up my dad’s soul, I hurled myself against her, sending the doll flying through the air and crashing to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

“Don’t you dare do that!” I said.

A sleek, black cat leaped out of the shadows and stalked into the candle-lit room. The two eyes looking at me from beside the hut must have been this cat.

“Cat! Get that wretched creature away from me!” Lucy said.

At last, I found Lucy’s weakness: cats. I picked the cat up gently and stroked it. Protect me from her will you, I thought to the cat. If I didn’t see incorrectly, the cat winked at me.

Interrupting my thoughts, Lucy said calmly, “Daydreaming again, aren’t you, Charlotte dear?”

“Don’t call me that!” I shouted angrily. “You have no right to call me that, Lucy!”

“Oh, really?” and with that, she pulled out another doll.

Every detail on it was matched to what my mom looked like. Just then, the cat tensed and leaped in a perfect arc into the doll, wrenching it from Lucy’s grasp, and flinging it into the air. The cat landed meekly and sat staring at Lucy, while calmly licking her paws. Job done, the cat seemed to say. But Lucy still had the power to kill me! I realised that with every blow that Lucy received, the more cracks appeared on the dolls lined up behind her. I had to destroy all the dolls. Punching each of the dolls, I noticed that Lucy was staring helplessly at me, her arms hanging limp at her sides. I almost felt sorry for her. No! I had to be persistent.

As the last doll was destroyed, Lucy slowly disappeared, screaming, her hair tangled, her cloak stripped to pieces, and her eyes glazed over. I defeated her! I wanted to scream out loud, but I knew I had to keep quiet, because Lucy still had other dolls in the hut, and they were still alive, and they might want to avenge their master.

“Dad? Mom?” I whispered.

My dad grunted in answer, trying to pick himself up. Suddenly, a doll came running out with a knife and dug it deep into my dad’s stomach. Then it moved on to my mom.

“No! Don’t do it!” I screamed.

I lunged myself forward, but something grabbed me from behind. It was the little me!

“Let go of me! Let go of me!” I screamed, landing a blow on its head.

It shattered into a million shards. But I was too late to save my mom and dad. They were both dead, and the doll had left. I screamed, crumpling onto the floor, sobbing as the echos of laughter rang through the room. I found a small note clenched in my mom’s hand when I looked up.

Dear Charlotte,

I know that even if you see us today, we will not be able to be with you, as we have another mission to accomplish. What you see in front of you is the sheddings of our human bodies, but next time you see us, you will still recognise us. Just to remind you again, we did not die when we got stabbed.

Love,

Mom and Dad

There was still a ray of hope to see my parents! So I decided to keep myself healthy and safe until I saw them again. I darted to the nearest exit, picked up the expectant black cat, and pushed open the door. Nothing had changed. My car was still there, the sun still hung low in the sky, and the wind was still blowing. When I eased open the hut’s door once again, it was only a small shed full of gardening tools, and nothing else, not a single piece of evidence that Lucy’s hut once stood there.

***

Ten years later, the school was closed down. There was supposedly a haunting in the school. There would be a lady heard wailing in the shed. Archeologists dug deep down into the Earth and found that there were bodies of long lost relatives, and there were pieces of china pieces in their mouths and scattered on the floor. The walls were cracked, and there were candles everywhere, all burned out. Many people believed that this was a sacrificial chamber, but they did not know of any reasons why there would be china pieces in their mouths. Only I knew why. I am currently 31 years old, and have started a family, but I have not told a soul — except for you — about the incident in Lucy’s hut.

Charlotte,

Please go to the basement at 12:00 AM  sharp today. You will find out why.

Love,

Dad and Mom

 

To be continued

 

I see you lurking. Watch this.

     

“I see you lurking. Watch this.” – Trivius Caldwell

It was a lonely existence. One of many in a huge crowd. He wanted to believe he was special, but he had no proof. He had friends, but they were just convenient. Gossip travels quickly in a small building.

The two-hundred-year-old girl who still couldn’t leave the school also felt alone. She was not solid, and he could only see her outline, but she was there. Following him. The living souls warned him of a vengeful spirit, but she was his only friend. When his momentary companions walked away, both literally and emotionally, she was still lurking.

The gym was empty Thursday afternoon except for two. He saw her, sitting on the bleachers, with her sad smile. He wanted to cheer her up. He did a cartwheel for her, but he didn’t know why. Those who could do them said it was nothing; those who couldn’t said it was stupid. She clapped and a laughing breeze blew in from the window. He was a crazy person who talked to himself if he talked to her, but here, they were alone. He showed her his new comic, which the others had dismissed. It became their afternoon. He showed her more things over time. Trivial things that everyone could do. He showed her how he could juggle, with his phone and finally his diploma. She was always there, but she could never leave. As he drove away from the school on the last day, he saw her waving.

Ten years later, when Mr. Waters is frustrated — his students don’t care about math, his colleagues mock his lack of a wife — he recites equations to the empty school gym. He hears clapping and sees a familiar face sitting on the bleachers.

 

Home

“Ellie.” The sound of my name jerks me out of a stupor. I’ve been thinking in silence for a while. “Ellie!”

It’s Jason, the guy who is maybe, sort of, kind of my friend. I mean, he’s 15 like me, and he comes to see me a lot.

“Oh, hi!” I say.

He puts a box of pizza in my hands. It’s about 3:30 in the afternoon. He must be out of school, which has only been in session for a month. I’m sitting behind the pizzeria.

“Here,” he says.

I push it back.

“No, you keep it,” I say.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “Take it.”

I give in. It’s a box of pizza. This thing could last me like half a week. If I have two slices per day, I can make this last for four days! I store the box behind the dumpster along with the rest of my meager possessions. This includes a pair of shorts, for when the weather gets hot, and a jacket, for when the weather gets cold.

I’m currently wearing my jeans and a black t-shirt. These are the clothes I wear all of the time. My long jet-black hair is pulled back in a ponytail.

“Oh, and something else.” Jason pulls out a book. I gasp and take it. Since sixth grade, when we met, Jason has always given me the books he’s done with.

This one is very long, and by the description given by Jason, it’s very intense. I’ve never heard about this one. It’s called The Book Thief.

I start to read it an hour later, once Jason has left. It’s amazing. I really hate that I have to do it, but as I read, I grab my money box and my cardboard sign that says, Please help. Need money to live, and plop down on the sidewalk. I hate staring at that little box and just waiting for people to come.

When my growling stomach tears me away from the book, I look up and see the money box has money in it. Not a lot, but for me, every penny counts.

See, ever since I was nine, I’ve had to save money. It all started when I was ten. Dad was never part of the picture, and Mom was all I had. Even before she started coming home later and later, I hated home because it always felt half-empty. First I thought it was work, but then she started drinking. She was out until midnight or later. Until one day, she didn’t come home at all.

They told me it was a car crash. She had been drinking and driving.

I was only ten years old, but I had already lost both of my parents.

They wanted to put me in a children’s home, but I didn’t want to go. Twelve years old is too old for a tantrum, but I threw one that day. I ran away.

New York City was filled with homeless people, so I figured one more wouldn’t make a difference. I hate it, but I have to beg for money.

It’s getting dark, so I grab a slice of pizza out of the box and wolf it down. Then I put on my jacket and settle in behind the dumpster to read more.

Books have always been my one distraction from thinking about things I really don’t want to think about. When I’m reading, it’s like I don’t have to worry about me anymore. Instead, I can worry about the character’s problems. It’s much easier because I know that there’s a solution hidden somewhere in those pages.

After a while, when the only people walking across the streets are people who look somewhat suspicious, I know it’s time to go to sleep. Living behind a pizza place has its benefits. For example, I have a plentitude of empty pizza boxes. Every night, I build a little shelter out of cardboard and hide behind it to sleep.

I close my eyes and drift into nothingness.

When I wake up the next morning, there are three people there. Not one of them is Jason. I can see them through the cracks in the cardboard.

“Why is there a pile of pizza boxes out here?” one of them says. It’s a man. He’s a little bit, uh, heavy, and he has brown hair.

“Dad,” a girl says. This one looks a little older than me. She has long brown hair and does not take after her father in body type. “I think there’s a person in there.”

The third person, a little boy with brown hair, pipes up. “Why is there a person in there?”

“They must be homeless, Ben,” the girl says. Ben ponders this.

“Can we see?” Ben asks. I sit there, frozen, not daring to move.

“Sure, Ben,” the man says, “but be careful.”

I close my eyes again and pretend to be asleep as they carefully remove the cardboard to reveal me.

“Hey,” the girl says. “Hey, kid,” she shakes me.

“Huh?” I say groggily, pretending to wake up. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sienna,” she says, “This is my father, Tony, and my little brother, Ben. We own the pizza place.”

“I’m Ellie,” I say.

So these are the people who have, unknowingly, been letting me sleep behind their store.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie,” Sienna says. “Why don’t you come inside? We can have a more proper introduction.”

“Okay,” I say suspiciously, getting up. I still am not sure if they won’t report me to a foster home.

Inside, it is deliciously warm. Nothing like the crisp, autumn air I’m accustomed to in the alley.

“So,” Tony says, once the four of us are seated at a table.

“So,” I repeat.

“How long have you been living behind there?” Sienna asks me, getting straight to the point.

“About five months,” I admit sheepishly.

“Five months?” Tony exclaims. “How have we never noticed you before?”

“Well,” I say, “I spend a lot of time behind that cardboard… thing… you saw.”

“Impressive,” Sienna remarks. “Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you can’t live there forever.”

“Why not?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“Ellie, you’re, what, thirteen?” Sienna asks. I nod. “So, you’ve got to be smart enough to know why you can’t live there forever.”

“I know that, but I’ve been doing pretty well on my own,” I say, “and, besides, there’s nothing to go back to anyway!”

That last part just slipped out.

“Ellie, what exactly happened to make you homeless at twelve years old?” Sienna asks.

I clam up. I slide down in my seat a little, even though it’s babyish. I fold my arms.

Sienna raises her right eyebrow.

“Ellie, you’re not a baby. You can’t stay homeless forever. I bet you’re not even going to school. You can’t grow up without an education. You probably live off of pizza, if anything, which can’t be healthy.” Sienna starts throwing these at me, while Tony just sits watching, and Ben is off somewhere doing who-knows-what. “I have to give you somewhere more permanent to live.”

I stare at her, not exactly knowing what this means.

* * *

A couple hours later, I am sitting on a bed in a room in The Kellerman Children’s Home.

So much for living behind Tony’s Pizzeria.          

Sienna gave me a backpack to put my extra stuff in, but when I got here, I shoved all of it in the little dresser they gave me. Except for The Book Thief. I keep that on my bedside table.

The bed’s really comfortable. Well, I haven’t slept in a bed for a year, so anything is comfortable. It has a blue blanket and a pillow with a white pillowcase.

I’m still sitting there when another person comes into the room. She looks around my age, with curly, brown hair and the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life. She’s wearing a black tank top and a flowy, pink skirt.

“Hi,” she says, sticking out her hand. “I’m your roommate, Liv!”

“Hey,” I reply, shaking her hand. It’s been awhile since I was around other girls my age. This is going to take some getting used to.

She sits on her bed and hugs her pillow, which is identical to mine.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a roommate,” Liv exclaims. “This is going to be fun!”

“Yeah,” I say. “Fun.”

At The Kellerman Children’s Home, everyone from the crying babies to the moody teenagers eats in one big room, which is extremely unpleasant. There are so many tables and a buffet with food that is worse than the food I got when I was homeless. It smells disgusting. The air is filled with quiet chatter and occasionally a wailing baby. That night, I eat dinner as fast as I possibly can and rush back to my room.

I grab The Book Thief and suddenly a thought floods back to me. Jason. He doesn’t know where I am. Tomorrow, he’ll probably come to that little alleyway and find nothing. Just a bunch of cardboard. I guess he’ll think I’m gone for good. I stare at the cover of the book and let my thoughts crash through me like a tidal wave. I stare at the cover of that one finger pushing over a domino. That’s how the world works, I guess. When one thing happens, it sets off another thing, which sets off another, which sets off another, and it keeps going. When I was a little kid, my dad left, and that set off my mom’s drinking problem. That set off that horrible night where I waited anxiously for her to come home, and she never did. That caused me to run away, which caused me to be homeless, which meant I lived behind a pizza store. It all eventually led to Sienna discovering me, and putting me here.

And now, here I am.

When Liv eventually comes back into our room, she finds me lying face down under the covers. She is obviously able to take a hint and leaves me alone.

Good.

***

I live in The Kellerman Children’s Home for two weeks. In those two weeks, I become steadily more horrible to be around. Liv leaves me alone for the most part, and I think she really does try not to hate me, although I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

They enroll me in seventh grade at the school near here. I only missed the last two months of sixth grade and the first month of seventh grade so I’m pretty much all caught up.

I spend most of the school days absentmindedly staring out the window. The leaves on the trees have turned the most spectacular shades of orange, and yellow, and red, and I love looking at them. I occasionally break out of my trance to do actual schoolwork or write something down. I take as long as I can to get back to the Home, because I hate being there and having the freedom of walking from school is luxurious. All the kids get the option to either take the bus or walk, and I chose the latter eagerly.

Today, I take the long way, like usual. I’m walking around, looking around, not exactly looking where I’m going, when I realize where I am. I must have taken a wrong turn a couple blocks back, because I’m standing… right in front of Tony’s Pizza.

I stop short. There it is, that little alleyway where I hid for all those months. I decide that it can’t hurt to look at it again. I cross the street and walk into the alley. It’s like I never left. The cardboard structure is intact. That last box of pizza Jason brought me is sitting there. The pizza is gone, though. Rats must have gotten to it. I slide under the cardboard and I’m back to when I lived here.

All of a sudden, pizza boxes are ripped off of me, and I’m staring into Sienna’s face, angrier than I’ve ever seen it.

“I knew it,” she hisses. “I knew you would come back.”  

“I wasn’t coming back to stay, I just — ” I protest, but she cuts me off.

“Inside. Now.”

I get to my feet, and we go into the store. This is just like last time, except this time, it’s only Sienna, and she’s fuming. Meanwhile, just like last time, I’m terrified.

Once we’re sitting, I say, “I wasn’t coming back to stay, I was walking past on the way back from school, and I just wanted to be back here again!”

“Why?” Sienna asks. “Here you had nothing. There you’re taken care of.”

“Please don’t make me go back!” I sort-of yell. “I’m miserable there. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I just want to be back where I know what my life is and how it goes!”

“I’m taking you back there,” Sienna insists, despite my desperate plea.

A lump materializes in my throat, but I swallow it down.

***

I’m back at The Kellerman Children’s Home. By now, Liv must be bewildered. I’ve spent most of my time here moping. I haven’t talked to her at all.

I am curled in a ball under my covers when Liv pokes me.

“Ellie?”

“Go away, Liv,” I say.

“It’s not Liv,” whoever she is says. I poke my head out of the covers. Long, blonde hair and green eyes. Sienna. I pull my head back.

“Ellie, I understand why you’d be mad at me.”

“Go away.”

“I would be mad at me, too!” she continues, ignoring me.

“Go away,”  I say it louder this time. Sienna keeps talking.

“So I’m making it up to you.”

I slide my head out. “How?”

“After talking with my dad and Ben, we’ve all decided that the only option is to let you come live with us.”

“What?” I pinch myself. When it is definitely not a dream, I jump out of bed.

“Yeah!” Sienna tells me. “And technically, my boyfriend and I would be your legal guardians.”

I can hardly believe my luck.

A week later, I move out. It’s the happiest day of my whole life.

“Hi, Ellie.” A man with black hair wearing jeans and a sweatshirt introduces himself. He’s Sienna’s boyfriend. “I’m Josh.” Following this are so many jokes that I can’t remember all of them. By the end of it, I am rolling on the floor.                

I will have no problem living with him.      

***

So it started with my mom. Then homelessness. Then Sienna and Tony and Ben. Then The Kellerman Children’s Home. Now this.

And somehow, this crazy, messed-up, life of mine ended up okay.

 

Watermelon Tree

Turtle And Strawberry

I am Turd the turtle. I like my strawberry. My daddy turtle says that one day, my strawberry will rot and die. I don’t believe him. I try to hold my strawberry in my mouth, but my mouth is too small. I have to push my strawberry everywhere. Everyday, I try to hold the strawberry in my mouth. Sometimes, I accidentally bite the strawberry. Oops!

I live in a fish tank with my dad. The tank is ¾ water, some dirt, and the rest is a rock that I sleep on with my strawberry. Once I pushed my strawberry into the water. Good thing strawberries float! It took a whole hour to push the strawberry out of the water. I was so exhausted that I ate a seed of my strawberry.

A few days passed, and my strawberry grew a small green spot on him. I asked my dad what it was. He said it was mold. I still don’t believe him. I think my strawberry got strawberry-pox. The only thing I could think of to cure it was to eat the green spot. So I did. It didn’t taste so good, but at least my strawberry did not die.

The next day, strawberry was green all over. Maybe my dad is right. Strawberries rot. I dug a grave in the dirt for my strawberry and rolled the strawberry in. I covered it in dirt and went for a swim. I will never forget my strawberry friend (snack).

 

My New Marshmallow

For my first birthday, I got a marshmallow as a pet. My dad gave me this because he said it did not rot. I believed him then. The marshmallow was very squishy. I slept on it. I could actually hold the marshmallow in my mouth because it was so squishy.

My marshmallow didn’t roll very well, so it was kind of boring. It just sat there all day. My dad said that I should eat it because marshmallows are meant to be eaten. That I didn’t believe. Why would anything be meant to be eaten? I ate the marshmallow any way.

 

I Got A Watermelon

Watermelons are big and round. They are light green with dark green lines. They are also very heavy, so heavy that even I couldn’t push it. The watermelon was floating around in the water because it took up the whole rock. I could push it in the water. The watermelon was going to rot because it was a fruit. I learned that from my dad. I just knew it would take a while for my watermelon to rot. It was too big to rot fast. I ate the watermelon in one bite.

 

Mr. Goldfish

I will admit that I am kind of mean and fat. I am mean because I eat my fruit friends. I am fat because a normal two-inch turtle can’t eat a full grown adult watermelon in one mega-bite. There is one thing in my tank that I can’t seem to catch. His name is Mr. Goldfish. He can’t talk, but that is what I call him. He kind of looks like my strawberry on his side with flippers. Mr. Goldfish is a goldfish. He is very fast for a full grown, one-inch goldfish. I bit his dorsal fin, but he could still out swim me. When I am bored, I always jump into the water and chase him. Even though I probably won’t taste goldfish in my life, I still enjoy chasing him around my little fish tank. I don’t think that my dad cares about me chasing Mr. Goldfish because I need to get my exercise.

 

I Found A Human

Today I will climb out of my fish tank and see what is giving me all my fruit and candy. The fish tank is really slippery, but maybe I can climb up my palm tree. Today is the day to find what is outside my fish tank because I can’t find Mr. Goldfish. Maybe goldfish get moldy too.

My palm tree is made of plastic, and it has branches and leaves. I can put my feet on the branches and climb up. My dad is still sleeping, so he does not know. If I get out, I will build something so he can get out. Climbing the tree is easy, but now I have to jump from the tree to whatever my tank is resting on. I jump and land on the floor. It does not hurt because of my nice, protective shell. Then a hand scoops me up and starts yelling. I think that this is what my dad calls a human. He says that they are the ones who feed us and captured him from his pond. Humans are really big.

I am as big as one of the human’s fingers. I run around his hand, not knowing what to do. The human put a marshmallow his hand. I eat it right away. The human put me on the ground next to something with wheels. I get on top of the thing and lie there. My little legs can not reach the ground. The human pushes me around on the thing. It probably would have been very fun if I was not so scared. The human put me back in my fish tank. My isolated home.

 

Dad is Scared

When I crawl back onto my feet, I see my dad looking at me. I think he is mad. He isn’t. He just wants to know what I saw out there. I tell him what I saw and heard. I tell him what I saw and asked him what was the pond like. He says that it is a place much bigger than our little tank. So I ask him how did we get here. He says that he injured his flipper, and the humans took him and fixed him. They decided his flipper would never be good enough, so they put him in a pet shop.

 

I Escape Again

My dad says that I can escape and try to find the pond. I ask why he is not coming. He says that his flipper hurts to much, so he can’t climb trees. So I say bye to my daddy turtle and climb the tree. This time, I get lucky and fall on my legs, so I don’t have to flip over. I walk to the door and go through the dog door. Wait, they have a dog?! I hear paws scraping on the polished floor. I run like a little turtle trying to make it to the ocean. I make it to the bushes, and he can’t chase me any more. Turtle beats dog. I look for a pond, but I find a football. Eh, I’ll find the pond. And hopefully watermelon trees.

 

The Pond Is Big

I think I found the pond. The pond has many people walking around it. It also has a lot of ducks. Good think ducks only eat the little things swimming around. I find a rock that has a good spot for me to rest on. The pond is not so good because it does not have watermelon trees. Maybe one day I will go back and find my dad. Then my owners will give me a watermelon.

 

LOL, the potato

One day there was an average potato. That potato liked to play ahhhhhh! It was sort of like catch, but you were the one being thrown. Sometimes, you would get a major concussion or two, but typically, only minor ones. Otherwise, it was pretty scun (scary fun). He liked to hang on vines, but when he did, he didn’t have a very nice time because no one picked him from the vines. He liked being picked from… well, anything. It felt fresh… but one faithful day, the potato found out that he was a special potato, a potato with the cursed power of LOL! He first didn’t know it, until during a normal game of ahhhhhh.

One of the “human mans’” (people) tripped on a “rock fact rock,” which is a rock with a painted face on it. He also tripped on a mythical doge, which is a specific type of doge that you take pictures that you write phrases on. The doge picked him up and ran off with him. The potato felt very confused. A bit later, while riding the doge, the potato grew arms, legs, and a face. His face had no nose, and he had no hair. He started becoming a screaming ladtatato (screaming ladka + potato). He started running and screaming. He bumped into a princess. She was wearing jeans and a blouse and had blonde hair.

She said, “Yo. Dat be me… ”

The potato said, “Okay?” and backed away slowly.

He went back home, but on his way… he found a crosswalk!

He found a random cannon dude that just happened to be there. The potato went into the cannon because he thought it would help him cross the road. Three… two…one… blast off! And he flew up in the sky and hit the floor.

“Ouch!”

He saw a tv that had a sign next to it saying, “TV of LOL for $5.99.”

The TV said, “Mr. um… potato. You have the power of LOL. The power of LOL makes crazy things happen to you! Like with the potadoge-”

“How do you know about tha-”

“Shush! Nobody needs to know… but anyways, to get rid of it, you have to play peanut butter jelly time for ten hours. Can you do- LOL OFF TIME. BREAK!!!” said the TV.

And then the TV suddenly shut down.

“Oh. Okay,” said the potato.“Well home is only a block away.”

He looked northwest and saw his house and a flagpole? By the way, he was horrible at Mario games.

“Gosh darn power of LOL!!” he said.

He ran over to the house as fast as he could, but it was covered by blocks. He needed a power up to break the blocks and a mega one at that. Even he knew they were, like, super rare! He ran around and found one, and a… Mario? Mario used it… turned gigantic… saw him… and… and…

The potato was running, screaming, and well, hiding… but he was too slow. He saw a foot above him. The bricks on the house opened. To the door! He sprinted to the house, got on YouTube, and “PBJ Time” wasn’t there. He thought, What’s the weirdest video posible… ah! dfsubrjfwbhkjrfuywbgyuf on YouTube!

He searched it… and it was there!  The words, LOLs, and memes were taking over, all out to get him, oh no! What to do… watch! He clicked the link… A one day ad?! This is insane! Oh, a skip ad button. Now that makes more sense! One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… skip ad. WARNING: no internet.

“Dang… ”

He knew he had to make it himself! After the potato finished, he thought it didn’t stop. And he was right! Even more memes than before. He saw a ping pong ball next to him. And do you know what it does? Bet’cha you don’t! Or… maybe everybody does. who knows?! Well… the potato said, “Hello sir!”

The ping pong ball didn’t say a thing.

“Um, hello?”

Silence.

“Umm…”

Silence.

“Do you speak?”

Rattle rattle.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm!”

“H-e-l-l-o.”

“Ummmm, hi? (works every time!)”

“I- a-m- v-e-r-y- h-u-n-g-r-y-!”

“Well, I ain’t got no food!”

“Well, you’re food.”

“No I’m not…”

“Yum,” and the ping pong ball quickly ate the potato!

And inside… he found another dimension… filled with beauty and potatoes above imagination… wow…

“Ahhh!!!!”

The potato, for some weird reason, just happened to be above a five foot pit. Pow! He fell right onto a sign that said: This place is weird. This is the pit of duplication. Say re-copy if you need another. You will now be duplicated. Whip, whap, wop, lip, laup, lop! went the sign. In a few seconds, the potato saw something… like a mirror. Himself…

The second potato said, “Elp meh plez! Muh fut iz stuk.” (Help me please! My foot is stuck.)

“I guess duplication messes up your grammar. So nope!”

He climbed and climbed…

“Re-copy!”

Whip, whap, wop, lip, laup, lop! went the sign again.

“Hey yo! I’m a duplicated potato!” said the third potato.

“Doge!” (dodge) said the second potato.

And than the third potato started chanting doge memes.  

“Much unhappiness. Need help. Wow. Dislike. Very trapped. Wow. So abusive. Many sufferings. Such discomfort. Yearn for freedom…“ and at that, the third was mashed by a pastry cutter

Back to the original potato who was still looking for that “PBJ Time” video. And, I’m guessing you know that this dimension has terrible wifi! But if he was lucky, he could go to the center, get a feather, and make the ping pong ball barf him out than he could escape. He ran towards the town square where he found a local hedgehog that could move faster than the speed of sound.

The potato tried to hop on the hedgehog, but it was running away. And as you know, potatoes just gotta go fast. Every time the hedgehog got faster, so did the potato until the potato finally reached the hedgehog. He rode it , and all the way over to the core he went! Vroom. Oops. It was only one centimeter away. He plucked a feather from a bird that was nicely flying by. He tickled the core, and he went, “Kitchy kitchy koo!”

Ah, ah, ah. Barf. Ewwww! The ping pong ball barfed out the potato. And the potato rushed over to his beloved laptop, clicked on his “PBJ Time” link, and watched it for ten hours. And a soul of memes appeared, nodded, and left. It kinda looked like a purple fireball, but with trillions of memes flying around. He did it, and the power of LOL was gone. The world was still in peril… he thought, Wait, I should’ve killed that duplicated me! He was stuck, so he couldn’t watch the video. He must STILL have the power of LOL!!!”

The end… or is it?  BUM BUM BUUUUUUUM!!! Because it’s not. The potato actually just got eaten at the end. Wap, wap, waaaaaaaaap.

Okay, now the end!                

 Fin.

 

Gray Existence

I am sure there used to be colors. Back before the end of the world, before nothing mattered. Maybe in pictures, but pictures are blurry and gray and evil and old.

Subways are decidedly the worst. Everyone is miserable. It’s a rule. You must be miserable, and nobody will look you in the eye. If you look them in the eye, they’re allowed to kill you. And in the misery of unblinking, unbreathing bodies, I am always certain that someone, somewhere, is crying, sobbing for something they’ve lost a million lifetimes ago. The sky is dark, so dark I am considering it might be night again. I don’t know. Lately it’s just the same above ground as it is below.

They say “it’s darkest before the dawn,” but dawn hasn’t come in quite a while. The sky has stayed dark and emotionless ever since the sun exploded and poured dark paint into all of the places that used to have eyes.

I used to have eyes.

I suppose I still do, although I don’t seem to need them anymore.

 

Once upon a time there was a girl. Maybe… maybe that’s where we begin.

I was sixteen and largely unimpressed with the world when I met the witch. She was dark, and she was pretty, and she could tell a million lies without once opening her mouth. She called me beautiful, and I almost believed her. When you were with the witch, everything would seem so beautiful, and everything would seem so horrifying, that you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. She had blue eyes… maybe that’s all that matters because as all the colors disappeared, I still remember blue eyes.

I was nearly eighteen when we ran away from home. I was sure the car was red. I was sure her eyes were blue. Back before the ocean rose and swallowed the streets we drove away from, back before the stars fell down and melted the wax figures we called family. Back before the colors disappeared, and I learned to regret everything. We ran away from home.

We called the city ‘hellscape.’ The city meant freedom, and freedom meant war.

There was music. I was sure there used to be music, and the battle cries of deluded soldiers still ring fondly in my ears.

I was eighteen and two months when the witch disappeared the first time. We lived in a small, old room that I couldn’t bring myself to find beautiful. We lived far and off in hellscape and fought our little wars. She stole away in the night and was never to be found. I thought, she must have run to some other city to fight with some other poor soul, to find some other version of freedom. I was sure there were still colors, but they became dimmer.

I was nineteen when the witch came back. Maybe the original, or possibly a new one, nonetheless all the same. She wore flowers in her hair and red paint on her lips. I was sure she had blue eyes, and that’s all that matters.

We met outside a store that sold candy to children and beer to minors and misery to all who opened its doors. She was beautiful. She called me depressed.

She came with potions to take the fear away and spells to bring the colors back, raging and in full force. She had a bag of tricks that would make everything seem so beautiful and send me into an emotionless blur, free from the burdens of existence.

I was twenty when I realized I would never feel again. And it was when she realized that not even her many potions could fix my emotionless state. The witch disappeared for the second and final time.

I stood motionless and emotionless as the flowers and the fighting and the witches disappeared from my life.  

I was twenty-one when the world ended. I suppose that the oceans had been rising and the stars had been descending long before I opened my blank and senseless eyes. The world ended in a series of bright, flashing lights that ate away at any fragment of hope and any shred of sanity that I desperately clung to.

I was twenty-one when the colors disappeared and the world quickly changed into streaks of gray and black and white, like the fading hair of an old man.

I was twenty-one when I staggered onto a subway with useless eyes staring blankly ahead, feeling nothing, and listening to the insufferable sobbing of those who had lost everything, and thought of the uselessness in pulling my mind through this cold and broken world.

I was twenty-one when… once upon a time there was a girl… I was twenty-one when… maybe that’s where we begin… I was twenty one when…

Today I am twenty-two. And although birthdates stopped being recorded when the world ended, and the children disappeared, I suppose I still remember.

Like blue eyes.

I find solace in the fact that people still believe I may return to a place with colors…

 

Cindy: A Cinderella Retelling

I was picking up all my papers off the school floor like I always did at 3 p.m. That was when my stepsisters would knock them out of my hands. It had kind of become a daily thing. I heard the bus leaving. WAIT! The bus?! Oh no! It came early today. Stepmother’s going to kill me. I must have had a very panicked look on my face because someone came over to me. A boy.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I just missed my bus… ”

I just expected him to shrug and walk away, but instead he said, “I’m driving home, wanna ride?”

“Okay… wait a second, I don’t recognize you. Do you even go to this school?” I asked suspiciously.

“Yes, of course- ” he replied, leaning out to grab my arm.

“Don’t touch me!” I yelled.

“Yes, today was my first day,” he replied.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know! I would have shown you around.”

I was very embarrassed for accusing him of being a kidnapper.

“It’s okay. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to worry about little old me,” he said.

He was looking at his shoes. I was pretty sure he was blushing. I felt a blush coming to my cheeks too, and I turned away, smiling.

“I’m Kai.”

“I’m Cindy. Nice to meet you, Kai.”

Kai drove me home. As soon as I got home, you can bet my stepmother was upset.

“Cindy, where have you been? It’s 15 minutes after the bus arrived! I told you no after-school activities because you have to do the dishes straight away so the girls and I can have our afternoon tea!”

“I’m so sorry, Stepmother. I missed the bus and-”

“That is unacceptable! Your father spoiled you, and now he’s left me his mess to clean up!”

“Don’t talk about my father like that!” I yelled.

“Talking back, such a bad habit. I have my work cut out for me.”

She had her work cut out for her? Living with her was harder than all the chores I have to do everyday. After that, she yelled at me for a good five minutes more. I went to go do the dishes. Oh no, here come my stepsisters.

“So, missed the bus did you, Cindy?” Britney sneered.

“How’d you get home? Did you walk?” Whitney laughed.

Something about the sentence made me find my voice. “I met this guy named Kai. Today was his first day. He drove me home,” I answered.

Britney glared at me while Whitney gasped. “Kai?! That’s my new boyfriend! Stay away from Kai!” Whitney yelled at me.

Ugh, she must have meet Kai during the school day today. I can’t believe I actually thought I had a chance with this guy. This is what they do with new people: take them right away. As if I didn’t feel bad enough, she grabbed one of my mother’s plates and smashed it on the floor. Then, they ran out. My mother’s china. How dare they! That’s all I have left of my parents. Tears started rolling down my cheeks; I couldn’t stop it. I took the broken china and ran up to the attic. The attic was where I slept. It was my bedroom. I put the china next to my bed.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered.

“Cindy? CINDY??” my stepmother called. “Where is our tea???”

“Coming, Stepmother!”

I ran down the stairs, back into the kitchen. The first thing I did was hide the rest of my mother’s china. One of the things I learned, through acting as my stepfamily’s maid, was how to get tea together quickly. Not but two minutes later, the tea was in the pot and the teacups were on the tray, along with the mini sandwiches. I brought it out to them.

“It’s about time.”

My stepmother rolled her eyes while Whitney glared at me, and Britney stuffed mini sandwiches in her mouth.

“Now, Cindy, go sweep the living room, mop the bedrooms, make sure you feed the cat and give him his bath, wash the windows, and do the laundry. When you’re done with that, I’ll give you the rest of your chores.”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

I was happy. So far, she had given me less chores than usual. But, she would give me more later, so maybe I was speaking to soon.

***

The Next Day

“CINDY! WHERE’S OUR BREAKFAST?”

“Coming right up, Stepmother!” I responded.

I brought out their breakfast.

“Cindy, pour me some tea, dear.”

“Of course, Stepmother.”

I started to pour her tea. The teacups were very beautiful. The design was blue and yellow; it folded out in patterns, creating an image on the cup.

“I can’t wait to see Kai at school today. I think he’s going to ask me to prom!” Whitney said, happily.

“What?”

In my shock, I spilled the tea all over my stepmother’s lap.

“Oh! Ow! Hot tea!”

She squealed in pain. Grabbing napkins and patting it, she scolded me. “Silly child, look what you’ve done!”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean-” I tried to explain, but she cut me off.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth! Go! Grab your things, and walk to the bus stop early! Before you ruin anything else!”

With that, I grabbed my things and ran out the door. Once I made it to the bus stop, I sat down and started crying.

“Ugh! Why am I so stupid?!” I screamed into the air.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” a voice said behind me.

I turned around to see Kai’s smiling face.

“You don’t know me,” I said, turning away.

Kai’s smile turned to a frown.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were friends?” Kai said.

He sounded pained, but I just ignored it.

“Are you dating Whitney Lockwood?” I asked.

Ugh, why did I say that?

“Um, yes. Why do you care?” he said.

I buried my face in my knees so he wouldn’t see the tears spilling from my eyes. I didn’t even know why I was crying. I really was stupid.

“Hey, don’t cry.”

Kai sat down next to me and pulled me close to his chest. I tried to stop crying, but I just started crying harder into his shoulder. I calmed down and sat up.

“I don’t care. I just heard a rumor,” I mumbled.

“Oh, okay,” Kai said.

He almost sounded disappointed?

“Hey, babe.”

Just then, Whitney and Britney came up to the bus stop. With them came a crowd of students. You could hear them whispering, Kai and Whitney are so cute! Look at little Cindy. She’s crying haha.  Kai stood up and hugged Whitney.

“Awwww,” everyone went.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, babe, we’re going to prom together, right?” Whitney asked.

“You two would be the cutest couple there,” Britney added.

“Um, I don’t know. What I mean is… prom is tomorrow. So, I mean, do we have to think about it now?”

Kai trembled. He was obviously terrified. Then Whitney gave him her puppy dog eyes.

“Come on, Whitney, don’t give me that face,” Kai plead.

Whitney started fake crying.

“Oh, don’t cry. Okay, okay, prom together.”

“Yay!” Whitney clapped her hands.

“Yay!” everyone cheered.

She linked her arm in his. Then the bus came, and I cried some more.

***

The Next Day

I ran down from the attic to the kitchen and started getting breakfast ready. Once the tea was ready, I put the teapot, along with its matching teacups, on the tray with mini muffins, of course. As soon as I set the tray down on the table, Stepmother told me to leave.

“What?” I said, confused. “Shouldn’t I pour your tea like every morning?”

“No. Not after yesterday. Go clean up the kitchen and then head down to the bus stop.”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

I went and grabbed myself a muffin and put the dishes in the sink. Then I headed over to the bus stop. I sat by myself until Kai came over a few minutes later. Why was he always early?

“Hey, Cindy, I need to tell you something-” But, he never finished that sentence because just then, Whitney and Britney came over (once again with a group of students).

“Hey, boo-boo-bear!” Whitney exclaimed.

Then, she saw that he was next to me once again.

“Kai, are you cheating on me?” Whitney said in a pained voice.

“Of course not!”

“Then, why are you always with her?” Whitney sneered.

“I-we’re just friends. Right, Cindy?” Kai asked me.

His eyes were pleading for help. I turned around, looking him straight in the face.

“Not even.”

Kai just stood there, looking at me with the most hurt look on his face. I turned away.

“Cindy, wait-” he pleaded.

But I just got up and walked into the bus.

***

After School

“Cindy, help me with my dress for prom,” Britney said.

Prom. I wished I could go. But, I guess it would just hurt to see Kai and Whitney dancing. I wish I could go to prom with Kai! How I wish!

“No! Help me with my hairstyle for Kai!” Whitney said.

“Help me!”

“No, me!”

Whitney and Britney started arguing about whose needs were more important.  

During that, I did Whitney’s hair. Next, I helped Britney with her dress.

“Done,” I said.

Whitney and Britney looked at me, confused.

“Go look in a mirror.”

Both went to look.

“Oh! My gown is gorgeous!” Britney exclaimed.

“My hair! Kai will flip for it!” Whitney gasped.

They did both look very pretty. Kai would think so too. Sigh. Britney and Whitney looked at me.

“What?” they asked.

“Oh, nothing. I just — wish — I wish I could go to prom,” I blurted out.

I shouldn’t have said anything. Whitney and Britney bursted out laughing.

“You at… prom?”

I hung my head down, embarrassed. They kept laughing. I walked out and ran up to the attic. I looked out the attic window as Whitney and Britney left for prom.

“Cindy!!!” my stepmother called. “I’m going out! I’ll be back around 12:30 am! Don’t forget to clean the cinders out of the fire! The girls will be back around 12:30 am, too ! The house better be spotless when I get back!”

With that, she left, the door slamming behind her. I ran downstairs, out to the garden in the backyard.

“I wish I could go to prom! I wish I wasn’t worthless!” I cried.

But, I am worthless, just a maid of a girl. Just a cinder girl.

“Are you alright, dearie? I heard crying.”

I looked up to see an elderly woman smiling at me.

“W-who are you?” I asked.

“I am your neighbor, dear. My name’s Faye Godmother, but my friends call me Fairie.”

“Oh, hi. I’m fine,” I said.

“Oh, but clearly you’re not. Tell me what’s wrong,” Faye said in a calm, soothing voice.

I took a deep breath.

“My stepsisters are at prom, and my stepmother said I can’t go, but she’s right. I don’t belong there. I don’t fit in.”

“Prom?! My dear, you must go. Prom is your night. No one else’s,” Faye said. “I’ll drive you there myself.”

I wiped the tears from my face.

“Thanks, but I can’t go looking like this,” I said.

Faye’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“I just so happen to have a dress at my house. Would you like to borrow it?”

“Oh no, that’s your dress. I could never. Plus, I’m not allowed to go,” I said sadly.

“What time is your stepmother getting home?” she asked.

“12:30.”

“Then, just be back by midnight,” Faye said.

So, we went over to Faye’s house. I changed into the dress. It was the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen with white lace sleeves and lace trimmings. Then, a bright sky blue covered the rest of the gown. Oddly enough, it fit me perfectly.

“And these shoes,” Faye added.

She held out glass slippers.

“Are those made of glass?” I asked.

“Yup, but they’re quite comfortable.”

She held them out for me to try. I slipped them on. She was not wrong. They felt like slippers.

As if Faye could read my mind, she smiled at me and said, “A bit like slippers, aren’t they?”

I just nodded. Faye drove me to my prom.

“Thank you so much!” I thanked Faye.

“Just be home by midnight!” Faye reminded me.

“Wait, how will I get home?” I asked.

She smiled at me.

“You’ll get a ride with a special someone,” she answered.

“How do you know?” I asked, but she was already gone.

I took a deep breath. Then I walked into the room. The gym was decorated with banners and ribbons. People were dancing, and there was music. Then, suddenly, the music stopped, and everyone looked at me. I saw Kai and Whitney in the middle of the dance floor.

“Wow,” Kai said, looking right into my eyes, refusing to let me look away.

“Um, hi,” I said. “You all can keep dancing. I’m just gonna be here.”

The music started up again, and everyone started dancing again. Except Kai and Whitney.

“Come on, boo, let’s keep dancing,” Whitney said, grabbing Kai’s hand.

He pulled away, not even looking her in the eyes.

He said, “I’ll be right back.”

Then, he started walking over to me. The look on Whitney’s face was priceless as she let Britney lead her to the side of the room.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“You-you look really pretty tonight. But, I don’t mean just tonight. You always look pretty. I just mean that–” He rambled, but I cut him off.

“It’s okay. I get what you mean.”

We smiled at each other for a second, but then reality sets in.

“You’re here with Whitney. Shouldn’t you be dancing with her?” I asked.

“I-Cindy, you’re the one I like. It’s always been you. I don’t like Whitney, not one bit. I just felt so much pressure to fit in, and I’m so sorry. I was blind and stupid. Please forgive me,” he confessed.

He looked so serious. There were tears coming from his eyes, and he was holding my hand so tightly, like he was afraid to let go.

“I forgive you.” I gulped.

He was so close now. I could feel his warm breath.

“Thank you, thank you! Cindy, I promise I’ll never do anything this stupid again!”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I grinned.

Kai laughed.

“Speaking of promises, I better go tell Whitney she’ll have to find a new Prince Charming,” he joked and left.

Prince Charming, huh. This night had been pretty magical. Minutes later, he came back.

“How’d she take it?” I asked.

“Well, I think I took it harder than her. She slapped me,” he said, his hand on his cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe this will make it feel better.”

Then, I kissed him on the cheek.

“Much better,” he said with the brightest smile. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure,” I said, shyly.

Kai led me out to the dance floor. We started dancing. Then, my shoe fell off. Out of nowhere, Whitney ran onto the dance floor and grabbed my shoe.

“I’ve got the shoe! I’ve got the shoe!!!” Whitney screamed.

“Give Cindy back her shoe!” Kai demanded.

“What? No, Kai, babe, you’re supposed to love me now. These shoes… they put you under a spell,” Whitney yelled.

She sounded crazy. Clearly, Kai thought so.

“I love Cindy for her, not her shoes. Now, give it back!”

Kai grabbed the shoe out of Whitney’s hand.

“May I?” Kai asked.

I put my foot out. He slid the shoe on, looked up at me, and smiled. Whitney’s jaw dropped.

Finally, she said, “It must be the dress!”

She reached out, trying to grab my dress. I stepped back. Kai got in front of me, trying to stop Whitney. Then, Britney ran onto the dance floor.

“Whit, you’re acting a little bit crazy. Let’s go.”

“No! Not with my boo-boo-bear!!” Whitney screamed.

Finally, Britney dragged her off the dance floor. I looked at Kai and bursted out laughing. He looked confused.

“What’s so funny about Whitney trying to take your shoes and dress because she thought that they would magically make me love her…” Then, Kai bursted out laughing, too. “She’s crazy,” Kai added.

“Yup. My crazy step sisters,” I laughed.

“Those two wack-a-dos are your step sisters?” Kai asked. “I’m so sorry. They’re horrible to you at school, and you have to live with them?”

“And be their personal maid,” I added.

“That’s horrible,” Kai said.

I shrugged.

“It’s my life.”

“Not anymore. I will help you, I promise,” Kai vowed.

I smiled, then, looked out the window to see a car driving away. I couldn’t tell who it was, but the license plate said ‘Bibbity Bopity Boo.’

 

THE END

 

Love of Tomorrow

Prologue

New York City. A place of dreams, filled with the rich, and… the others.

My name is David Y. Johnson. I own Cogsworth Industries, the largest company in the world, beating Amazon. I know, pretty crazy, right? I have about fifty-six main factories. As the second-richest person in the world, I have to work harder than any other person, but sometimes I can take days off. And there are relationships here and there, but never like this.

Oh, and I forgot. I’m an agent.

 

Chapter One: The Start

April 21st was the day when the Cogsworth Building opened. It is the largest building in New York, around four hundred stories higher than the Freedom Tower. I could smell the eggs, lightly cooked, but not too light that it was raw, just how I liked them. Georgia licked my face with her wet and rough tongue. My cheek was covered in dog saliva. The door was slightly opened, all the way across from my bed. I slipped on my slippers, feeling the fuzz, but only my right slipper was there. It seemed like my left one was somewhere. My eyes were half open, everything blurry.  My foot left the brown carpet. It felt like I was walking on a soft panda before, but my left foot touched the cold marble floor. The room was all white with a little black here and there. My curtains automatically opened, the sun shining on the white painted walls. It shined even brighter on the walls. I got to the doors, my eyes opening wider. I looked out my balcony, seeing Meredith, the cook wearing a white apron with dark black hair like the night, making food already.

“Why, hello, sir,” she said.

“Hi,” I said, walking down the stairs. “I see you’re earlier than usual.”

“Well, your opening is today at 10:00.”

She put the finished eggs and toast on the plate, passing it to me.

“Oh yes, of course…” I said, totally forgetting that I had it. “It’s an important day.”

“Of course, sir, and your friend is here to bring you there. Or… friends.”

“Oh shoot!”

I stuffed my mouth with the toast and added some eggs. I ran up, taking off my clothes, and grabbing my hanger. I put on my suit, looked outside, and saw the limo out on the road. I opened the door to leave.

“So long, sir,” Meredith said. “Shall I hire the services to help with the party?”

“Yes, do whatever you need.”

“So long, sir!”

The door slammed. I pressed the button, and the elevator came quickly.  I ran out, the doorman holding the door.

“What’s the rush?” Meleney asked, opening the car door.

“I don’t have all day to discuss this, Mel.”

I called her that to annoy her. She’s smart, and she knew what Mel meant.

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“Why would I? It’s fun.”  

“Seriously?! You’re making me act like an actor.”

“Oh sorry,” I said.

She made a disgusted face.

“Besides, I thought you liked acting.”

We pulled into the building. Getting out of the car, people surrounded me. Bodyguards came to push them away. I put on my sunglasses. They put in my ear piece.

“Sir, your call is in two minutes,” the voice from the ear said.

“I’m coming. Keep them distracted.”

“On it.”

I walked on the podium, standing right in front of the huge building.

“Hello, ladies and gentleman. Today is the special day of the opening! The second tallest building in the world!”

Everyone clapped.

“Now, let us begin!”

***

It was early night. People flooded in, wearing skinny dresses, and some, large skirts. The men had their hair combed to the top, the light shining upon their hair. I felt my stomach gaging, afraid of what people thought about my speech.

“Why, hello, Mr. Johnson.”

“Hello, Mr. Mayor. Thank you for coming.”

“Well, if you’re going to build a large tower in my city, then I have to come, don’t I?”

“Oh!” I laughed, “of course.”

I walked over to Meleney. Her golden, tight dress shined on my eyes. It felt like millions of stars, as if she was the center of attention. People were talking to her. After all, she was one of the head chiefs of New York. Her straight, black hair draped down her back, and some was on her right shoulder. As the classical music got louder, and the lights seemed to dim, I stared at her enticingly. She slowly looked over to me, and it seemed that her face was shining! Her perfect, blue eyes seemed to have moved like an ocean. Dolphins of love were swimming out of her eyes.

People started to fade out, dark all around us. I grabbed her hand. We danced on the marble floor, one mover after the other. She controlled me, and I controlled her in perfect sync until the moment was lost when a server came between us. All of it was a day dream…

“Ah, David. You’ve finally come over.”

“Yes, I couldn’t leave y-” I stopped, noticing of what I was about to say. “I mean, I couldn’t leave my other guests.”

“Oh please, David. You’re far too busy with your other actual guests. We’re family. Greet your guests first, and then we can talk,” my mother said, holding my father’s hand.

Her light white dress was more flurry than the other guests.

“Thank you mother,” I replied, silky and soft too, like I was having a great time, but this was a mistake.

Parties are not my thing. I knew that from the start, but somehow I convinced myself to have the party. The Cogsworth building shined brightly. The blue flickered, the roads and paths were lighted by bright, white lights.

“How beautiful,” my mother would have said.

“Look everyone! The fireworks are about to begin!” A man from the crowd exhaled.

He ran towards the large glass window to see the rest of New York and, more importantly, the building. More people followed, watching. I was already there, drinking my drink. I stood, looking at nothing but the building.

Suddenly, a single firework shot up, sparks following the trail behind the flash. It happened again! Everything became black again. My vision zoomed into the firework. It was like a rocket, flying far away until it exploded into millions and millions of shining flames, flickering. With that, the large bang hit me. I was back. I had to stop whatever was causing this. Unless it was just love. But, no it couldn’t. I didn’t want it to.

“Wow! So amazing! Who’s in charge of the fireworks?” Someone asked.
“Val, or Valentine…”

I didn’t know that Meleney knew his name. I got a call.

“Do not fret, sir. I’ll get it,” Meredith walked over to get it.

She talked, while fireworks were launching.

“Oh!” she said, sounding surprised.

I got worried.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s for you,” she said.

I took the phone from her hand, “Hello?”

“We have an emergency, David. The fireworks aren’t in control…”

“Oh god.”

I grabbed Meleney. We work together.

“Where are you going?!” the mayor stopped us.

I started trying to figure out what I should say, or what Meleney should say.  

“We’re going to the building. Someone is…” I started.

“Is trying to move a heavy box! We need to help him.”

“Okay…” the mayor walked past us.

We ran to the 28th floor. I owned three floors. The 29th floor, or the Penthouse, is where I have my living room, kitchen, and a study. It’s also where I have my parties.  The 28th is the agent room. We had suits: some of them had upgrades, and others fit our needs. We snuck out and got into a dark, fast, and small limo. It headed to the tower: the top was creaking, and starting to fall.

 

Chapter Two: V for Valentine

We ran out. I could feel that something was worse than I thought.

“Well?! What are we waiting for?” Meleney caught my attention.

I was staring at the tower. I grabbed my wrist. Suddenly, a shockwave of time shocked the universe. Only Meleney could move with me.

We ran inside, opened the door, and ran up the stairs. We ran to the fifteenth floor, sweat starting to drip.

“How many flights have we gone up?” I asked, stopping, leaning upon the railing.

“Only fifteen,” Meleney said, annoyed that I was too tired to walk. “There are about… 2970 floors more.”

“Oh wait!” I screamed.

I looked at my wrist, pressing a button. Suddenly, I appeared on the 2970th floor. I opened the door, the freezing, blowing wind brushing on my face. Meleney appeared right next to me.

“Glad you could come,” I said, walking towards the explosion.

Time moved so slowly that a car going two hundred MPH went around thirty MPH. The explosion was just starting to get bigger. The needle was starting to fall along with Val. His hands and arms were spread out as if he was wanting to go with the tower.

“Oh no…” Meleney looked at him. “But why…?”

Then she looked at me.

“We don’t have time for this, Meleney!”

I ran, taking out my watch. A little robotic finger appeared out of it. I stretched it out and put it on my finger. A white and blue sticky substance came out, sticking the wires to my fingers. Meanwhile, Mel grabbed the man and the fireworks. She let them go into the air instead of staying underneath the needle. When I turn time back to normal, people from all over would see the huge fireworks. The wires started to come together, and the needle slightly started to come back up. To make sure it wouldn’t fall again, Mel added a ‘glue’ to make it stay.

I touched the pad, and time went back to normal. We used the elevator to get down. Finally, once we got home, people stared outside.

“What was that?!” the mayor screamed.

“Are you okay?! The mayor told us you were right at the building at the time!” my mother ran and hugged me.

“I’m okay, Mom…”

“You could have died!” Ms. Gensa said. She was the one who paid the workers to build the building. “All my money! Could have been for nothing,” she screamed as if it were the end of the world.

Meleney walked up to me and whispered in my ear, “Where are we going to put Val?”

“Don’t worry, I have a health center on the 28th floor.”

“I’ll sleep over tonight, just to make sure. Is that okay?”

“Sure… ”

***

The party ended. I made another speech before thanking everyone for coming. Meleney stayed in the health lab, staring at Val. I walked down to the health lab to see Meleney looking frozen.

“Whats wrong?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

“Something’s wrong. I know it.”

“I never told you? Val is my uncle!”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine, really… I should get some shut eye.”

“Good night,” I walked out, going to my room.

Meredith was already gone. I opened the creaking black, wooden door. Georgia was sleeping on the bed. I took off my clothes and went to bed.

 

Chapter Three: Blood Piles

It was 8:30 am. The curtains didn’t automatically turn on. My eyes were ready for the sun, but the curtains never opened. I got up, wondering what was wrong. The lights didn’t turn on either.

What is happening? Why was all the electricity out? I wondered.

As I walked down to the kitchen island, Meredith wasn’t there. When I opened the door, she was there, trying to press the doorbell. She had a card that scanned to open the door.

“I’ve been out here for over an hour, sir!”

“Sorry… ” I opened the door for her.

“I ran downstairs and asked for a key, but you don’t have a keyhole!”

“I’m sorry… ”  I said again.

She put on her cook apron.

“It’s okay, sir.”

She started to cook. I sat at the table, looking at the newspaper. The headlines were: “Half Destruction of the Tower! Saved by a Mystery…” I read the rest that said people saw me, Val, and Meleney, but they couldn’t see our faces. It only said: “People saw other people rescuing a man.”

“The tower needle was about to fall, until all of sudden, bang! With the explosion, the needle was back to the top!” a witness said.

The newspaper bolded the witness’s name, Otis Robertson.

I’ve heard that name before, somewhere. He had to do something with the agents, but I don’t remember much.

It was already 10:45 am, and Meleney wasn’t up yet! I had cancelled work because of the attack. I decided enough was enough. Meleney and I were supposed to work together and see what Val’s criminal record was, or anything at all about what happened.

I walked downstairs. I saw wires on the ground. Water spilled, and I avoided the electric waters. I got to the stairs and saw a small blood trail led to the stairs.

“Oh god… ”

I touched the stairs. My slippers were on the first floor. The blood was cold. Something happened last night. I got to where Val was sleeping, the rehabilitation bed. It was empty. He was gone.

I looked in the other room. There was more blood there. I looked at the couch, and blood piles dripped from the couch where Meleney was sleeping. Her hand was the only thing I could see from the door. Her hand was dripped with blood, still falling. Her white nail polish was now with red strips of blood.

I ran over. Her corpse lay there, her mouth slightly opened. Her chest bled blood still. Her mouth also had blood in it, spilling. I grabbed her, my hands covered in her blood.

Meleney!” I screamed, echoing through the whole apartment.

I held my cheek next her bloody one. My hot tears, boiling, fell on her blood.

***

Police came to the sight. Valentine’s fingerprints were found on her chest and the knife. This knife said something on it: “2X9.” The writing was made of blood. It was written everywhere on the walls and on her.

I felt horrible. It was my fault that I left her alone down there with a maybe-killer. I needed to fix this somehow. I looked through my things, trying to find something with time.

“God dang it!” I yelled, crashing all the things hanging from the wall.

They fell and broke. I put on my suit, took out the watch, and tapped it. Time froze with the shockwave. I walked out, closing the door, and looked out the window. I saw police about to drive away with the body. I knew it would be all over the news in just a few minutes. I wondered if I would stay frozen in time forever, trying to make it look like I didn’t just disappear, but I did. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door.

But time was frozen. No one could move!

I opened the door, and suddenly I was kicked to the ground. A knife missed me by an inch. It was the same one, but this one had thin, very light blues line all over it as if it was vains of blue blood, glowing. I looked up.

It was Val!

“Why?! Why did you kill her?!”

“It’s all part of the plan. You’ll find out, unless you wanna join her.”

I flipped up, grabbing the knife. I threw the knife, but it moved with normal time, very, very slowly. As I looked at the knife, he kicked me down. He kicked me again, against the window. The window started to crack, and the real time started to come back. He threw four large, glowing spheres. Two of them stuck my hands to the window, and the other two stuck my feet to the glass.

“I’m sorry Dave… if you can’t help me, I can’t help you.”

One last kick shattered the glass. I fell in the normal time, but everything surrounding me was still frozen. I was about to hit the ground, until the sticky substance that was supposed to glue things together came out and stuck to the wall. It was like Spiderman! I swung and shattered the windows. Val was about to stab Meredith in the neck.

“Look who’s back!”

He turned around. I grabbed his wrist, throwing him across the table. The table started to flip in frozen time. I turned on normal time. He fell and the table crashed on him. Meredith screamed, hiding behind the island in the kitchen. I grabbed his neck.

I would have said, “No one kills my Mel!” But instead, I threw him out the window. His body crashed on the ground. My face was red with anger, until Meredith grabbed a gun and shot. The bullet hit my back.

 

Chapter Four: Too Many Davids

I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground of the roof. The needle was still starting to fall. Suddenly I got up and saw me and Meleney! The same actions of what happened last night.

“Holy…!” I screamed. Meleney and I looked at me. “Uhh…”

Suddenly the fireworks exploded.
“Umm… David? Why is there another one of you…?”

“I have no idea…”

They took a long look, and a small moment of silence fell over time.

“I’m you! From the future… ” I started. “And I have come–”

The shockwave shocked me. My watch exploded in my face, burning me in normal time somehow.

I woke up on the street of where the building was. It was when the explosion happened, again! I saw the limo, seeing the door to the building open. I went inside the limo, trying to turn it on. After a while, I took out a gun from the limo.

“I don’t remember having this…” I said, looking at it.

It had a glowing electric ball inside. I tapped the button. It shattered the limo windows and sent out a giant blue portal. I got out of the car and looked at the portal. I ran through it, hitting myself.

“David –” Meleney was about to finish her sentence.

“Another me?!” My past-past self said.

“Oh god.” My past self said.

Everything wasn’t making any sense.

“Drop Val! Quick!” I said, “He’s going to kill you, Mel!”

“Seriously? Even your future self calls me Mel?!”

I noticed that I was duplicating. I grabbed the fireworks from underneath the needle. Suddenly, bang! It exploded, again.

I woke, again. I got into the car. My other self, who I now called David two, took the gun. I turned on the car.

“Watch out, me!” I yelled.

David two jumped into the portal before me. The car went through it too.

“David why –” Meleney was about to finish her sentence.

David two was about to yell, “Drop Val, Mel!” But all he could get to was “Drop–” before I crushed him with the car by ‘accident’. I ran out.

“Drop him, Meleney!” I yelled. She looked at me. All of a sudden, David two grabbed the fireworks. I ran to him to push him away, but the fireworks hit Meleney and exploded.

“God dang it!” I yelled.
“Great job, Me three…”

“Mel!” the original me yelled.

With Val in her arms, they both hit the ground in normal time. I took out a gun from the car. It was finally a normal gun. I shot David one and two, along with me.

I woke up on the 2700th floor, running up to the floor where everything was happening. Once I got up there, David one, two, and three were dead. The original me was crying, turning on normal time. The needle started to fall in normal time. The gun lay on the ground. I picked it up and shot myself again.

I finally woke up on top of myself on the roof.

“Ahh! Future-future me?!” David one screamed, standing up.

I landed on my face.

“God dang it, me,” I kicked him to the ground.  

I grabbed the gun from David three’s hand and shot David two. The fireworks were about to explode. Finally, I grabbed them and let them out into the air. I grabbed Meleney’s wrist and tightened it, not caring if she was in pain. I had enough of this. Suddenly, someone shot me!

I landed on the car, going through the portal.

“Meleney! Please! Let go of Val, he’s going to kill you, and maybe even kill me!”

“But, I haven’t told anyone but –”

“He’s your uncle!” David three yelled.

“They are from the future, Meleney…”

“Yeah, trust us…”

She did nothing for a while, but then finally let him go. All of us let a sigh of relief. All of a sudden, everything turned white. A large light hit all of us.

I finally woke up in bed. The curtains opened like normal. Meredith was already cooking. I stared at her, knowing that she would kill me, but not knowing when.

“Good morning Dave…” Meleney walked out of the doorway.

I looked at her, just to make sure. I said nothing but just hugged her.

“Wow! What happened? Why are you hugging me…?”

All of sudden she hugged me back. A tear fell from my eye. Meredith got up from sitting. I looked over, pressing my watch just in time. Her gun was about to shoot. I could see the sparks slowly moving. I grabbed the bullet and aimed it at her. Real time came back, and she was dead.

 

Chapter Five: Life Again

It was twenty years after the attack of Val. I moved to the Berkshires, Massachusetts with Meleney. We had two kids, Harrison and Dakota. The small house is right in the middle of the woods, far away from the tower.

I knew I wouldn’t ever join them again. My company is now owned by a woman named Ava Neumaier. She’s now the richest person in the world. I went all the way down to the fifteenth, but that doesn’t matter to me. Harrison is now sixteen and is working for Ava. Dakota is only twelve but is learning fast from her mother. Meleney stays at home with me. We are not ‘secret agents’ anymore. We’re known as the “Time Watchers”. We help with time, but crime has gone down.

But when I thought that everything would be normal, I was wrong again.

On 2037, April 23rd, someone named Oliver Shakins was messing with time somehow.

“I’ll go get him, It’ll be easy…”

“Dave, you can’t do everything on your own.”

“I just want to get rid of him. Besides, I don’t want the thing with the tower and you with Val to happen again!”

“Fine, but be safe. Dinner’s at seven, and the kids are coming at four.”  

“I will.”

I grabbed the suit and my watch. I ran into the ‘time car’. It opened a portal, not knowing where it would go. The car opens a portal to whenever there is a problem in time. I was still going through when everything started to turn red. I looked around, when suddenly, a large flash of light blinded me.

***

I woke in a small cottage. It was my house when I was little. It was my childhood. I saw me, my sister, and my dad. It was the day when my sister was taken. Her name was Meleney, like my wife. That’s one of the reasons I married her. My sister was taken by the government. I never knew why. But I think I now know. It —

“Why hello, David…”

It was Oliver. He was wearing a black suit.
“Why? Why did you send me here?”

“So you could learn the truth…”

“The truth?”

“Meleney, she was taken because…”

“Because she was ‘out of this world’,” I said, looking down.

“No, because her time powers were not from a watch, or suit. It was in her blood. She was dangerous…”

“How do you know?”

“Because I helped to take her. I was the head chief.”

I knew it! I said in my mind. That’s where I heard his name. He was the head chief for the government and specialized in time.

“Your wife…”

“You do not bring my wife into this conversation.”

“Look…”

A table appeared out of nowhere. He put a slip out of his pocket. It said: “Meleney Johnson, born 1971, Mother: Alexis Delhi. Father: Willie Johnson.”

I looked up at him. I grabbed it, starting to cry. My stomach turned, everything twisted. Memories of Mel, destroyed. A garbage can appeared.

“If you need to, you can –”

I threw up into the trash, gagging every moment, my lunch from yesterday, and the dinner dates all away from my body. I looked around, dizzy, and food came up again, all over the table this time. I grabbed a gun, still dizzy. My hand was shaking, along with the gun.

“Shoot me, Dave. I served my purpose. You killed my mother. I’ll meet her in heaven.”

The gunshot pierced through him. All of sudden, everything started to go away, glitching.

I got in the car, looking at the picture of Meleney. Driving away, I felt sick again. I got home, holding the slip. I put it on the table. I watched as she opened the slip.

“Honey, what’s this?”

“Meleney Johnson…?” I said, grabbing a beer.

“My last name is Forder, you know that!”

“The government erased your mind and made you Meleney Forder…”

“Oh my god!” She said, walking to the kitchen. She threw up in the trash as well, “I never knew!”

“You didn’t?”

“What if I did? What would that have done?”

I looked at her. I walked outside, getting the time car. I drove away, watching the woods leave. I drove up the mountain. I went to the top, grabbing the portal gun. I shot it, the portal opened behind me. I watched the sunset, and the large Cogsworth building. It shone in my eyes.

I froze time. When I grabbed the beer, I also grabbed her watch. It would make her time normal. The government tore out her powers when she was young. When they extracted the time blood, they put it in her watch. I pushed the car into the portal. It slowly fell.

Before I went in, I threw the beer. I never drank it. I never would. I took the pictures of my children. I tore them out with the glass. The portal led to 1979, when all of it began. When Meleney was taken. I couldn’t have let her marry me. I couldn’t have let them take her.

 

Living

Allen walked in unknowingly. He was grinning, feeling particularly happy for no reason at all. But he stopped when he saw Betty, who was lying on a bed, looking pale and her wrists bloody. He ran to her side.

“What is it? What happened? Are you okay? Wait, don’t answer that, you should save your strength. I should get a nurse-”

“Al-Allen,” she gasped, clearly struggling to speak.

She was definitely in pain. How much, Allen didn’t know. He grasped her hand.

“I’m right here. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay — ”

“You — ” she paused as she coughed and struggled to breathe, “You love me, Allen.”

“Of course I do, but I don’t understand what that has to do with what’s wrong with you.”

“It… it hurt. But now –” she paused and coughed, ”I’m not… not hurting anymore.”

“But you’re dying! I don’t understand, Betty!”

“I’m sorry. There’s noth — ” she took a moment and tried to take deep breath, “nothing left. Nothing left in me.”

Allen choked on the oncoming rush of tears.

“Betty… please… hold on for me. Please, just save your energy. Don’t talk, I’ll find a nurse or something. Just please, you can’t let it have you. You know you can stop it. You know you can fight back. Why are you letting it win?”

“I c-can’t fight anymore. I’ve run out of fight.”

In that moment, Allen seemed to forget Betty was dying, and one question simply burned in his mind as he started to sob.

“Don’t-don’t you love me?” he stuttered, his voice shaking.

Betty took his hand and put it on her face, and he felt her tears roll down her face underneath his fingers.

“That’s… that’s exactly it.” She paused to take a few shaking, rattling breaths. “I held on for you. But I can’t hold on anymore. All my fight I put into loving you.”

“It’s not that hard to love.”

Betty smiled a tragic smile and kissed his hand.

“It’s not hard to love, but it is that hard to live.”

She closed her eyes. The world stopped existing. It stopped turning, people stopped breathing, and Allen barely felt like he was there. He didn’t feel himself sobbing and screaming and kicking and begging and running as far, far away as possible from her body.

He didn’t feel himself run into series of nurses and doctors as they realized what had happened and came rushing into the room to see Betty’s body. He ran past them, kicking and screaming and sobbing and struggling to breathe, barely seeing where he was going as his eyes blurred painfully with tears. He left the hospital and found a bar nearby. He didn’t feel himself drink until he had passed out.

He didn’t feel himself begin to slip away from the brink of reality. He didn’t feel after the moment that Betty’s heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped breathing, her eyes stopped blinking, her mouth stopped kissing, her feet stop running, her hands stopped holding his, that she stopped loving.

Not stopped loving — love lasts after death.

The moment he couldn’t love her anymore because when they say love ends after death, they mean that wherever the dead person is, they can still love the person that’s alive.

But how can you love someone who doesn’t exist anymore?

***

Betty had just set a new record too. It had been almost six months since she had cut herself.

She was so close to being better, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

You’re so close to the end, when all of a sudden —

Allen drank himself to oblivion.

The beer bottle and the razor had become his and Betty’s demons. Before they thought they were a refuge that they could always go back to. They always knew they would be there and knew if they did go to them, everything would be okay. Allen knew when he was drunk, nothing else mattered. Betty knew that if she cut, she’d be dead and nothing else would matter.

But after being together, instead of wanting to go to the beer bottle and the razor, they hated them. They were so happy together. They hated the idea of their illness torturing them. They hated that death and mental destruction. They had started seeing the bottle and the razor as demons that taunted them. Now, the beer bottle was glued to Allen’s hand again. He didn’t care. All he did was drink. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, he didn’t talk to other people, he just sat in a corner and drank.

His world had become the bottom of the bottle, trapped inside its interior. He tried to get out, but he couldn’t climb up the bottle. He was trapped.

Trapped in endless loops of drinking and being reminded of tiny details that made him think of Betty.

Drawings on the bottle label would make him think about when she made him read that book on Impressionists, or when the cool liquid touched his lips, he thought about how it felt when she kissed him.

The rest of the world didn’t touch him. Nothing touched him but these minor, small things about Betty.

***

“Would Betty want you to drink?”

That was the first sentence someone said to him after Betty died that he actually took in.

“What?” he replied softly.

His sister, Kira, who had been the one talking to him at the moment, and the one who had raised this notion that somewhat made Allen re-enter reality, was practically stunned that her brother had responded to her. She cleared her throat and repeated the question.

“Would Betty want you to start drinking again? I mean, if you were the one who –” she struggled to not say the d-word, “passed away, would you want her to start cutting again after?”

For a brief moment, Allen thought about reacting negatively towards his sister for asking such a painful question so soon after Betty had died. But Allen knew she just said that because she was desperate and needed him to stop drinking, so she was trying every tactic she could until she could find one that worked to convince Allen he had to stop drinking. (Even though Allen knew he wasn’t going to, at least not anytime soon.) So he put that thought aside and thought back. He knew the right answer. The right answer was of course not. He wanted Betty to be happy. He wanted her to live a full life and one day move out of the hospital, find someone else, and live the rest of her life happily.

But Allen knew what answer was inside his head, which is that if he was the one who died and Betty was grieving him, he would want her to start cutting again. Because he knew without Betty, he couldn’t win this battle against the bottles. He couldn’t overcome it. And he wished he had been the same thing to her, her support in the battle against the razor. But she had left him, and he knew the truth: she didn’t really love him after all.

So even though it was a truly awful, awful thing to want, he knew the answer was yes, because it would mean that Betty really had loved him after all.

But did that mean he didn’t really love her? Did he only love her because he thought she loved him?

If the answer was yes, then he wouldn’t be drinking.

So he did love her, he loved her so much, he hated himself. He loved her so much, he hated her.

So that’s why he drank.

***

Love was dangerous. Love was even more dangerous than the stupid bottles. Love was even more harmful to himself than drinking.

If he hadn’t fallen in love, then he wouldn’t be falling down this hole.

If he hadn’t fallen in love, then he would have kept drinking and be dead already. And that was what he wanted.

He didn’t care it was selfish, he’d been fighting for long enough. Betty died selfishly, not caring about how Allen would be left after. So why couldn’t Allen do the same?

Maybe he was braver than her. Or maybe being with her had taught him to be braver than her, to be less selfish than her. Maybe her death was a lesson to him to keep fighting, to not let the bottles win. Was that why she gave in?

Did she know that the two of them was only a temporary fix, and that if she was gone, it would motivate him to be better than her?

Did she actually care about him that much? Or was it the very small part of Allen’s mind that did know his sisters loved him and would miss him if he died, so he was trying to convince himself to keep living?

Allen knew that was stupid. His sisters didn’t love him. They didn’t need him. Kira and Tasha were happy. Kira was engaged to her girlfriend, who she simply adored, and Tasha was about to graduate medical school. They didn’t need him. It was egotistical to think they needed him.

Maybe he needed them. Maybe he had been trying to fool himself that they needed him, but in reality, he needed them more than he thought. Had he been leaning on Betty to try to forget about his sisters, knowing it was only a matter of time before they forgot about him, because they didn’t need him? Did he ever really love Betty?

***

What did love mean?

What did death mean?

What did anything mean?

Why did Allen exist?

What was he supposed to do?

What was next? Questioning everything he’d ever known? Trying to find someone to blame? Trying to understand his feelings about the people around him? Trying to figure out a way to die? Trying to pick himself up again and recover? Try to stay sober?

This was the dark hole he’d been falling down, drowning in these thoughts and simultaneously drowning in alcohol. His sisters stopped letting him go out and stopped giving him money. So he couldn’t buy drinks anymore because they were worried about him, but he wasn’t the only sick person in that hospital.

The other patients around him understood what he was going through, and while they subconsciously knew helping him get alcohol wasn’t healthy, they gave him money and caused distractions and diversions, so the nurses wouldn’t see him sneak out of the hospital anyway. He knew it wasn’t fair to exploit their kindness, but he needed those drinks. Without them, he felt like all he could taste was blood in his mouth. Maybe he bit his tongue, or the inside of the cheek.

He barely felt anything anyway when he had enough drinks. He felt as if he was floating away from earth, escaping consciousness. Simply gliding amongst air. He was weightless, breathless, nothing. That was what Allen wished he was. He wished he was nothing. He didn’t wish he was dead. He wished he was nothing. Because he decided he didn’t want to die anymore, because it would mean he’d have to see her again. How can you face someone after you’ve given them everything and you find out they didn’t love you at all?

“Do you really think she didn’t love you?”

Tasha was sitting on the end of Allen’s hospital bed. Allen had drank too much and passed out. He had been very close to death, but they managed to save him. So despite his need for drinks, Allen vowed to drink less, as if he didn’t, he’d die, and he never wanted to see her again. He was actually glad that she died. That she had given in.

At least he’d learned the truth: she never loved him at all. If she had, she wouldn’t have given in, wouldn’t have let them win. He hadn’t given in. He’d lived, for her. He had really loved her, but he hated himself for loving her once. He had wasted love on her. He knew now that he truly did love his sisters, and he should have spent time loving them instead of her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t intrigued by what his sister was thinking when she said that.

“Of course she didn’t. If she did love me, then she would have fought harder.”

“Allen, I know it sucks, but sometimes some things are stronger than love. That doesn’t make her love for you or your relationship invalid.”

“Says who?”

“Says love. Depression might have been stronger than love in the case of Betty, but it doesn’t have to be in yours. Your illness will only really affect you if you let it. If you fight it, it goes away. You have the power to end it.”

Allen looked down at his hands, which he was used to being sticky or wet from drunkenly spilling beer on them. He noticed they were scarred. On his right hand, there were thin, angry red-pink lines. On his left hand, there were deep, large bumpy gashes. He avoided his sister’s eyes as he asked the next question.

“D-did I-um c-cut-”

Tasha nodded slowly. Allen squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tasha, do you and Kira really care about me?”

Tasha smiled a small smile.

“Like I said, in Betty’s case, that time, depression really was stronger, but it doesn’t have to be for every case. Sometimes love does win. And no matter where you are, Kira and my love for you will always be stronger.”

For the first time since Betty died, Allen touched someone. He leaned over and hugged Tasha. He did more than that. He let someone in for the first time since Betty died. He let himself cry into Tasha’s shoulder. She hugged him and rubbed his back, and when he started muttering thousands of apologies, she said she understood.

***

Allen ate. He ate and slept and took showers. He didn’t drink anything but water, and once every two weeks, he actually went jogging. He wasn’t always sure what motivated him.

Whether it was his sisters’ showing his love for him or Betty’s death, Allen desperate constant need for alcohol was replaced with a desire to live healthily. He didn’t laugh or smile or feel happy, but he did live.

Or did he?

That was a question he kept asking himself. Was he really living if he wasn’t happy?

And then that made him think about Betty. Was she really living if she wasn’t happy? Is that why she gave in?

But she was with Allen. And she said she loved him. Didn’t loving him make her happy?

Is it possible to love and not live?

Is it possible to love and not be happy?

Or is what really makes life living loving?

***

“Allen?”

Kira and Allen had been jogging and were now stopping on a park bench to drink water.

“Yeah?”

“You’re four months sober today.”

Allen looked up from the ground.

“It feels like time hasn’t passed since — ” he stopped.

Kira placed her hand on his shoulder.

“I want to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  

Allen nodded.

“What did you love about Betty?”

Allen looked up and closed his eyes.

“She reminded me why I wanted to live. She reminded me why I should get help, why I should try to stop drinking. She made me realize that life was worth living.”

“How?” Kira asked softly.

Allen smiled a small smile, which stunned Kira. He hadn’t smiled in months.

“She was just so beautiful. Most people’s ideas of beauty are landscapes, or stars in the sky. But seeing her smile or laugh or think just made me feel so lucky to have her. I just loved how passionate she was about everything. I loved how when she read a book or watched a TV show or movie, she cared so deeply about the story if she really loved it. I loved how she was just so passionate about stories and art, and how happy they made her. Seeing her happy made me happy. I loved every now and then, a freckle would pop up on her cheek, and I loved kissing them. I loved sitting on a couch and us both reading and being absorbed in a book, yet our legs and hands were completely tangled up with each other. I just loved each and every one of those things so much that it overpowered my need to drink. My love for all these things was just stronger than the pull for the bottle. And without it…”

Kira took Allen’s hand. Allen hadn’t noticed, but he had started to cry. Kira put her head on Allen’s shoulder, and Allen cried silently.

“A-and I g-guess…”

“Yeah?”

“I always felt broken, and she didn’t exactly make me feel like I was fixed, but it was just that we were both broken. And I guess when we were together, we felt less like we were broken, and we were just cracked.”

***

“I want you to come to my graduation.”

Tasha’s words surprised him.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re six months sober now, Allen. You’ve been stable and secure, and I think you’d be able to handle it. And you’re my little brother. I want you to be there.”

Allen smiled softly, the second time he’d smiled in months.

“Of course, Nat. I’ll be there.”

Tasha smiled widely when hearing her brother call her the nickname he hadn’t used in three years, not since he’d started drinking. It almost made her hope that, eventually, things could go back to the way they were before Allen’s twenty-first birthday. Before he’d been institutionalized. Before Betty died. Before their lives had changed.

Allen clapped the loudest as Tasha accepted her diploma. You could tell he was the proudest of her of all the family members there cheering for their graduating loved ones. He hugged her the hardest, took the most pictures, and went to talk about her the most to Tasha’s friends. Tasha and Kira had been slightly nervous he’d start drinking, but he only had water. He was even offered alcoholic drinks, but he always politely refused. The three of them even went to a party with Tasha’s friends, and Kira even saw Allen smile, big smiles that took up his entire face.

***

When the doctor told Allen it had been a year, he was honestly shocked. It hadn’t felt like a year. It hadn’t felt like time passed at all. He had stopped drinking, but he usually felt dizzy and disoriented most of the time. He sometimes lost memories. Everything felt blurry and mushy unless he was with his sisters. Otherwise, he barely took anything in. So the news that he had been sober for a year was honestly huge. He felt he should be proud of himself, but the only thing that seemed to matter to him was that meant it been over a year since Betty died.

And he wasn’t mad at her anymore.

He missed her, actually. It didn’t make him want to drink, but he did miss kissing her cheek every morning when she woke up. He did miss how her hair always smelled like lemons. He missed looking at her when she was reading, and how into a story she got, wrapped up in words. He missed making her laugh. He missed cuddling her and her falling asleep in his arms, her glasses falling down her nose. He missed seeing her. He missed happiness.

What did happiness feel like before Betty?

His immediate thought was drinking, but he had learned since she died, that happiness wasn’t drinking. It was an addiction that he took over him. So he thought harder, tried to remember life before drinking, before the institution, before Betty.

Happiness was Christmas morning with his sisters, his parents, and their puppy, Carl. Happiness was movie night with his friends, betting on which would be the worst Star Wars movie the eighth time re-watching. Happiness was 2 am phone conversations with his cousins. Happiness was vegan pizza, and the light from the lamppost as he came home after a long day of school and hugs and puppy licks. Happiness was being a normal teenage boy.

But he’d lost all of that the day he’d asked for a beer and then didn’t stop.

                                                                        ***

“Tasha?”

His sister looked up from her book. The two of them were sitting opposite from each other in armchairs, reading.

“Yeah?”

“D-do you think if I visited Betty’s grave, it would help me move on?”

Tasha thought for a moment.

“I think you’ll find out if you try.”

Allen nodded.

“If-If I move on from Betty and accept her — “ he pressed his lips together and pushed forward, “what happened and move back home again?”

Tasha smiled sympathetically.

“Never mind. I know Mom and Dad don’t want to see me anymore.”

“I-It’s not that. It’s they’re just not sure if you do.”

Allen picked at his jeans.

“I’ve always wanted to see them. It’s just that the Allen with a bottle in his hand didn’t.”

 

                                                                       ***

HERE LIES ELIZABETH FRANK

1993 – 2016

A BELOVED DAUGHTER, SISTER, AND FRIEND

 

“You forgot girlfriend,” Allen whispered.

He sat down on the grass, facing the gravestone.

“I love you. I don’t know how long that will last. I don’t know if I’ll love like this again. I wish I could say that that’s okay, but the truth is that it hurts. It kills me.” Allen smiled sadly.

“The thing I hate the most is not hearing your laugh when I make stupid jokes, or you teasing me when I nerd out about Harry Potter. I hate the fact that it always feels like a room is empty without you there. I hate that I feel incomplete. I’m not sure if this is just grief, but if it is, then I definitely know I’ll be okay. Because death is permanent, but grief isn’t.” Allen wiped away the tears that had started falling silently. “I hated you for giving in. I hated that you let depression be stronger than love. I hated that I survived. I hated being forced to go on, to keep suffering. I hated that you left me to suffer. I guess the reason that I don’t hate you anymore is that I realized your depression didn’t define you. I realized that giving in didn’t define you either. And the hatred was just pain I tried to rename. I wanted it to be something else, because if I acknowledged what it really was, which was grief from losing you, it would only hurt more.”

Allen was sobbing now. He hadn’t sobbed this hard since the moment Betty died.

“Depression, grief, addiction- they’ve been hurting us for years. But as my sister told me, the illness only hurts you if you let it. It doesn’t if you fight it. And I’m not blaming you for giving in, or letting the illness hurt you. I’ve been so in love with you for so long, I almost forgot how bad our suffering was. And I can’t blame you for the depression being stronger than what we had. That wasn’t your fault. I know that now.”

Allen struggled to breathe; he was sobbing so hard he couldn’t see.

“I’m not apologizing. Because I was allowed to be angry. Maybe not at you, but I was allowed to be mad. I shouldn’t have gone to the bottle, but something I’ve learned is I can’t be mad at myself for drinking. I can’t blame myself for having a mental illness. I can’t blame myself for drinking, because I tried, and I worked hard. I can’t blame myself. I can’t hate myself.” Allen took a deep breath. “I can’t blame you.” He cried some more before continuing. “I can’t let depression touch me and make me question you or us. I have to fight it, like I fought the bottles. I’ll try to fight it, for you. For us. For who we were.” Allen cried until he had nothing left in him. “I love you. And the last thing I learned is that love does last after death, even for the person that lost. Because if I didn’t still love you, then I wouldn’t keep trying. I would have let the bottles win.”

***

“Allen?”

Allen put down the suitcases he’d been holding.

“Mom,” he whispered.

“Kira said you weren’t home.”

“A little lie for your own good,” Kira said as she walked in. “I’m going to put these suitcases in Allen’s room.”

She went upstairs, leaving Allen alone with his mother.

“H-how you’ve been?” his mother asked.

“Sober,” Allen said. “I’ve been sober eighteen months.”

“Th-that’s fantastic, honey.”

“M-Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I really never did mean those awful things I said. I-I was drunk. I love you and Dad, and I missed you.”

Allen’s mother started to tear up.

“We love you too, and we’re so sorry we didn’t see you,” she said as she walked over to her son, who had started crying, and hugged him.

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“C-can I have some water?”

 

Accidents Happen

Open. I was bored. I know high school parties are supposed to be fun and upbeat, especially when you’re a senior, but I couldn’t find myself having fun. I had been to one other high school party when I was a freshman, and I had regretted it as soon as I walked in. I had ended up leaving early, but that’s another story. 

“Earth to Samantha!” said my best friend, Daisy. “I can’t believe you came! Come, let’s get a drink!”

She took my hand and pulled me through the crowd, which was literally parting like the red sea for her. She was super popular and the life of the party. I, on the other hand, was not. I was that awkward childhood bestie that just happened to stay friends with her, even when she got popular.

She was so excited that I was here that I couldn’t say no to her. So I took the red Solo cup from her hands and took a tiny sip. Ugh, I hate beer. But I painfully swallowed it, all the while trying to act like I loved it.  

“YOU SHOULD CHUG IT!” she screamed over the loud party music.

Still not able to say no, I chugged it. Close. Open. She then took my arm again and pulled me out to the dance floor. There was a table in the middle, and everyone told her to dance on the table. She gleefully jumped up and invited me up. I was skeptical and a little lightheaded, but I wanted to have fun for once. Close. So I joined her up on the table and danced.

It was fun at first. But then I started to feel queasy. Open. Not good. I puked everywhere.  Literally on three different people’s heads. It was mortifying. I quickly jumped off the table and ran out of the house. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran the rest of the way to my car, but ended up puking again on the short way there. I quickly unlocked the car and jumped in. I locked it and turned it on. I put on the AC and let it blow on my face for a few minutes. After that, I felt better and decided to go home. I had only had one drink. I would be fine. People only crash in the movies. So after I convinced myself that I just couldn’t go back in and ask for a ride home, it was just too embarrassing, I decided to drive myself home.

Close.

***

I look to my left, nothing. I look to my right, nothing. I walk forward and SCREECH. SLAM. SMASH.

***

Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. I am able to keep my eyes open for a few seconds, enough to capture my surroundings. Where am I? Close.  

Open. I slowly wake up, and this time I can stay awake for a few minutes. I try to scream “HELP!” but end up letting out the tiniest whisper. I try and pull my head up, but fail. My neck is heavy, and I don’t have enough strength to raise it. I try and raise my arm, but it too can’t move.  A person in a white lab coat, who I realize is a doctor, comes over to me and smiles. He also seems to say something, but I can’t hear a thing he says. I furrow my eyebrows, and a skeptical look appears across my face. He then realizes something and puts something in what I think is my ear. I can’t feel anything. And then I hear it.  

Beep beep beep.

A steady beeping sound is coming from a machine across the room. I’ve heard that somewhere before. What’s it called? Oh right, a hospital.  

He then says, “Welcome back, Samantha. You are currently at Mount Sinai Hospital in treatment for two broken ribs, temporary hearing loss, a concussion, and a broken arm. You are currently on morphine to deal with your severe injuries. Do you know how you got here?”  

I quietly whisper, “No.”

He says, “You were in a major car accident. You drove on a red light, and there was a girl crossing. You swerved off the road to avoid hitting her and went straight into a lamppost. Your mother is on her way. Is there anyone else you would like me to call?”

I shake my head ever so slightly, but he sees it and finishes telling me about my injuries.  I heard most of it, but after two minutes or so my eyelids start to feel droopy.  
I whisper, “Sorry.”  

Close.

Open. A nurse says I have visitors. My mom and dad enter the room and urgently rush to my bedside. Close. Open.

I smile weakly and say, “Hi.”

They tell me that my siblings are outside waiting for their turn to come in, since they didn’t want to overwhelm me. My mom starts crying, and my dad puts his arm around her to provide her comfort. I raise my left hand, the one without the gigantic cast, and gesture for her to come closer.

She leans in, and I whisper, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Close.

Open.

“She’s awake!” says my sister, Sara.

I smile weakly and greet all of them — granted of course I whisper a greeting to them — but it’s the thought that counts. I can see their mouths smiling, but I can see their eyes have this pitiful look in them, like they feel bad for me. But I ignore that look since it just makes the situation even more depressing than it already is. They sense a bit of a hostile vibe, and so they tell me they brought me something to make me feel comfortable. Jeremy, my youngest brother who still happens to be in diapers, shows me my baby blanket. I smile. It’s the blanket I’ve had since I was three years old.  I’ve never spent a night without it. He gives it to Sara, who gently spreads it across my legs. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer, so I take the last bit of energy I have and whisper “Thank you” with a weak smile to go along with it. Close.

Open. Today is the day! I would finally be let out of the hospital.

My mom asks me, “How are you doing, honey? Do you feel okay? Do you need some food or water? Do you want me to tell any of your friends that you’re getting out today? Do you need anything? Anything at all?”

I smile and shake my head slowly. I walk through the automatic glass doors as if they’re the gates to heaven. Even if I’ll be on bed rest for a while, at least I won’t have to eat the gross hospital food. And even better, it will smell like home and not like a hospital. I’m in desperate need of a change in scene. I breathe in the fresh air, but my rib shifts and “OW!” It hurts with every deep breath. I forgot I was supposed to take shortened breaths. Okay, I officially hate ribs. I start to feel a little woozy. I sway a little bit to the right and then a little bit to the left. Close.

Open. Okay, maybe tomorrow will be the day. I guess pain meds are necessary, especially since I fainted from the pain. Ugh, why does God hate me so much?!

“Ow.  DOCTOR, I’M READY FOR MY DRUGS!” I call out, praying that the pain would just go away any second now, and I could just walk out the door and breathe in some fresh air without the pain and burden of having two broken ribs.

Right there and then, right as the five different pain pills are going down my throat, I decide to never go to a party again. And then I decide to swear off all alcohol. Close.

 

A Short Autobiography of the Great Max Abrams: Soon to hopefully someday be a major motion picture: “Written” By The Great Max Abrams Himself

Reflecting back on my life experience, I am pleased to say that since my birth, my life has definitely increased in excitement dramatically. While starting out bland as the poor schlub who used to be the infantile Max Abrams, every year, my life has been getting more and more exciting for the most part, an attribute I feel is unique to myself. I can trace all this success to one moment in my childhood, when after a game of little league baseball, even though we barely won more than two games, in the end, I was given something special, something necessary to helping me realize I was not part of the crowd. I was given a trophy for participation! An award for just existing in the presence of my peers! As soon as I got one, I ran over to my parents, beaming with joy. I didn’t stay to see what happened next, but I assume that everyone else just left immediately afterwards as there was nothing more to see.

Throughout the majority of my childhood, I carried that glorious plastic monument to my greatness everywhere I went. Sure, some of the low self-esteem hateful critics would mock me and attempt to make my school life a living nightmare, but I didn’t mind, I knew they envied me on the inside.

Due to a streak of bad luck I experienced after high school, though my talent was remarkably astounding, I could not find a stable job after senior year had ended. One of the things I’ve learned about most businesses is that they don’t enjoy hiring people who they think are too much of an individual. They prefer the type of person with no spine, who goes to college, and has attributes listed on their resume other than being destined for greatness, or having won many awards for participation. This led me to getting a job at our local Neptune Coffee House, one of the top chains in the great center of the universe known as Broken Bow, Nebraska with over three locations!

When I walked into work my first day, a balding, overweight, middle-aged man greeted me at the door. I was unusually nervous that day, so I attempted to do my 20 minute speech, introducing myself and explaining all my accomplishments in life, rather than the full hour speech. Yet only five minutes and 48 seconds in, he had the audacity cut me off!

“Alright, kid, enough with the funny business! It’s your first day on the job, and I already think I should start looking for replacements. Now listen here, my name is Gary. Your coworkers are in the back getting ready. Go join them, and they’ll teach you the works, and if I hear you using that introduction spiel on coworkers or customers, you’re fired! Kapeesh?”

“Kapeesh,” I replied.

Somehow I didn’t get the feeling he was a fan of me, but I decided to ignore it and see if that’s just a Gary specific aura I get around him. I walked into the back to meet my coworkers, and saw the exact type of people I expected to see. One person was smoking in the corner, and the other two people looked like walking corpses who couldn’t stand their jobs. Already, I knew with my charisma and destiny for greatness, I could rise to the top of this coffee shop without even trying. As soon as I walked in, one of the corpses walked up to me and greeted me very apathetically.

“Hey, you must be the new guy. Max, right?” he asked.

“Well, actually it’s Max Abrams, and — ” I attempted to give him a good introduction, but he cut me off.

“Okay, Max, it’s very fantastic to meet you,” he said in a very unenthusiastic voice. “I’m Michael, the kid smoking over there is Scott, and the girl is Skyler.”

I realized that the people here didn’t seem to be cultured enough to listen to my introductions, so I just said a short hi directed to both of them. The only reply I got back was a finger gun from Skyler. At this point, I felt a bit irritated that out of all the people I could’ve been stuck with, I had to be stuck with these lowlifes. I deserved better than this! I needed to move up the ladder if I were to survive in this wasteland known as a coffee shop chain.

“Anyway,” Michael continued, “You’ll be working the register and taking down people’s orders, alright? There’s a list of prices and things you should do when working the register on the counter.”

“Okay. Thanks, Michael” I replied, and I walked out to the register.

When I got there, I had an idea. I realized that if I were to really present myself to the consumers, I could get them to tell the manager about how great I am! After all, people talk to the manager about bad workers, so why not for good workers who really talk to you like a friend. I started brainstorming what to say when the first customer walked in, a small balding man who looked as if he was going through a midlife crisis. The perfect person to try out my new schtick. He was about to walk over like you would at some loser coffee shop, but I knew he was special. He was my first customer. I jumped over the gate we used to get into the coffee area and ran up to him. He looked shocked and frightened, most likely because of how amazing and unique of a barista I was being.

“Hey, welcome to the best Neptune Coffee House in all of Broken Bow, Nebraska! My name’s Max Abrams, by the way. I come from humble beginnings, but after winning an award just for being me in a game of little league baseball, I have learned just how amazing I am! If you would like to put in a good word to my manager, that would help a lot. Thank you!” I said joyfully with a smile. “But enough about me, what would you like to order?”

But when I looked down to see him, he was already running out the door. I guess he may have just forgotten his wallet or something.

The next few customers gave me a mix of responses from “Get out of my face” and “You just lost a customer” to even “Yeah, I’ll tell your manager something!” Which was a big success in my book. Halfway through the day, after a few of the people had talked to the manager, Michael came over, looking about as alive as usual and in an almost completely monotone voice said, “Hey, Max, the manager wants to see you.”

I jumped with joy!

“Oh my God! Michael, thank you so much for the news! Also it’s Max Abrams, but who cares! I can’t thank you enough!” I gleefully replied, and I skipped over to Gary’s office!

I wondered how great of a promotion I would be getting. I mean, I was pretty sure I sold more than ten coffees today. I had to be getting some kind of raise of sorts. Needless to say, I was enthusiastic beyond all belief. When I opened the door, Gary was smoking a cigar and waiting for me.

“You, new kid, take a seat!” he muttered in annoyance.

His office was straight out of some weird basement from the 70’s. The walls were made of a dark wood. There was a dart board on the wall to the left of me, and he had a Windows ‘95 computer on his desk. I was mesmerized by this room of so much history. On the wall to the right of me, there were plaques that seemed to date back to at least the early 80’s of employees of the month, with the latest plaque having no picture with the words, “You are all terrible at your jobs. If I could get a new staff I would not hesitate. Do better next month. – Gary”

I knew one day I would be on this wall along with the greats, my name memorialized forever. Decades from now, people would look at my plaque and get inspired to do better at their job than they ever had before. Then, suddenly, I heard Gary yelling at me.

“Hey, kid! Snap out of it! Were you even listening to what I was saying?” he asked in a furious manner.

“Oh, sorry, Gary! I was basking in the glory of the greats!” I hurriedly explained.

Gary didn’t seem pleased by my admiration of my coffee serving forefathers, but I decided to ignore it as he carried on.

“Okay, I’ll get to the point. I’ve realized I can’t afford to lose you. Out of all the lowlives in town who need jobs, somehow you’re unfortunately the best I could find. But I’m not letting you leave without punishment. Three people came up to me complaining about you today. I’m docking your pay to minimum wage, or five cents below what you had before until you learn how to treat a customer! Understand?”

I was in total shock! I couldn’t believe he was doing this to me! Out of all these people who came to compliment me, he decides that he’s going to dock my pay by an insane amount and call me a lowlife anyway! I couldn’t stand this! I knew something had to be done. The second I got to my home, I started plotting my revenge. I got out some construction paper, and I ripped out a pieces of wood from the attic floor as well as some duct tape and made signs for me and my coworkers. We were going on strike.

The next morning, I got up early and waited for my coworkers to get here. One by one, I handed them signs, and one by one, they gave them back and called me a name along the lines of a nitwit. They had been too influenced by the man already to go on strike with me. They were the real nitwits, but I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t their fault they became these spineless husks of humans. It was Gary’s. A little while later, Gary himself came out, red with rage.

“What do you think you’re doing, you idiot!” he yelled at me, furious that I was fighting his authority like a true hero.

“I’m going on strike until you acknowledge my talent and give me that pay back!” I replied.

That made Gary even more blind with rage.

“You know what, fine, I’ll acknowledge your talent! You have one. Almost every single customer hates you. You’ve been here one day, and you’ve already probably caused a downfall in the amount of customers who will come to this location now! Thanks a lot, Abrams. Go ahead, strike. Strike until you realize how much people care about self-entitled knuckleheads like you!”

I knew he was just trying to hide his fears of being powerless, leading to him trying to assert his authority on me, so I just ignored him and kept striking. I got out my favorite “Gary is a big jerk. Please boycott this establishment until I get more money” sign out and started chanting the aforementioned “Gary is a big jerk” slogan. It seemed to be a slow day with only a few people coming in, and even less acknowledging me with joyful yes’s, which I’m pretty sure were directed towards my cause. The day was still going very slow, at least until halfway through, when I noticed something from inside. Scott and Skyler were pointing at me and laughing. I was a bit confused until I noticed them taking out their phones to take a video of my protest, and I realized what they were doing. They weren’t the enemy. They were giving me media coverage! They were double agents! I was jumping for joy on the inside, but I knew I had to act professional. So I kept on protesting like nothing was happening, while once in a while, doing a slight wink or a wave just to show my gratitude.

On the way home, teens were greeting me and saying stuff like “There he is!” and “That’s the guy!” I knew that my message had gotten out to the people. The next day, 20 people came to strike, and they all seemed very into it. The day after, 50 people came. The day after, there were about 100 people. This increased until next week, when pretty much the entire teen population of Broken Bow was protesting. I had really done something! I’d started a movement! Sure most of these people said, “I’m here as a joke” as teenagers do. But I knew that on the inside, they were with me. All were chanting my ‘Gary is a big jerk’ slogan in unison. Eventually, around the end of the day, Gary himself came out, looking very happy. He walked up to me at the front of the crowd and asked me to follow him into his office. I did so as the crowd applauded my victory over the man. I walked into his office and sat down with him.

“Abrams, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about a compromise, and I’ve finally come to one. You see, I hate your guts, but the more important thing is what the public thinks of you, and if you can bring in this many people as customers, I’ll let you have your job and pay back with a little extra even. Who knows, you may even be the next employee of the month! What do you say? Deal?”

“Deal!” I said without hesitation.

I came outside, holding hands with Gary in a victorious pose, and that said it all. The crowd applauded us. I felt like the day when I got my first participation award was happening all over again but even better than before.

After that day, the store saw a sharp increase in customers, all because they wanted to get a cup of coffee served to them by the great Max Abrams! Almost everyone in town knows me, and I even got a raise of two cents from my original pay! I must say that the greatest part of my success was receiving employee of the month from my former enemy, Gary. I brought the certificate they gave me home and hung it next to my first participation award I got so long ago to remind me that even today, I’m still destined for greatness. This year, a barista. Next year, omnipotent ruler of the universe!

 

The Stag

Prologue

The cave was filled with the smoke of a thousand herbs smelling sweet, smoky and savory. Pools of water bubbled on the ground, releasing gouts of steam.  Somewhere, water dripped, making echoing, plinking sounds. Mara entered in her white robe, an acolyte of the Oracle. Her hair and face were covered by a light veil.

From the back of the cave, a voice. High and serene, the voice intoned: “Come, my child, I have something to tell.”

Picking up the the hem of her robes, she hurried towards the back of the cave . She pushed through a wall of steam and saw her, the oracle. She was a wizened old thing, ensconced in her brown robes, sitting on a chair carved into the rock of the cave. From her robes emerged a single gaunt hand with one thin finger beckoning Mara towards her. Mara stepped forward and waited.

The oracle began to shake, her bent frame convulsing. Her eyes rolled back, and a milky white was all that was visible in the sockets. Her head bent back and the oracle in an otherworldly voice declared:

“Though the land is broken,

The fields awash with blood,

One will come to rule them,

And unite them in the mud.

The child of the unmarried will do this,

Flying the blue flag,

But to bring peace to the nation,

They must slay the white stag.”

The shaking ceased, the hand went back into the brown robes, and the eyes rolled back and then closed. She muttered a prayer in the hope those eyes would open again. Mara ran back to the entrance of the cave. She had to spread the word.

She emerged from the cave and made her way down the rough track to the monastery, almost tripping on the rough red stone. She could see it now, smoke rising from the kitchens, the spire of the temple reaching up to the gods above. Abbess Eleanor, thought Mara, she would know what to do. She reached the bottom of the path and entered the wide courtyard of the monastery.

“Child, what did the oracle tell you?” said the Abbess, a stern-faced woman, a head taller than Mara with her hair and limbs hidden by voluminous blue robes. Mara repeated what she had heard.

“My, that is important,” said the Abbess. “Come with me.” The Abbess turned heel and Mara followed hastily.

They headed into the main building of the monastery itself. It was built from the same red stone as the mountain with floors worn smooth from centuries of feet walking across them. They turned left and then right and ascended a spiral staircase. Mara could tell they were going to the pigeon roost.

They came to the top of the stairs into a huge room filled with grey and brown pigeons warbling and cooing in little cages. Instead of an outside wall, there was just a giant window out of which the pigeons would fly when released. From out of a corner hustled a short, mousy woman in a brown robe, the pigeon keeper.

“Abbess, to what do we owe the pleasure?” she chirped.

“We have a message, a prophecy, from the oracle,” replied the abbess.

“Ah! Understood. I’ll get the pigeons ready!” she squeaked.

“Abbess,” began Mara softly, “what will happen?”

“Well, we will send a copy of the prophecy to every town and castle in the land.”

“But what if it causes chaos? What if there’s another war?”

“Mara, our responsibility, given to us by the gods, is to hear their will in the form of prophecy.  We do not interfere in worldly affairs.”            

“I suppose so…” Mara was troubled, but she forced herself to seem convinced.

The Abbess lifted Mara’s head to look her in the eyes. “I know it’s hard for one so young to understand, child, but in time you will come to.”  

 

Chapter One

Winter, the castle shivered in the last snow of the season. Out on the walls, a lone sentry walked, trudging through a foot of snow. Clinging to his spear, he shivered even through his layers of fur, leather, and mail surrounded by a wool cloak. On the tip of his spear flapped the flag bearing the white eagle on a blue field of the House of Maren. He looked out on the snowy field surrounding the castle where once there had been a road and fields of wheat, but now there was only a desolate whiteness.

Jack had lived here all his life, born of a miller’s daughter and a traveling bard in the nearby village. As soon as he was old enough to be considered a man, he was brought into the service of Lord Maren to fight at the Bloody Marsh. He shivered again, this time not from cold, and muttered a quick prayer. A man now of four and twenty, it still haunted him. At night, he still heard it. The braying of trumpets, the clash of steel, the thrum of arrows, a brother’s scream.

The winter had muted the once-lively castle. Where once training swords clashed and horses whinnied, now there was only the soft crunching of snow and the furtive whistling of wind. Through the walls of the great hall Jack could hear them, the people of the castle breaking their fast. The sound of their laughter would be his only companion until he was relieved.

Then he heard it. A clomping sound, like the one made by the destriers the knights rode into battle. It was coming from the forest, but Jack couldn’t see the source at first through the pines and the bare branches of the oaks. He strained his eyes and saw a flash of gold through the trees moving quickly toward the field in front of the castle. Then in a blast of snow it burst from the forest: The Stag.

As tall as two men, its fur was a ghostly white. Atop its head were two enormous golden antlers long as a man’s leg curved and twisted half a hundred times with points like daggers. The sun rippled off them like on a river in summer. And when it snorted, smoke puffed out of its nostrils. But what struck Jack was not the fur, not the antlers, but the eyes. They burned a scarlet red and seemed to flicker like a flame. The Stag reared up and let out a roaring bellow. It was like hundreds of warhorns blowing together in a blast that seemed to go on for a year.

The sound of it shook Jack like a thunderclap did a dog. He sprinted to the nearest tower, dropping his spear. As he ran up the spiral steps, he could see through the windows that the sound had roused some of the men from the great hall and a few were running to the walls. He reached the top of the tower and began to ring the great alarm bell, pulling the rope with both arms. The roar stopped and as Jack looked at the Stag, it looked back, peering into him. He felt its fiery eyes burning into him.

Then, with a push of its powerful legs, it was off again flying over the snow.

“By the gods, what madness is this? What’s going on beyond my walls?”

Clovis Maren, Lord of Rookfort and Stone Harbor, had climbed onto the walls. Closer to fifty than he was to forty, Lord Clovis was no longer the strong man he had been in his youth. He was red in the face and short of breath from walking the long stairs up to the wall. Behind him walked his second son and heir Peter, a young man of middling height and a thicket of curly brown hair.  Adjusting his blue velvet tunic, Clovis turned to Sir Wyatt Witspear, the master-at-arms.

“Sir Wyatt, what’s going on here?”  

“A stag, my lord, a white one with golden antlers just like in the prophecy,” replied Sir Wyatt. His gravelly voice and scarred face revealed him as one who had lived his life as a creature of the battlefield. A head taller than most men, he wore a tough leather jerkin and at his belt carried a mace, a short iron-headed lead-weighted club with sharp spikes.

“Well who first saw it?” asked Clovis loudly, so all could hear it.

Jack, now back on the wall, shouted back “I did, milord!”

“There’s three gold coins for you. The rest of you, go back to your posts. I have no need of a crown.”

Behind him, Peter raised an eyebrow and smirked.

***

The forest was eerily beautiful, he thought. The steps of the horses muffled by the snow, the soft clink of armor, a soft chuckle here and there; in the forest, it seemed that everything became quieter. Long, thin icicles dripped down from tree branches, and the green of pine and fir trees was the only break from the endless white and grey and blue of snow and stone and sky.  

Hunting was a thirsty business. Hunting for a stag, hunting for a crown…Sir Ryan of Velburg took a sip from his wineskin to keep away the cold. He put it back in the saddlebag of his palfrey. They’d been following the stag for nigh on three weeks now. It had not been a fruitful search. He and twelve of his best riders had been tracking it ever since it was spotted in the forest near Velburg and had been following its huge hoofprints ever since.

He supposed it was fitting that he would try to kill the animal that was his coat of arms. He wore a steel breastplate with a white stag emblazoned on the front. His helmet, slung on the back of his Squire Wat’s horse, had two golden antlers coming from the top. His sword hilt had a pommel with a white stag’s head with ruby eyes. He had been granted Velburg by the King for loyal service just before Bloody Marsh, and with it he took the symbol of the town for his coat-of-arms. He smiled a cold smile when he thought of what he’d done at the marsh.

“Lamb, where in the hell are we?” he shouted back to one of the riders.

“I think we’re in Clovis Maren’s land!” Lamb shouted back. Lambert Till fancied himself the intellectual of the group. He, too, was trained in arms, but he had a stack of books in his saddlebags.

“Maren! Is that fat oaf still the lord? I think he is!” he cackled. “Boys,” he turned his horse and faced his men, “I think we should pay the lovely Lord Clovis a visit!”

Spurring his horse, he gestured back at his men with a wave of the hand and they galloped on. Maren! Ryan remembered that charge, when his horsemen had broken Maren’s lines and won the battle for the king. The king for now… Paying the Lord a visit would be droll. Custom would demand he and his men be accepted into the castle and into the feast hall with open arms. He cackled again. Being a noble was fun.

 

Revenge

I listened to the pitter-patter of my footsteps as I ran and ran around the reservoir in Central Park, wishing for the angry string of emotions to disappear. But they wouldn’t. What people could do to you was shocking, and especially when you thought you knew them so well. When you thought they were your friend.

I could still hear the snickers and the taunting shouts as my best friend, Elise, and I glared at each other, and I thought of how she betrayed me in the worst way possible. But I didn’t feel sadness build up inside of me while I rushed through the wind. I was boiling mad, upset that someone could do this, and cursing the blue sky above me. I wanted to take back what was mine. I wanted to show that I wasn’t afraid to do the same to Elise as she did to me. If she would hurt me, when we were so close to each other, I would have to hurt her too.

The bitter expression on my face morphed into a wicked smile, spreading the scary happiness throughout my body. And as I kept running, running, running, I started to think of a plan. A plan that would be dangerously mean, but get back at the person who took a secret that wasn’t hers, and gave it to another who didn’t need it, nor want it.

As I completed my second lap around the reservoir, I went off the path and started to run home, dodging the passing bikes as dark thoughts curled around my mind. When I reached the comfort of my bedroom, I immediately sank into my desk chair and grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen, scribbling my horrifically terrible ideas to hurt my ex-best friend. I stared at my list and chose the ones that seemed to work the best. I was going to try them all, and I wouldn’t stop until I felt that I had done enough.

***

I woke up to a rainy, muggy day. I swiped my brown hair into a ponytail, then stepped out of my apartment, feeling the cool, moist drops on my bare arms. I checked to make sure the list was in my pocket.

Day One: Ignore Elise.

It wasn’t the best idea, but I knew that I could never forgive her, and I wanted to make sure that she understood that.

I reached my school, and walked through the hallways, trying to ignore the stares and whispers that trailed me as I trotted to homeroom. It meant that my secret had spread, and it only made me more anxious to get on with my revenge.

Once I reached room 309, I sank into my second-row desk seat, unfortunately next to Elise. They were the seats we had picked out together in the beginning of the school year, and we hadn’t changed them since.

“Hey,” she said to me.

I opened a book and started to read, slightly turning away from her.

“Um, Hannah? I want to talk to you,” she said.

She sounded desperate. I kept reading.

“Hannah, I need to tell you something. I’m sorry.” She looked away, hurt.

I almost gave in. I wanted to talk to her, wanted to say something as if nothing was wrong. But everything was wrong. I kept reading. The bell rang. I closed my book and walked away from Elise and her sad, sad face.

For the rest of the day, Elise stared at me with cold eyes, while I looked away and focused on what I was doing. I didn’t want anything to do with her.

Leaving school felt like I was a bird being let out of a cage. I needed to get away. So far, the first plan had worked, but it was just the beginning. I needed to show her how much it hurt, how terrible it feels when someone you thought you knew betrayed you. But before I could think of how to continue, my mom walked into the room on a phone call. I was startled, and quickly folded the paper, dropping it into my backpack.

“Okay. I’ll make sure to talk to her. I’m so sorry,” my mom said.

She hung up the phone. She looked at me, and I stared back.

“Honey, that was Kacey, Elise’s mom,” she said with a sigh.

This couldn’t be good.

“She said that Elise came home crying today and told her everything that happened in school between you two. Why did you ignore her? She was trying to say sorry.”

I frowned. I was the one who should be crying, not her. She deserves what she’s getting. I stayed silent.

“Hannah, I don’t need to know why you ignored her, but I can guess. I know she hurt you so much, but you guys were so close. Is there any way you can fix things with her?”

I shook my head.

“Well, this is getting out of hand. I think you should at least talk. Call her.”

She held out the phone, waiting for me to grab it and dial the number I’ve dialed a thousand times. I shook my head. She sighed.

“It’s your decision,” she said, leaving the phone on my desk and closing my baby blue bedroom door behind her.

It would be so easy. I could just reach out and grab the phone, dial, and talk to Elise. I would confess my feelings, she would tell me she’s sorry, and we’d be friends again. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had to finish what I started, because revealing a secret about me, especially one so personal, was unforgivable.

***

Day Two: Take Elise’s friends away from her.

This was harsher and more difficult than yesterday’s plan. I thought about it all the way to school. It wasn’t going to be easy.

The second day of ignoring my best friend was even harder than the first, but I reminded myself of the secret she stole, and my plan to get revenge was back on. I sat down in homeroom without even bothering to look at Elise, instead focusing on the girl with the wispy blonde hair, striking green eyes, and perfect lip gloss on my other side. Her name was Stacy Robertsson.

Elise’s new best friend.

My eyes focused on her as if zoning in on prey. I shifted my weight to her side and started talking.

“Hey, Stacy,” I said, a little too cheerfully.

Stacy’s green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Um, hello, Hannah,” she replied, monotone.

She looked away, uninterested. I sighed. This was going to be tougher than I thought. I had to figure out a way to get Stacy to like me.

Before I could say something again, the bell rang. Stacy and Elise got up and linked arms, walking to class together while whispering furiously. Probably about my sudden need to be friendly. I zipped up my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, then ran off to class.

During lunch, I sat all alone with no food. I didn’t want anything to eat, especially after my secret let out. It was strange, thinking that what Elise told everyone would’ve, in a perfect world, given me more supporters. But this clearly wasn’t a perfect world. I stood up suddenly to leave, filled with rage, but someone stopped me. Someone with bright blond hair. It was Stacy.

I froze, completely in shock.

“Hey, Hannah. I’m sorry about being rude earlier. I’m just not used to you being so friendly to me ever since I became friends with Elise. Are we okay?” she said kindly, her eyes showing her sincerity.

I slowly unfroze my body, forcing my mouth to move.

“Oh!” I said stupidly. Then, remembering my plan, I spoke again, more confident. “Yeah, Stacy, we’re fine.”

“Great! Do you want to sit down and talk a little?” she said happily.

My eyes narrowed. Why was she so nice all of a sudden? But I didn’t linger on it for too long.

“Sure,” was all I could manage to say.

We both took a seat on the bleach-white cafeteria benches. We sat in silence for a little while, both of us unsure and uncomfortable. Stacy cleared her throat.

“So,” she started, “how are you?”

“I’m fine!” I replied, eager to start a conversation that could launch my plan for day two.

“Um, Hannah, I have to tell you something,” she said uncomfortably.

“Of course,” I said, unsure of where this was going.

She took a deep breath.

“The reason I came over here was because Elise is moving next Monday, and I thought I would try to make some new friends. Since you and Elise were so close, maybe we could try being friends. I know this is really sudden, but I would like to get to know you,” she finished with a sigh of relief to get everything out.

My mind slowly processed what she had just said, and my guard went down. I had no idea Elise was leaving in less than a week.   

“I would like to get to know you too, Stacy,” I said with a smile.

My plan could finally work. After school, Stacy and I plopped down onto my pale pink comforter. I had invited her over so we could get to know each other better, and my mom was practically ecstatic when she saw me bring home a “friend.” She had rushed over to see if we wanted a snack, rambling on about smoothies and cookies that we could eat, until I said, “It’s okay, Mom, we don’t need a snack.”

She stopped talking, then smiled and said, “Well, I’m here if you need me!”

We started to talk about ourselves. Stacy had two siblings, twins, and both of them boys. Her dad was Swedish, and her mom was from Canada. She became friends with Elise two days after my secret was no longer mine. Had it really already been a month? I began to tell her about me, how I was an only child, how I had been friends with Elise for six years before we started drifting apart, until we finally split. I was going to ask her a question, but she interrupted me before I could say anything.

“Hannah, I know,” she said.

“Know what?” I said with a strained smile.

I knew what she was talking about. It was what Elise told everyone. Of course Stacy would know. She fumbled with the soft, ivory fabric of her shirt.

“I know that you’re insecure about your weight.”

And that’s all it took. I froze, and even though I already knew that most of my grade had found out, it was worse when one of them talked directly to me. I wanted to disappear, wanted to escape into a different world. A tear blurred my vision, until everything was gone.

“Hannah. Hannah. Hannah…”

Someone was saying my name. I slowly opened my eyes, and I was lying down on my bed. There was a bit of dull pain in the back of my head, and my whole body felt sore, but somehow refreshed. I sat up, surprised by the sharp pain in my temples. I squealed from the pain and fell back down on my pillow. Someone was standing next to my bed. It was my mom, a crease between her brows forming from worry.

“How are you, honey?” she asked, sound worried. “You passed out for a while.”

“I’m… okay, I guess,” I replied. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours. It’s 7:00 pm now.”

“What happened to Stacy?”

“She’s still here. She decided to stay after you passed out and wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

I wasn’t sure what she wanted to talk about. I thought our conversation was over, but at least she was nice enough to stick around. Stacy rushed into my room, immediately crouching down by my bed.

“Hannah, I’m so, so sorry. I guess I caused you to pass out when I took you by surprise by telling you I knew your secret. Then you fainted and hit your head, and it’s all my fault.”

I was surprised that she was apologizing. It wasn’t her fault, after all, that she knew my secret. I interrupted her before she could say anything else.

“Stacy, it’s okay. Really. I don’t blame you at all, and I know that the rest of the grade knows about my insecurity and fear. It just took me by surprise when you told me.”

I didn’t want her to feel bad. She was really sweet, after all, and I thought she was brave to come out and tell me what Elise told everyone.

“Really?” she said, the worry in her face melting away slowly.

“Really,” I replied, smiling.

I couldn’t believe I actually felt okay with what happened. Stacy cared enough to stay. She looked me straight in my hazel eyes, and she said something I never imagined coming out from her.

“I want to help you.”

She was back to looking slightly sad, but behind that, I could see the determination.

“Help me with what?” I said, puzzled for a second.

“I want to help you with your body confidence because no one thinks you’re overweight. Nobody ever did. In fact, we all want to help. Everyone’s just too scared to be the first one to try.”

I was stunned. This whole time, I thought everyone was mocking me, making fun of me, when really, they wanted to help. And that meant so much to me. Who would’ve thought that my revenge plan would actually give me a new friend. A friend who showed me what was really going on in everyone else’s minds when my secret reached their ears.

I was speechless. Stacy had astonished me with her kindness, and I was so grateful that we had become friends.

“Thank you… for telling me,” was all I could manage.

I was frozen from her concern, but I smiled. A real smile.

“No problem,” she said, grinning, tears swelling in her eyes. “I thought you should know because I’m gonna try my hardest to help. I promise.”

And then we were hugging, tearing up next to each other, until she had to leave. I sat on my tearstained bed, smiling when I thought of my new best friend. She seemed to understand my troubles more than Elise ever did. I believed that I could try to get over my insecurity, but it was going to be hard.

The next few days at school, I had forgotten about my revenge plan. I didn’t try and cower when other kids looked at me. I made a small smile and said hi. They returned the favor, and some even grinned. But they weren’t mean or trying to mock me like I thought. They were genuinely nice to me, and that was comforting. Stacy really was telling the truth.

I still ignored Elise. She seemed extremely sad about it, but I couldn’t forgive her. Even though other kids were supportive, I didn’t understand why she would release that secret in the first place.  

After school on Friday, Stacy came to my house again to start what she called “The Hannah Mission.” She plopped onto my navy blue rug decorated with white hearts and motioned for me to follow her. I sat down across from her, underneath the dimly lit lightbulb in my room, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous. I had no idea how she was going to try and help me.

She tossed her blond hair, and smiled at me. “Let’s start with a simple conversation. Can you tell me why you’re so sensitive about your weight?”

 It seemed like an easy question, but I took a deep breath. It was scary to admit my true feelings. I began slowly.

“When I was a young girl, about five years old, I ate a lot. I had a huge appetite, and slowly began to expand like a balloon. I was getting dangerously big, until my parents were forced to put me on a diet. I’ve shedded all the excess weight since, but I’ve become extremely insecure about gaining it all back. I’ve become scared, and sometimes I skip multiple meals.” I closed my eyes, forcing myself not to cry from admitting everything to someone I had become friends with the previous day.

Stacy was genuinely kind and was going to help me. Her eyes softened with understanding. She scooted herself closer to me and held my hands. Her green eyes turned glossy with tears and stared into my own teary ones.

She whispered, “Thank you for telling me. I know that was probably hard for you.”

I shook my head. It was easier than I thought, and it felt relieving to finally let go and tell someone. I hadn’t even told Elise when we were friends; I had just told her that I was insecure. Somehow, Stacy was becoming one of my closest friends ever.

I had one more question, though.

“Why did Elise tell my secret to everyone?”

Stacy looked down. She played with the strings hanging from her dark ripped jeans. When she gazed up at me again, I was surprised to see even more tears hanging from her light eyelashes, and a small, sad smile on her face.

“She wanted to help you.”

My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe it. Stacy continued, the smile still lingering on her lips.

“She told all of her other friends, including me, and asked for help to give you confidence. She was horribly depressed when you took it the wrong way, and even more when the secret spread. She never meant for everyone to know. She trusted us, and I’m still not sure who spilled the beans.” She finished, still staring at my now petrified face.

All this time, I thought she had deliberately hurt me. The days leading up to when the secret spread, we hadn’t been talking much, and our friendship was already fading. When I thought that she gave away my private information, I thought we were done. It turns out, she was helping me all along. I felt so terrible about blaming Elise. I had to fix it.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said quietly.

Stacy nodded and said, “See you on Monday.”

She picked up her lavender-colored backpack and smiled sadly, then closed the door behind her. For a few moments, I sat on my rug, unsure of what to do. Then I got up, took out the piece of paper with my plans for revenge, crumpled it, and threw it away.

***

The weekend passed slowly. Stacy had plans to visit her grandparents, and Elise was spending time with her visiting cousins, as Stacy had informed me. I needed to talk to Elise face-to-face anyways. I needed to apologize to her.

When Monday morning came, the walk to school felt like I was running a race. I was worried that I couldn’t get there in time to say goodbye to Elise. Worried that she would leave before we could set the record straight.

Arriving at school, I started to search for the long, black head of hair that belonged to Elise. I ran through the hallways, looking at every face that passed by.

I didn’t see her.

Reaching the end of the hallway, I was panting like a dog. Horribly depressed that Elise was nowhere to be seen, I walked into my classroom, sighing as I sat down at my desk. I reached into my bag to grab my book, when I saw a pair of those basic black-and-white adidas shoes. Elise’s shoes. Of course! She sat right next to me; we had chosen our seats together. I brought my head up quickly, and there was Elise, with her long black hair and olive-toned skin. I laughed and threw my arms around her.

She wanted to help me.

She wanted to help all along.

I could tell she was stunned by my sudden movement, for her body froze up almost instantaneously. But then, her arms wrapped around me just as tight, and I was never so happy to be with her.

The bell rang, pausing the moment. We let go, and she stared at me with her dark brown eyes.

“Thank you for trying to help me,” I whispered ever so softly.

“No problem,” she whispered back, a small giggle escaping from her mouth. “I can’t believe you finally know. I never realized you might be upset that I told your secret to my friends. I was just trying to help, but I should’ve kept the secret to myself.” She sighed.

“Thank you. I mean it. Stacy’s helping me now, and I think I might be able to get over this fear. I just have to be confident with myself.”

I laughed. I couldn’t even believe I said it. Elise smiled, showing all of her pearly white teeth.

“At least something good came out of this.”

For the rest of the day, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Stacy, Elise, and I hung out like we were always friends, walking around school, linking arms.

But Elise was leaving. At 4:00. One hour after school ended.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the day, the three of us gathered at Elise’s house to send her off. A huge truck was parked outside her bronze-toned house, with the words “Sam’s Movers” written in big, fat, red letters on the side, and a picture of a bunch of big brown boxes.

We walked inside Elise’s house to help her carry the rest of the boxes outside. I walked around her now empty house, the place I spent so much time during my childhood. We’d have sleepovers in her living room and listen to the popcorn kernels come to life. We’d beg her parents to stay up late. I’d come after school and sit down with Elise, eat a chocolate-chip cookie, and we would talk about our day.

It would all be gone in thirty minutes.

I suddenly had a pure feeling of sadness. My childhood friend would be leaving, even if we hadn’t talked for the past couple of weeks.

I burst into tears, surprising myself. Elise rushed over.

“Are you okay?” she said, sounding worried.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice breaking. “I just can’t believe you’re leaving.”

She hugged me, and after a few moments, Stacy joined our embrace. It was comforting to stay like that for a few moments.

“At least you can visit. I’m only going a few hours away,” Elise said, smiling.

We walked downstairs and out of the house. When we spotted her parents, who were in the middle of saying goodbye to their neighbors, her mom said to me, “Hi, Hannah! It’s been such a long time! I’m so glad you guys made up.”

She looked sad, obviously upset that we had to separate so soon after we became friends again. Elise’s dad said the words that brought on a second wave of sadness over my body.

“Elise, it’s time to leave.”

She hung her head, her long, black hair falling around her face. She hugged me and Stacy, then walked away sadly with her mom and dad to their dusty, blue Toyota.

As we watched them drive away, the truck already far in the distance, Stacy turned to me and said with an unexpected smile, “Ready for Hannah Mission, Day Two?”

I laughed and nodded. I was ready to get over the fear that had taken hold of me for long enough.

 

First a Whimper, Than a Roar

A girl and her family sat on a pale brown couch. They were in a one bedroom apartment with muted green walls. The TV in front of the family clicked on.

“The hunt for the Leomates has gotten stronger. Military forces have been searching homes and office buildings,” said a lady on the television. She had a bright red sweater on.

“Thank God for this, Susie. The Leomates are a danger to the society, and I do not want them anywhere near me and my family,” said a man in a green shirt, standing next to the lady with the red sweater.

The TV went black. Silence overcame the room.

“Well, enough of that, it’s nonsense. We’re safe. They won’t check our house. It’s all talk to scare us out,” the father rambled.

The mother worriedly signaled to the father. They walked over to the backroom, to where they thought the girl couldn’t hear them, then slammed the door shut. The young girl, maybe fifteen years old, tiptoed over to the backroom. She pressed her ear up against the peeling, plastered wall.

“We are in danger, Matt. We will be hunted and killed if we do not flee and hide from the military,” said the mother, stiffly.

“Well, what do you propose we do? Run out of this house while people have been searching up and down this block? I think we should stay here, and when things get really bad, we will run as fast as we can and leave this bloody house!” the father exclaimed.

“Matt, it has already gotten really bad.”  

The mother shot open the door.  

“Come on, Isla, pack your bags. We are leaving,” the mother said calmly.

The girl knew better than to talk back to her mother. She ran to the corner of her apartment, to a wooden dresser. She thrusted open the rusty drawers and grabbed all of her clothes in one fell swoop. She stuffed them into a small, green bag. She looked up at her bed, which was shoved into a corner, where the roof caved above her head. On her bed lay a small, stuffed brown bear. She grabbed him by his neck and kissed him on his check, feeling his scraggly, fake fur on her lips. Then she stuffed him into her bag.

She looked at the clock on the ceiling of the living room. It read 12:13 am. Her father came over to her bed. Her stroked her soft, blonde hair.

“Hey, bean, wake up. We have to go now.”

The girl was already awake. She rose up out of bed and hugged her father. She hugged him so hard, she thought his ribs might break.

They slowly made their way down the rotting staircase, being careful not to make a sound, freezing every time they heard a noise. The girl held her father’s hand as the mother led them through the darkness with her dim flashlight. The mother pushed open the heavy, metal door. The girl and her father stood behind a wall, protecting them from what might be beyond the heavy doors. The mother signaled back at them, meaning it was safe for them to go. The father and the girl hesitantly walked over to the mother. They stood by the door frame, looking out into the distance. The mother took a breath in.

“Go,” the mother exhaled.

The girl, still grasping onto her father’s hand, ran as fast as she could. Her ribs began to ache. Her feet began to slow and slur on the dirt road. Her father, now well ahead of her, looked back at her. He squeezed her hand and looked into her soft brown eyes. She ran. She ran as hard as she could. Hot tears rolled down her face, making her vision blurry. But she just squeezed her father’s hand and ran. Ran for her life.

***

The girl, who was sleeping, woke up to see her mother and father embracing. They were swaying back and forth. Tears streamed down her mother’s face. The tears dropped down onto her cheek, then on her father’s shoulder.

She resented her mother. She didn’t want her mom to cry. While the family had been hiding in the house for months, the mother wouldn’t let the girl cry. Even when the girl missed her friends and family, who were caught and captured by the military, she was to stay stone cold, showing no emotions. The girl sat up from the dirt. The father noticed. He moved his wife from his shoulder and crouched down to be at the girl’s level.

“Hi, bean. Good morning,” the father said quietly.

Isla nodded in response, her knotted, blonde hair swishing back and forth. She then turned on the radio that was positioned next to her.

“The Leomates are destroying the world. I mean, you have seen them. They are disgusting. They infecting the world with cancer, which the rest of us have already become immune to. And you know what? There is a reason for this. They are stupider, they are dumber than us. They can’t adapt to the bloody sickness that we have already been immune to for thousands of years,” grunted a man with deep raspy voice.

The father licked his lips in anxiousness. He rested his hand on the girl’s knee.

“Don’t listen to them. They don’t bloody know anything. We are just as good as them if not better,” the father affirmed.

The girl just sat there, not listening to what her father was saying, just listening to the radio. Just listening to their hateful words that she thought were true.

Bang. The sound of a gunshot. In horror, the family hurled themselves around, looking for a hiding space. The mother’s dark brown skirt swished in front of the girl. She grabbed it, clinging on. The mother looked behind her with her light green eyes. She grabbed the girl’s dirty hand and ran. They hid under a pile of fallen trees. They stayed there in silence, not speaking a word. They both knew what had happened to the father, but both were too scared to admit it. After the darkness had fallen once again, they ran out to the initial hideout. There lay the father, a pool of blood surrounded his head. The mother let out a small whimper and fell onto the father’s dead body. The girl just stood above them, confused. She did not cry or whimper. She just stood, unable to believe her eyes.

***

The sun rose again. As it always did. But this morning was different. Her father did not come to wake her up with his soft, sweet voice. Today, it was her mother. Her mom’s rough, stiff voice whispered in her ear.

“Get up.”

Isla shoved her mother away from her.

“Young lady, you better apologize for that right now.”

Isla didn’t respond. Isla felt the burning sting of her mother’s cold, hard slap on her face. The mother’s nostrils flared, and her eyes widened.

“I did not ask for this. I am doing my best to keep you safe. I loved your father, and I wish that it were me lying on the floor with a puddle of blood surrounding my head. But it is not. Now, you better listen to me and respond to me when I tell you. Do you hear me?” the mother yelled.

“You’re a selfish pig. You didn’t even try to save father. You don’t care about me. You care about saving yourself. Dad was ten times the person you are. You know what? I wish it was you in the puddle of blood too.”

The mother gulped. Her eyes filled with tears as a knot formed in her throat. She calmly got up and walked her way over to a tree, distancing herself from Isla. She slid her back down a tree trunk, dropping down onto the dirt. Letting out a small whimper of pain, then a roar.

Night had fallen once again. Isla sat alone on a large rock. Her stuffed bear was sitting on her lap as she played with its ears. The mother slowly walked towards the girl and her bear. Isla prepared herself for the yelling and pain she would endure from her mother. But instead, the mother sat down on the rock with the girl. She reached out to touch the Isla’s knee. Isla flinched in response.  A single tear rolled down Isla’s pale skin. Her jaw clenched. The mother then hugged her around the neck. Isla pressed her cheek against her mother’s, making her feel an indescribable sense of warmth. They stayed here, feeling the warmth of each other for what seemed like the first time.

***

Isla was woken up by her mother’s pleading voice.

“I beg of you, please, I am the only one here. You killed my husband, and now I am to follow in his fate. Please do it, and then be done.”

“Load her in the back of the truck. We will kill her when we get there,” ordered one of the head military officials.

Isla continued to hear her mother’s pleading and begging, as she sat quietly, hiding behind the pile of fallen trees. Her knees curled up under her chest, tears streaming down her tired face. Her teeth dug into her knees as she held back wailing screams. Stomps that had once been far away had become closer. Her heart heaved. The stomps ceased. Isla saw the green and brown boots of a military official in front of her. Her eyes slowly scanned the man. First to his green jumpsuit that had been splattered with patches of blood and dirt. Then to his face. He had pitch black hair with dark brown eyes. His eyes not filled with distaste or hate, but with sorrow and pain, eyes that resembled her own. The man called out.

“No one here. Just a rabbit.”

“Okay, you can come back and return to your duties,” called out another military official.

“I am gonna stay here and look around a bit more. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, just come back before nightfall.”

The man crouched down to the girl, just like her father had a few days ago. He reached out and grabbed the girl’s hand. His eyes filled with tears. Isla swung her arms around his neck, hugging him. She then let out a small whimper of pain, then a roar.

 

Mung Dhal

We settled down to dinner. My nani put down the pot of dhal on the wooden dining table. Aayan plopped down in the chair across from me. He looked sweaty, his hair shining in the light for the old chandelier above the table. The room smelled of cumin, cardamom, and smoke. The rotis in front of me were slowly deflating as my nana inched towards the table. He was 87, with white hair and a strange smile. He used to be taller, but he has stooped over, his back bent from years of people placing their secrets upon it. He was carrying a cup of water. The glass was multifaceted, the rim slightly chipped. He sat down at the head of the table, in a old, hardwood chair with a cracking wicker seat.  My nani went to the other end, serving everyone dhal before she sat down.

The cars honked outside, headlights shining into the thick air. The Mumbai skyline was grainy, pollution clinging onto the low-hanging, thin clouds. Large buildings tried to pierce through the sky. They stretched up with metal hands to part the rain, and breathe the fresh air hovering just out of reach. The cars piled up, pushing against one another in the endless race to be faster than those who came before. Drivers honked their horns, not to make anyone move, but to release the bottled up anger that made their heads hot and their minds foggy.

People scurried between the cars, feet pounding on, inaudible beneath the cars. Sandals torn, the soles worn down from years of running away from horns and taxes.

“Your mother phoned.” Nani’s mouth thinned.

Her eyes showed years of worry, built up in the form of wrinkled maps of traceable emotion snaking in jagged lines across her face. She had a shawl dripping down across her left shoulder. It was reddish brown, and diamonds imprinted across the surface with wax.

Aayan got up to turn on the fan, his chair scraping across the polished floor. The fan turned on, buzzing above our heads.  The window was open. A fly came in, followed by a translucent gust of tacky wind.

“What did she say?”

Nana tried to look calm, his eyes betrayed him. His hands clenched his tarnished spoon. His knuckles turned pale.

“The usual.” Nana’s hands relaxed.

Nani looked at me, her eyes expectant. I stayed silent.  

My mother used to call every evening, talk to me for hours, and tell me about her new home, her new life. She told me about the people, always rushing around, never stopping to breathe the air and forget.

“The car horns sound different here.” She sounded sad, her voice cracking in places.

She used to call every day, asking how Nani and Nana were holding up. They were the same, always the same. They loved walks, and Aayan still ate too many pani puris. She told me that the food was different, that the meat there was always undercooked, and the Indian food was full of oil. One night, she called to tell me that she had gotten a job, and I would come and live with her once she had earned enough money.

The calls stopped coming as frequently. Some days, I barely heard from her at all. When she did call, the conversations were fleeting and chilled. She told me she loved me, and hung up the phone.

If she loved me, she would have time to talk.

I walked to school every day, along the dusty, cracked streets. The crows flew above me, muttering to each other about things that only they understood. Nani always said they are the ones who see life clearly. They look down on it all, and realize the insignificance of us. We are just ants, crawling on the surface of meaning, touching it and shying away. Afraid of what we might find.

Aayan got up from the table and put his plate in the kitchen sink. We could hear the scatter of white-washed porcelain and leftover bay leaves. He turned on the faucet, the undrinkable water flowing over the silverware. The curtains flapped in the wind. The dishwasher turned on.

I woke up to the sound of veridian parrots getting into a fight at the tree outside my window. The clock in the hallway chimed five, the bells echoing around the carpeted hall telling me I should still be asleep.  I sighed, and sat up to shut the window.

The air outside was heavy. The sun was just starting to rise above the skyline, casting shadows across the buildings’ silver faces. The red reflected in the muddy glass, turning the low-hanging clouds a rusted amber. A car drove past, dark blue and stained. The dry mud splashed up, dusting it in gritty dirt.

I fell back down onto my bed, the pillows coming up to meet my tired head. The ceiling needed to be repainted. The alabaster flaked away in thin, waterlogged sheets. The room was dark, for the sun had not yet met my window. The fan was on, stirring up controversy in the pyretic air. The bathroom door was open, the faucet dripping into the mottled sink. The window in the bathroom was agape, a newly awakened crow sitting outside. A fly buzzed around my ear, circling my head in an attempt to land on my unbrushed, dark hair.

The chair in the corner of the room was worn, the dark brown fabric eaten away in certain places. Next to the chair was a small, stone table with a half drunk water glass on top of it. Some of the water had spilled on the rusty carpet, turning it a darker shade of red. The rest of the floor not surrounding the table was scratched, the stain fading, and the varnish coming off.  The door to the dresser was ajar.  The dresser was old. It used to be painted foamy blue, but it had faded to a musty brown. Inside, my clothes were neatly hung up, the hems dancing in the breeze from the fan. My shoes were in the corner, next to the thick, wooden door. My sandals were neatly facing the wall.

Finally, I gave up on sleep and went to the living room, brushing my teeth before I left.

My mother left almost six months ago. She bought a plane ticket and took only what could fit in her old, black suitcase. She bought a new pair of sneakers before she went. When she got there, she called me to tell me she was cold. It was March in New Jersey when she landed. She said the ground was muddy. It stuck to her shoes, creating a crust of greyed chocolate.

The phone rang. It was seven o’clock in the morning. I got up from the couch to answer it.

***

New Jersey was quiet. The houses neatly lined up next to each other. The lawns were groomed with multicolored flowers lined up along the edge, near the newly replaced curbs. A woman next door got into her small SUV, dropping her grey dog into the back seat. The woman drove away, the potholes in the road staring up at her car.

She walked to the mall, stopping outside the cold, glass door before entering. She entered the overly air conditioned space, the air flying into her face. She walked by a restaurant called Nani’s Kitchen and stopped. The smell of cumin mixed with paneer washed over her. She walked over, staring at the turmeric-colored chicken and the mung dhal.

She remembered her mother making rotis on Friday nights, the elastic, pillowy, pale beige dough being pulled and stretched by her olive hands. She stirred spices, grinding them together: cumin, cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, peppercorns. She soaked lentils in filtered water, cooking them with red carrots and tomatoes. She carefully mixed in the spices, watching them swirl together in the already marbled water.

She ordered one plate of food to stay and pulled out her phone to call her daughter.

 

Inside Eden

Eden: Perfect

I am perfect. I try to tell the world how to live. I know what is right and wrong. I am the perfect child, perfect student, perfect human. I am beautiful, I’ll admit. But don’t worry, I’m modest. I get the best grades, and I’m polite and respectful. People like me, and I like them. People ask me how I am so perfect, and I just shrug and smile my white-toothed smile, all my teeth in perfect alignment. And I laugh that tingly laugh that has the perfect balance of sweet sincerity and mild amusement. And as I smile, my eyes crinkle slightly. They admire my long eyelashes, curved up to the perfect degree. And I live my perfect life. The sun shines on my pale white skin, my brown eyes sparkle, and my hair flies back in the breeze, just like a scene in a movie. Because I am perfect.

 

Eden: Broken

My broken life consists of locking myself in the bathroom and sucking in my stomach to see how skinny I can look. It consists of washing my face five times a day, exercising for two hours a day, squeezing out every hint of a pimple, and mixing honey with all my drinks. I swallow every pill with a cup of water just like the package says. I finish my homework in the dead of night when my parents are in bed, smelling like dirt and alcohol, because they never care about my life and never will. I consider punching them, and then I stare I my own balled fist, knowing that I would never be able to do it because I always have to be so darn perfect. I fall asleep crying, wondering why I bother with it all while putting ice packs over my eyes so that they don’t look bloated in the morning. And I wake up as the sun rises to wash my hair and eat my egg salad that I absolutely hate, and spray perfume over me to hide the stench that lingers in my home. I push up the corners of my mouth with my fingers, and step out the door to put on my smiling facade for another long day.

 

Eve: Free

I guess I don’t really care much about anything anymore. Not like I need to. Not as long as Jacob’s grandad keeps sending money from France. Not as long as Jacob’s here. I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life, yet I don’t really want to do anything. I used to have dreams, but they hurt too much when they shattered into a million pieces, and the shards embedded themselves in you. At least when I’m with Jacob, they don’t hurt as much. He’ll hand me a bottle and pull me into his arms, and we’ll roll around on the bed for hours. My mind feels fuzzy, and my lipstick is smothered, but at least I can forget about the pain of the past. Sometimes at night, I wake up and watch my beautiful daughter, locks of hair slipping from behind her ear as she types on her laptop.

I whisper my promise to her, “I will never hold you back. I will never shatter your dreams. You will never feel that pain. I promise.”

And I check for the envelope of money I left on her dresser so that she would find it in the morning, and I smile as I watch my daughter. Free. Free like I never was.

 

Joey: Policeman

I dunno. I guess I never dreamed of bein’ a policeman when I was a kid. Guess I never had time to, what, with playin’ basketball all the time. But it’s a pretty good job. You get pretty good pay, too, and it’s respectable. Maybe I can help the world a little bit by bein’ a policeman. Get people to stop hurtin’ other people’s lives. I tell that to the chief after he asks me why I chose it as a job.

He tells me, “Joey, you’re a good man.”

Then he moves me up in rank.

 

Adam: Popular

There’s this girl in my class. Her name’s Eden, and she’s really pretty. Not just, you know, “pretty” pretty. She’s, like, pretty pretty. And I may, or may not, kinda have a crush on her.

Okay, fine. I do.

Anyways, she’s really smart, and always gets hundreds on like, everything, which I don’t know how she manages. She’s one of the popular girls, but she’s not obnoxious or anything. Eden’s just nice to everyone, you know. Eden’s just Eden. I wonder if she notices me ‘cause, to be honest, I’m not really that popular. But still, I sit next to her in math class, and she smiles at me a lot. Well, actually, she smiles at everyone a lot. And those smiles would melt your heart.

 

Eden: 100%

“Eden.” Ms. Carey always smiles when she calls my name.

I walk up the aisle to retrieve my test, one foot placed in front of the other. My head is tilted up to the perfect angle between pride and modesty.

“100% again, Eden. How do you even manage it?”

My lips part to reveal my perfectly aligned, perfectly whitened teeth, and I give a nod in acknowledgement. When I come back to my seat, I place the paper face up on my desk and wipe my hand over my chair to remove the dust before I sit down, my back at a perfect right angle. And I explain to my classmates in perfect detail how I arrived at every one of my answers, all answered perfectly in the perfect handwriting.

Ms. Carey invites me to lunch with her. Even though I am tired, I smile through it all and eat the food daintily, leaving a perfectly cleared plate when I am done. My classmates watch as I demonstrate every problem perfectly, envious. But they can’t help loving me all the same.

(3x + 4y) – (6y + 8x) – 2x + (9y – 3y) – (4y – 7x) = 0. The 0 at the end of my equation is a perfect circle, equal radii from any point, perfectly symmetrical in every way. I live my perfect life and smile my perfect smile.

The door opens, and there is a man at the door wearing a police badge, asking if there is a girl named Eden in the class. I turn, masking my shock with a confident smile and raise my hand, pale with long fingers. He motions for me to follow him, and I do, my heart beating so loudly in my chest that I’m half-afraid someone will hear. I hope that the officer wouldn’t say anything more. And he does. He tells me they’re just going to ask me a few questions at the station and not to be scared. My class’s eyes grow wide as they realize I’m going to be interrogated, and Ms. Carey is completely bemused.

Hurriedly, I walk out the door first, flashing a reassuring smile at them one last time. But as the door closes, I hear them burst into conversation, my name floating out of 20 different mouths. I move quickly out of the school doors, forcing the officer to jog to catch up with me. I get in the car without a word.

 

Adam: I Think

There was this big fuss about a policeman coming to get Eden today. I’m not really sure what it was about, but I don’t think she did anything wrong. She looked confused for a second but was smiling afterwards, so I don’t think it shocked her too much. I don’t think the issue is about her, and I don’t think they’re going to put her in jail or anything. I mean, how could they put Eden in jail? Maybe anyone else, but not Eden. Besides, Eden was so nice to everyone. Even if they were kinda mean about it because they were jealous. I think Eden’s gonna be okay. I wish I knew for sure. But since when did anyone besides her care about what I think?

 

Joey: Falling Far from the Tree

I watched the girl sitting in the back seat of his car, face blank and emotionless. Dude, she was one pretty girl. In fact, she was sitting so primly and stiffly, she looked like a Barbie doll. Geez.

I turn in my seat to face her.

“You’re allowed to blink, you know.”

She blinked pointedly. I turn back around. Either this whole ‘taken away by a policeman’ thing was a total shock to her, or she wasn’t affected at all. Can’t tell which. The girl, or Eden, as she was called, was looking out the window as if it was just a normal car ride home from school or something.

The man who got arrested today was apparently her father. I guess the apple really falls far from the tree in this case. The man was a drunken wretch, and his daughter was, well, like a princess. I wonder if the girl even knew that her father had been found drunk and unconscious in the middle of the street. I wonder if the girl even cared.

Well, I thought, maybe she’ll show some sort of reaction when they arrived at the station.

Or maybe she won’t.

 

Eden: Escaped Thought

A thousand thoughts whirled through my head, but I ignored their buzz and pushed them to the back of my mind.

Calm down. And put your seatbelt on.

The man driving in the front kept shooting glances at me, as if I was going to attack him any moment now. He said something, something about blinking. I blinked, then turned to look outside the window. A thought escaped.

What was I doing here?

A surge of red-hot anger came up in my chest. It was Dad. Of course it was him. And then I pushed the anger back down, concentrating on keeping a blank face, keeping my tears in.

 

Eve: Saved

I stared at Jacob, asleep on the bed with the blue, rubber mattress. He looked beautiful, even when he was drunk and unconscious. Even in that moment, when he was arrested and was probably going to be fined a large sum of money, I loved him. His jet black hair was messed up, in a rugged sort of way, and his muscles stood out from the outline of his arm. I closed my eyes and remembered all those wonderful moments with him, standing next to him, leaning on him as he whispered in my ear. Jacob saved me from my memories, my shattered dreams, and replaced them with soft, reassuring words, and embraces that told me he would never leave me. I remembered how happy he was when I said yes, I would marry him, and how happy and proud he was when we had Eden.

Eden!

I checked with the officer outside the door that, yes, they were getting my daughter from school. I looked out the window, and a car pulled up. A nice-looking man and a girl climbed out.

Eden. What would she say about this? The door opened and…

 

Eden: Crashing Down

My life comes crashing down. There is a man at the door wearing a police badge, and there is my daddy, unconscious, and my mom standing behind them, looking scared. And then suddenly, I am mad, so mad as what must have happened hits me.

What did you do, and what were you thinking? Don’t you care about your life? Don’t you care about anything? Anyone? Do you want to be a drunken wretch for your whole life?

I hear a sharp intake of breath, and whirl around to face the stunned officers. I realize that I had just said everything out loud. And I sink down to the floor, my head in my hands, and groan. But at this point, I don’t care anymore. I am pleading with my parents.

Why couldn’t we be happy? What did I do wrong? What happened to the family I’m supposed to have, the one where you smile and laugh and care about me? Don’t you know that I’ve spent my entire life trying to be a perfect daughter to you? Don’t you know how hard that’s been? Don’t you care?

Pain flashes through my mother’s eyes. Her eyes tear up and, for some reason, that’s making me cry. But I can’t do anything about the flow of tears, except for hate myself for being so weak, for letting down my image, for ruining it all. The police are taking me somewhere. My feet are moving, but I don’t feel it. In fact, I don’t feel anything. My body feels numb, and I can’t seem to think, and my face is wet with tears.

 

Joey: A Reason

The girl in front of me was hysterical and crying. And, of course, I was the one who was told to go take her to another room and talk to her. I hardly know the kid. What was I supposed to say to her?

“Hi, Eden.”

She looks up at me. The way she’s crying, and trying not to cry at the same time, almost makes me break out in tears.

“I’m Joey. You an’ I can talk a bit, alright?”

The girl is having these strange movements where she sucks up her breath and tries not to cry, and then lets the tears and air back out a few moments later when she runs out of breath.

“It’s okay. You can cry. I can wait to talk to you.”

The girl shakes her head and keeps going. My heart was gonna mush up and melt if she kept goin’.

“Ya know, yer mom had a rough childhood, too.”

Maybe this is a shock to the girl, because she chokes on her tears and hiccups. Or maybe she just coincidentally choked on her tears at that time.

“Your mama wasn’t rich like you, Eden. She didn’t get everythin’ she wanted. And her parents didn’ let her do anythin’ she wanted. See, she wanted to be an artist. And her parents wanted her to be a doctor. They controlled her life. She’s just tryin’ to give you free rein of your life, Eden.”

She didn’t believe me. Of course. The kid had grown up basically on her own, believing her parents just didn’t like her, and now I was giving her a reason for that pain? Of course, the kid was bewildered.

“It’s true. She told me. Go ask her yourself.”

I glance at Eden’s mother, who was standing in the corner, hoping to get rid of the crying kid before my heart turned into Jello.

 

Eve: Quiet Room

I snuck into the corner of the room and listened to the officer talk to the kid. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t even get the guts to talk to my own daughter. The officer was telling Eden what I should have been explaining to her, the duty that I had neglected. I watched my daughter cry, heart-wrenching sobs in a quiet room, and the memories that I worked so hard to bury resurfaced. Proudly showing my parents a painting of them. Telling them I wanted to be an artist. Feeling so happy. Finding the painting, ripped, in the trash can. Being told that painting wasn’t a good job. Crying silent tears over unsolvable math problems, heart-wrenching sobs alone in a quiet room.

The officer looked over at me, and I walked over to my daughter, tears leaking from my eyes before I could stop them.

 

Eden: Dreams

“I’m so sorry,” she told me. She was crying, too. Now, and I’m a mess.

“I thought you would be better off without me. Without me holding you back. I thought you could be free. So I couldn’t break your dreams.”

I looked into her eyes, and I saw pain. Unforgotten. Hidden away.

“Dreams?” I asked. “Dreams? My dream was to be loved by you. To be cared by you. To be enough to deserve you. My dream was to know you.”

She broke down in tears again.

“I thought that if I left you the money…”

I took a 20 dollar bill from my pocket with a look of utmost hatred. I ripped it in half. Then I ripped those pieces in half again. And again. And again. And then I stomped on the pieces.

“Money can’t buy love.”

“I know, honey. I know.”

She pulled me into her arms. For some reason, I was not struggling to get out of them because, although this woman has ruined my life, I love her more than anything.

And, as if she was reading my thoughts, she said, “I love you so much, darling. I love you so much, it hurts.”

And we were both crying into each other’s shoulders, not sure anymore who is comforting who. Just a mother and daughter who shared painful memories and broken dreams, letting out the hurt in the form of tears.

“Why does Daddy hate me?” I looked away, half-dreading the answer.

“Oh, honey. Daddy doesn’t hate you. He’s afraid. He’s afraid that somehow he would hurt you. He’s afraid, like I was. Afraid that we wouldn’t be good enough parents for you. That we’d do something wrong. He thought you were so beautiful, so perfect, when you were born. He didn’t want to mess it up. So he just drank and drank to try and forget about his duty that he was too scared to face.”

There was a silence. I didn’t know what to say, so I muttered that my eyes will be bloated by next morning. Mommy looked me in the eyes, and said she won’t care if my eyes are the size of cantaloupes by morning. And, for the first time in ages, we were both laughing so hard that our stomachs hurt.

 

Adam: A Little Different

Eden came to school for the first time in three days. Her hair was in pigtails, which was an interesting change, ‘cause she usually keeps it down. And she was wearing a baseball cap. I wonder what happened at the police station because her eyes are bloated (which they never are), but she seems a lot more cheerful. She even started dancing to the music that was playing in the recess yard. She’s a pretty good dancer.

Anyways, I’m glad she’s not in jail or anything. Not like she would do anything to be put there. She seems a little different from before, but I can’t really say how. Either way, she’s still my crush. How can she not be?

 

Joey: Pink Pansies and Roses

Eden came today to check on her dad, and stopped by my office to thank me for taking care of him. We chatted a bit, now that my heart wasn’t threatening to turn into mush. She’s a nice kid, especially since she wasn’t rippin’ up dollar bills all over the place. She seems a whole lot more cheerful since last week. I guess she and her mom worked things out all right. Glad I didn’t have to do it. She was lookin’ around at all my picture frames, askin’ a million questions about the people in them. Kids are annoying when they ask questions, especially to a busy police officer. But at least it was a nice change from the Barbie doll in the back of my car.

At that moment, Eden was tellin’ me about how people with the name Joey just couldn’t possibly be unfriendly, and it was just how the name worked. I don’t do well when flattered, so I was nodding awkwardly, hoping she would change the subject. As kids do, something else caught her eye quickly. I craned my neck to see what it was. It was a bright pink vase filled with a nice assortment of pink pansies and roses, all tied with a purple bow. It contrasted drastically with the rest of my office.

Seeing the question in her eye, I blushed and told her as professionally as possible in that situation, “I got a girlfriend. She likes pink.” I grinned, despite my efforts not to. And Eden grinned back.

 

Nameless

It was colder than usual. Nothing was right. The wind blew so hard, the candles on the table went out. The sound of leaves whisking around the house was unbearable.

The thump of high-heeled shoes walking across the wooden floor alarmed the girl.

“I shall not support this. She has to leave. If you keep her here, I won’t help you. Do it for her. The boy doesn’t stand a chance there. He is only eight. The reform is clear: nine and older. I am sorry,” said the lady that was fluffing up her curly, orange hair and pulling up her long, puffy, purple dress that seemed recently sown at the finest dressmaker in the village.

“NO… NO…  I… can’t. She is mine. I won’t let her go. Why would you… No… NEVER.”

The little girl heard the footsteps stomping towards her, and she ran to her bed while her mother opened the door.

“She is leaving now,” she said, calmly, and closed the door. That poor mom slipped sweat off her face. She took a deep breath and slammed the door behind the orange-haired lady. She knelt down and started crying as silent as she could. Time passed. Minutes… hours… days.

“God, Beth, I say we go for it,” said the drunk man, walking around, all dizzy, bumping into the table and wooden plates.

“Pete, you’re drunk again. How could you do that to her, me, and Benjamin.”

The mother looked into her husband’s eyes to see if there was a bit of humanity left in him.

“Who cares anymore? We need the money. Take it, or I will,” said Pete.

“She is our daughter. How could you say such a… what happened?”

The mother’s worried eyes looked down to Pete’s bloody arm.

“You owe debt,” she said calmly, as she walked towards a small stove and a wooden table they called kitchen. She picked up a glass bottle sitting on the table. She screamed and threw it at the door.

“Calm it, Beth. You know I did it to win us some money.”

Beth started laughing loudly. A bit too loudly.

“And yet you lost it all. And the worst part is you want to… give our child away to her… of all the people in the world.” Beth took a breath. “How about Benje?”

Pete looked down.

“I thought he could start work. Besides, it’s not like I want to give our daughter to a stranger. It’s your sister.”

Beth sat down on the only piece of furniture in that cottage.

“My sister wants to make our daughter a labor worker…” said Beth, like she was disappointed.

“But she will give her lessons to read, and a better home,” said Pete.

“So you forgot the part about you getting her salary till she is older. She is my daughter. I won’t let her leave my side… I can’t,” said a sobbing Beth.

“Good God, let her go… I will give you another one or something,” Pete said with humor.

All was silent for a while as far as Benjamin and his sister could tell. Their ears were close, trying to hear the result.

“They won’t give you up,” said Benjamin, trying to convince himself and her. The sounds started. They had lower pitches this time.

“She is only twelve, and he is only eight. We can’t separate them,” said Beth, trying to find a way out of her husband’s poor judgment.

“ Hm…” said Pete, “it’s not like they depend on each other.”

Beth took a deeper breath. “YES, THEY BLOODY DO!” she shouted.

What could she say? How could her husband be like this? She could not believe this. Anger took control. This was the 5th time this was happening. A drunken man with no clue of the important things in life other than money. Yet Beth knew deep down that without that money Pete lost, they were doomed. She did not care. She pushed Pete aside.

“Good night,” she said plainly and walked way.

She went to the bucket of water and splashed her face. Beth undressed from her daily clothes and plopped on her hay-like bed, crying.

Every second next to Pete was torture for Beth after that night.

“Wake up, kids. It’s harvest day.”

The family of four headed out with buckets and shovels and tools.

“Start there, boy, and you help your sister. Me and Mama will take the bottoms,” ordered Pete.

“Actually, you and Benjamin can take the sides, and we will take the bottom,” said Beth with a sly look to Pete.

The day was hotter than ever. The poor mother and little girl worked in their heavy dresses, which were now wet.

“How are you, my sweet?” said Beth with a fake smile, trying to make her daughter feel better. She nodded, as in a fake “Okay.”

“I am sorry for your father’s behavior. He was affected by alcohol, and we all learned how bad that is, sweetheart.”

Again she nodded, as in “Whatever.” Yes, she knew her mother would not let her go, but she knew at the end, they were broke. How could her mother fix that? Unless God sent magic seeds to make them have ten times the wheat they have now, nothing would work.  

“Work, boy. We don’t want you to fail at this easy job. You will be a working man soon,” said Pete, trying to cut as much wheat as possible.

“But Papa, I am only eight. My friends in the village say they go to school and all,” said Benjamin, trying to put some sense into his father. Pete lightly laughed. After a second, it became a shameful laugh.

“Yes, boy,” said Pete. “I understand you want that too, but we don’t live near the village, and we can’t send you to school.”

The rest of the day, the family tried to keep quiet, because they had nothing else to say.

The next evening was intense. The dinner was only bread and a few sprigs of parsley they had left. Beth thought Pete had decided to skip dinner, apparently. He was not even back from town, and Beth was worried.

“I love the food, Mama. It’s so good,” said Benjamin trying to keep a positive atmosphere. “How about you? Do you like it, sis?”

She nodded, but did not say a word, and continued eating. Beth turned and looked into her daughter’s bloodshot, red eyes. It was obvious she was not sleeping.

“Okay, it’s time for bed. Head along, children,” said Beth, nicely.

The children got up and went to their small room. Beth picked up their wooden plate, and she put it on the counter. She sat down on a chair, staring at their window, waiting. Hours passed, and Beth was about to give up and go to bed.

“I have made a breakthrough,” shouted Pete, crashing into the door. “Why don’t we invent something? A device that can make you sober in a second. How funny would that be?”

Beth stood up as fast as she could.

“Yes, and then men will want it, and we can make a fortune,” said Pete.

“Oh, Pete, I was worried sick. What is wrong with you? Go to bed. I don’t want to hear another word out of that wrecked mouth. Go now to bed, before I force you out of the house.”

Pete laughed. “No way. We have a giant workshop to build.”

Beth shook her head in disappointment. “No, we are not…you are not doing that. Go to bed before you wake the kids.”

Pete stood there lifeless for a second. “I don’t know really how you feel about them…”

Beth looked up and asked, “You mean our children?”

Pete nodded. “We either have to sell them or put them up for work.”

Beth stared with impatience. “You make absolutely no sense. Have you lost your heart?”

Pete continued on about how he had been able to find buyers for their children for slaves or labor work, and so on. He started from bad ideas to awful, but he could not stop. He did not care. Beth grew madder by the second.

“GET OUT NOW!”

Beth slammed the door on Pete and went to bed.

Deep thoughts went through that family’s heads that night. All of them.

BANG. A loud sound took over the field. Beth and the children ran outside to find the most horrifying scene. Beth looked with shock. The children looked stunned. Pete was lying between the wheat… dead, with a wheat cutter gone through him. The blood had splattered, and the wheat was no longer yellow, but deep red. Benjamin looked at his sister, who started to cry. Beth looked down at her traumatized children.

“Go inside, now.” The kids held each other’s hands and they ran inside.

“God, why, God,” Beth screamed and sobbed.

***

She woke up confused. She looked at her brother’s bed but he was not there. She got up and opened the door to her room and looked into their cottage. Nothing was there. More importantly, no one was there. She opened the cottage door to find two horses connected to small wooden carriages. Beth walked towards her. She smiled at her daughter and handed her a small bag. Beth took her hand and led her to one of the carriages. She kissed her on the cheek and helped her climb on top of it. She gave her a hug and left to the other carriage. Benjamin sat with a suitcase on a bale of strain wheat. Beth went towards him and gave him a kiss.

“Goodbye, my sweets,” she said out loud.

The two men on the horses said, “Giddy up,” and the horses started trotting on the road.

The kids looked back on to their mother’s crying face.

 

Nur. Is. Nothing.

Meet Nur. Nur is nothing. Nur is a figment of your imagination. You don’t care about Nur. No one cares about Nur, not even Nur himself. The funny thing about Nur is that he looks like something. He is nothing, but he looks like something. Crazy, right? Nur has a circular head that looks kind of like a clear fruit loop. He has a slim, triangular body with a black stripe across it. Is this hard to picture? It is very hard to describe nothing, even when nothing looks like something.

So Nur is nothing, and he hates that. But his hatred is kind of empty, you know? He is nothing, so he can’t really feel anything. He just kind of feels a crust of something, get it? Being nothing, Nur takes up no space and all of the space in your brain at once. He is never there, but always there.

One day, Nur is doing nothing in your brain, the regular. He tries to amuse himself, but finds it impossible, because he is nothing. Out of the blue, or maybe, for Nur’s sake, I should say, “out of the clear.” Nur can’t really see colors. He can’t see at all, really. Okay, so, out of the clear, a flower sprouts in your brain. Right in front of Nur. Blinded by his nothingness, Nur can sense that the flower is smiling, and bouncing, and having a jolly old time. He can also hear that the flower is singing, belting its seedy little heart out. I know, I know, it’s weird that Nur can hear but can’t see. It’s complicated, but I’ll try to explain.

All of the music and sound and noises that squelch out of your brain take up all the space in your head. Nur and all his nothingness take up all the space in your head at the same time, so the noises kind of become him. They consume him, which is why he can hear. Okay, so this flower, this jolly, bouncing, infuriatingly happy flower, awakens something new inside of him. Why can’t he be happy, and this yuppie, millennial, hipster flower can? This flower was just conceived right now, and all of a sudden, it gets to be happy. Nur has been alive for eons, and he has never been happy at all. He has just been nothing.

Suddenly, a machine gun bubbles up out of one of your brain cells. The machine gun is small and boring and gray and truly nothing to write home about, but Nur knows. Nur has this inexplicable feeling that having this machine gun would make him incredibly happy. He must get his hands on this machine gun. He must feel happy. The only problem is the flower blocking his path. He is nothing, so he can’t get past the flower. Nur is in hysterics by this time.

Ah! Nur suddenly has a record breaking idea. Nur takes up none of the space in your brain but all of it at the same time, right? So Nur is technically right next to the machine gun. Nur, the incredible! Yes! He foils the almighty brain yet again. Nur’s nothingness surrounds the machine gun, putting pressure on the trigger. A bullet is released, and Nur evaporates into nothing.

 

Psychologist

As I sit on the dull gray chair, the distant drone of an old AC stops every so often. Just beyond the small, barred window is a cat that scavenges on the littered pavement. Staring at the glossy tile floor, the blurry reflection of deja vu stares back at me. I look away. Closely observing my curious behavior is a woman with piercing, green eyes and long, frizzy hair. Her pale hands tap rhythmically on a blank, white notepad. She asks me to share my thoughts even though she knows I won’t. I can’t. I look down. Down to the secluded darkness that isolates me from the rest of reality. The girl. The sweet, innocent girl who was taken away from me. The girl with the small, doughy hands, hopelessly crying for help. Papa, Papa. Over and over again. Papa, Papa. But time has run out.  Now, the woman with the pale hands comforts me. She tells me that I’m different, that it wasn’t my fault. That I couldn’t control what happened to the girl. Papa, Papa. The woman gives me a picture. A man. I recognize him. Papa, Papa. I hear the girl shouting my name, but I can’t do anything. This man in the picture, he killed her. Who is he? Who is the man who took the girl with the small, doughy hands away from me?

“You.”

 

And if She Sins

They were sitting in her kitchen, at the small, round table set Jillian had just bought at the thrift store that afternoon. The white paint chipped to show undercurrents of rusting metal and dirt, but Jillian didn’t mind, she enjoyed playing with bumps and bruises. Camilla’s fingers interlaced around the mug of coffee she wouldn’t drink as she peered outside the window that faced the brick exterior of a shorter, renovated building. Her cheeks were hollow, and her collarbones poked through her shirt, but she glowed with a newfound contentment that refreshed her features nonetheless. She knew what she had done, and that she was okay. Really, she was just fine. She had always been one to easily persuade herself of opinions she wished to hold. Her feelings were minute anyway to her clumsy, toppling, but overwhelmingly present thoughts, so she never had qualms about planting morals through twisted logic. As Camilla stared at the monotonous brick outside the narrow window, she saw a small, green plant writhing out of the rooftop, skinny but completely visible. The corners of her lips dragged unwillingly towards the ceiling into a grand smile as she tapped her overgrown fingernails into the mug rhythmically.

“Would you quit it?” Jillian spat.

She was picking the skin off her nails at an alarming rate. Spots of blood marked the napkin by her elbow, resting on the unfortunate table. Jillian was raised in a less graceful manner than Camilla. Her slight wrists seemed harsh and rigid as she carried herself with a certain natural tightness that engrossed her whole demeanor. It was as if she was in an eternal flinch. She was always prepared to duck and bend her body to avoid damage. She had attempted to correct this manner with her nonchalant tone, that danced with any inappropriate remark, and a nasty habit of smoking cigarettes that she made absolutely certain dangled from her lips so loosely, it almost always fell out. Her clothes hung loosely off her slender body, but despite her insistence on casualty, she only shopped at lavish retailers where a white cotton T-shirt would cost upwards of $60. She did this not to boast of her wealth — she had virtually nothing — but to be among delicacy and worth to perhaps elevate her own. Unlike Camilla, who was raised in a family who sent out Christmas cards each year, she was a victim of passionate emotions and had a secret affinity for the melodramatic.

When they had been assigned roommates at their liberal arts school out in California as freshmen, merely because they both were from big east coast cities, they fought about nearly all issues roommates could possibly endure. Yet, their rants were punctuated with similar passive-aggressive jabs until they realized they were truly perfectly matched. They had been inseparable since, until two months prior to the second semester term on a Saturday night, when they had maimed a girl.

Camilla began to pick through a magazine with minimal interest. Jillian let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Yes?” Camilla asked blankly, her eyes fixed on an article on the importance of completely renewing your wardrobe every six months.

“I don’t know,” Jillian said, slouching back into the chair, with something very clearly on her mind.

Knowing of Jillian’s desire to be probed, Camilla touched her finger to her tongue to flip the page once again. “Alright,” she resigned.

“Well, you can’t just sit here and pretend to be unaffected or whatever, okay? I’m not gonna take it,” Jillian stared pointedly at Camilla, who was onto the most daring runway fashions of the year. “You’re being childish, frankly, and I don’t see a reason for us not to talk about it like adults, or whatever we are.”

At this, Camilla snapped the magazine shut and set it on the table. A few golden locks that had fallen out of her ponytail made their way gingerly into her eyelashes, and she tucked them back behind her ear.

“Adults?” she repeated. “Barely. You can’t go around dragging people by their necks and be mad when they’ve learned how to handle it –” she pushed the strands that had untucked back again, “so you can enjoy your ‘intense sense of justice’ and ‘heated emotions’ and whatnot, and pretend to care about that bitch because I sure as hell won’t.”

Jillian was slightly taken aback. Though profanities took up a large slot in her vocabulary, Camilla had rarely let curse words rush so coarsely out from her mouth. Her mother had made the act of cleaning her mouth out with a bar of soap commonplace in their household. It startled Jillian even more that it was being used against the girl least deserving of all.

“That bitch?” she asked, alarmed.

“Well, what do you want me to call her? She always seemed fake. I know I’m practically forced to now, but I just don’t like her. Never did.”

“Bullshit. You like her more than you like me even,” Jillian remarked matter-of-factly, a tone Camilla found detestable. “You’re lying to yourself.”

Jillian now had three years to learn that Camilla was more malleable than clay. If circumstances changed, she almost always changed along with it and had no problem doing so. It was in sharp contrast to her high level of intellect or, maybe, perfect correlation. She knew better than to get caught up in one stance, even if it meant having an identity.

Camilla rolled her eyes in frustration, “Listen, I’m not lying to myself. I didn’t like her. I don’t like her. I don’t have to because I didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t either.”

She picked up the flimsy magazine again and, this time, pretended to marvel at the advertisements. Jillian, on the other hand, could’ve had a flame lit under her chair, for she was practically jumping out. She gripped onto the arm rests with both hands and shifted her weight forwards, looking at Camilla with such unkempt fury that when Camilla darted her eyes to catch a glimpse, her eyebrows knitted together in momentary surprise before she composed herself again a second later.

“You’re just sitting here in your stupid puddle of arrogance and pretend like you’re not at fault at all!” Jillian exclaimed. She shook her head, “I can’t believe you. You’re acting like your mom, you know that? You’re fucking unbelievable.”

With that, Camilla’s neck snapped up in attention. Her mother, a safe distance away in a cemetery in Chicago, was her biggest and, practically, only fear. She had tortured Camilla with judgemental side-glances and responses of no more than two sentences throughout her entire childhood. She had one time infamously poked Camilla’s small arm, when she was but ten years old, and told her shrewdly that she was thinner at her age.

Jillian quickly backed up. Her own mother smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and spent her nights on an old, tattered couch watching movies of rich, gorgeous women who she pretended to be. She would return from her job, sitting in the toll booth on the highway, watching cars and people zoom in and out of existence, and smearing her lips with red lipstick she had bought in 1987. She’d apply mascara and a dash of perfume, put on her fanciest dress with her pearls, and plop down on the couch to watch glamour through a 25” screen. On nights when Jillian couldn’t sleep — which was nearly all of them — she would often imagine walking through the doors of her single-floor home to find that her mother had taken her near-absence one level deeper and had truly fled. She’d seen her mother’s wardrobe brimming with all she had accumulated in her life, save for the dress, the pearls, and her makeup bag. The image of her mother on a flight to Hollywood in her silly dress with an eternal smile plastered on her face provided Jillian with a rush of comfort or perhaps relief — she couldn’t quite place it. But of course, each time Jillian called, her mother had picked up the telephone she kept right at the foot of the couch and coughed out a rasp, “Who’s this?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I didn’t even want to go that Saturday night in the first place. All I’m saying is that you can’t say we didn’t do anything. She didn’t just trip or whatever.”

Jillian pulled a cigarette from out of the backpack lounging under her chair. She clasped it between her lips tightly at first, then remembered her adjustments and loosened her grip. She cupped her bony hand over the lighter out of habit and drew in the smoke.

“I don’t know, maybe. We were there, and I was screaming at her kind of loudly, I guess. I didn’t mean to, I was just caught up in it and all. And then she was… it just kind of happened,” Camilla’s elegant stance got lost just as her words did, and she seemed to almost concave into herself.

It was as if someone had hit her square in the stomach, and her spine drew the letter c to avoid it. For a moment, she remembered Emma’s body mangled in the bike rack. The spot her head had hit was blue and purple, and blood rained down her skin, marring her beauty with terror and gore that somehow enhanced her features at the same time. Her body was so small, and the blood seemed to swallow her whole. Camilla’s hands shook, and they grasped either arm above the elbows, and her fingernails dug into her soft, pale skin.

She regained composure after only seconds. “Hey, would you quit it? I’m not ready to die of lung cancer,” she waved her hand in front of her face to emphasize her point.

“That’s just what they say to scare you. Stop being a baby,” Jillian pinched it out and flicked the cigarette to the ground anyways.

She had witnessed Camilla’s small break but wasn’t prepared to internalize it. Camilla’s icy blue eyes that had melted slightly in the momentary rush of anxiety, cooled once more.

“Do you think Emma will tell them we were there?”

“Shit doesn’t just happen to you. We weren’t ‘there.’ We made it happen. Maybe we deserve to be told on,” Jillian said, and resumed to pick at the skin on her fingernails.

A new spot of blood was added to the napkin. Camilla narrowed her eyes and peered back at Jillian.

“Don’t say that. Seriously, no we don’t. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Cami, we pushed her. Hard, okay? Her head slammed into that bike rack! We need to… to…” she was frantic now, “… to acknowledge that or something! Do something!”

In her exasperation, she had moved the table two inches away from her, towards Camilla. Camilla pushed it back harshly. “God, I can’t take your flimsy morals and opinions anymore, okay?! I was the one who was closer with her. You said it yourself. You barely even liked her! You don’t want to be responsible for this the rest of your life,” she exclaimed in anger.

She had a strong sense that Jillian’s cries were insincere.

“Cause she was acting so fake all year! I said it, okay? But that doesn’t mean we can go knocking her head into bike racks and just running, accident or not!” Jillian added, “You’re such a child that you can’t seem to understand that.”

“Maybe I choose not to. Maybe you’re the child.”

They stared at each other. They knew every silent quirk and whim about each other, but the shadow of an injured girl loomed between them and erased them all to the point of incoherence. Camilla didn’t care for repair. She was fine being on her own and had made a gaggle of friends more similar to her. She thought them all quite impetuous, with vacuous laughs that always came after a very unfunny quip. But no matter, she liked them well enough, and Jillian resided permanently in the gray area, a position Camilla refused to even flirt with.

Jillian had always been drawn to logic but failed to ever utilize it. She had never had someone like Camilla, an almost perpetual ground that stood firm. She loved it. She wanted to absorb it in a way, eat it, and have a permanent stream of Camilla’s concrete conscience within her. But, after all, she was too stringent, and Jillian was fond of breaking the rules. She almost always felt it was necessary.

They stared at each other. They knew they needed each other.

“You’re right. We can’t visit her. It’s too risky. She’ll remember it was us,” Jillian said.

Emma was a nice girl, both Jillian’s and Camilla’s least favorite adjective. She had golden hair that fell near to the middle of her back in waves. She was a talented dancer and always seemed to move her body lyrically. Her mother had been a ballerina but stopped when she had Emma’s older brother. Her family was very close-knit, and Emma spent some nights on the phone with her mother, telling her about the essay on sixteenth-century European art she had to complete by Friday, or about the boy who kissed her but didn’t answer her calls the next day. Emma’s mother would listen, and probably even nod in understanding, at the other end of the line.

The three of them became close friends last Spring semester. Emma was in Jillian’s French class, and the two of them had went for drinks one night where they met Camilla. The conversation never left trivial matters, but Camilla and Jillian didn’t need it to. Jillian liked Emma but couldn’t help but see the obvious air of privilege that wrapped around her daintily. She was happy and had people there in case she wasn’t. To Jillian’s dismay, she wasn’t even dumb or simple; she spoke from a place of intelligence, having read a wide variety of books that ranged from Dostoevsky to Kafka to Kerouac. Albeit a kindness that was often too urgent it seemed disingenuous, she was a ruthless cynic when circumstances provided its necessity. Sometimes, manipulative remarks fell so crassly from her mouth, one would be momentarily stunned, or even blinked twice, as if to clear their vision and make sure their senses were working correctly. She had an athletic build, and her reddish-blonde hair softened her pretty features to the point where she appeared as nothing but harmless. Camilla liked that Emma didn’t get too attached to anything. She even admired her for it. Yet, she would often say how Emma seemed a bit self-centered, making comments to Jillian like, “I mean, you told her, but she probably didn’t care to listen,” or, “she always assumes they’re talking to her.” But the three of them were friends that shrieked in excitement when they learned they would room together the following year.

On a Saturday night, the three of them went to a party at a senior’s apartment. Emma was on the phone with her mother at their dorm before when Jillian widened her eyes at her to indicate that they had to hurry to make it on time. When she turned to the door again, she rolled her eyes in frustration, muttering “bitch” for only Camilla to hear. Camilla laughed and the two headed out the door, Emma falling in a few steps later.

They danced and drank rum mixed with anonymous soda when they arrived a few minutes later. This was convenient for Camilla and Jillian when the paramedics smelled the alcohol on Emma’s breath a few hours later and blamed everything on “a drunken stumble.”

After they had left the apartment, three hours and four shots each later, they laughed as they stumbled down the street. Jillian had to pause every three minutes to yank her flimsy, velvet jacket back over her shoulders, so Camilla and Emma would mindlessly skip further ahead, heads tilted back in the laughter one could only experience with a damaged liver after a night of little to no control. Their entire bodies shook with this roaring happiness that seemed to engulf them completely. It was astonishing that their legs still managed to keep them upright without collapse.

When Jillian caught up to them, the invincible vitality had shattered. Camilla was screaming about her mother.

“Hey! Whadduyou mean?” Camilla’s words slurred out of her mouth. “Don’t say that! She’s a bitch, and guess what? Y’know what?” She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, truly wishing her to guess, “So are you!”

“What’s going on?” Jillian asked, pulling up her jacket once again.

She really shouldn’t have wasted her paycheck on it. The velvet wasn’t even real.

“Don’t look at me. I just asked her why she never spoke to her mom or something like that,” Emma said defensively.

There was a frantic tone to her voice that her words came out as if they were one. She had never seen Camilla in such disorder, and it frightened her. She was a people-pleaser on top of everything else, and she was very unaccustomed to this kind of eruption, especially from such a reliable source of reason.

“Not everyone is so fucking cute all the time! Grow up!” Camilla was nearly incoherent at this point.

She had stepped closer to Emma and even took the liberty of sticking up her polished finger, poking her square in the chest. Emma pushed her back slightly, merely to get her away for a moment. She was stifled by Camilla’s overwhelming anger and looked at her face, her eyes wild and confused. But to Jillian, who hadn’t been too fond of their growing relationship, it seemed Emma was becoming aggressive.

“What the fuck, Em?” Jillian shouted.

She pushed her back, a bit harder than the initial shove, but nothing harrowing. Jillian was surprised with herself. She had never been violent. She was, in fact, adamantly opposed to the act as she had seen what it had done to her mother. But, to her discomfort, it gave her an odd sense of stability and power that she realized she’d perhaps been craving. Emma gasped at this strike, and her shock registered plainly on her face as her mouth formed a wide O-shape, and her usually delicate eyes sharpened. She stumbled back a bit, and Camilla, whose unwarranted rage had been accumulating beside them, threw her tired arms into Emma’s chest with just a bit too much might, increasing her stumble into a spiral as she cursed.

Jillian screamed for a moment in horror and utter surprise. Emma had fallen three feet back as her body, already loose in a drunken stupor, gave in to the blow. Her head slammed into the unforgiving metal bike rack that an elderly professor had built out of consideration to the underclassmen who weren’t allowed cars on campus.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if her right eye hadn’t hit the large winding screw poking out.

She slumped down, her body in a very unnatural position, and lay completely still.

Jillian stood there, too afraid to move, her figure rigid as it was truly meant to be. She then whipped her head towards Camilla, whose arms were still out in mid-shove, but her elbows bent slightly, as if broken or interrupted.

Jillian grabbed Camilla by her slender wrist and took her as she ran as far as she possibly could.

“Definitely too risky,” Camilla agreed, leaning back in the white chair. She faltered for a moment. “You don’t feel guilty?” she questioned cautiously.

Jillian fluttered her lips and swallowed the large, wretched rock that had been making itself increasingly present in her throat, “I mean I did, but whatever. She pushed you first anyways, remember?”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess she kinda did,” Camilla nodded, and picked up the magazine once more, the look of contentment resurfacing through her features.

“And she always acted like she was above us, did you notice that?” Jillian reached over and grabbed up the bloody napkin.

She stood up, bent down to pick up the cigarette she had flicked away earlier, and tossed them in the garbage can.

“Exactly, and her family always treated her like a goddamn princess. It definitely got to her head,” Camilla rifled through the glossy pages, stopping at an article on dyeing your hair without exposing the roots.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Jillian said, her arms swinging lazily as she walked towards the hall.

She wrapped her white towel tightly around her torso.

“Okay,” Camilla said, “I’ll be here.”

As Jillian left to wash herself of whatever she possibly could, Camilla looked back through the narrow window and let her eyes fall once again on the escapist green plant. She felt an unparalleled warmth flood over her, and a smile tugged at her lips once again as she read on.

 

A Singing Sky

Inspired by Madeleine L’Engle

 

Charles Wallace was as surprised as anyone when a great, shining, white horse knocked at the door just as the evening bell rang to send the children to their beds. The headmaster stood up immediately, an all-too-familiar look of irritation on his face. Every child in the hall knew that the sign on the door proclaimed that all visitors were banned after six o’clock, and it was nearing eight. All the children were in the hall from dinner until 7:45, when they were sent to the dormitories, with fifteen minutes to be in bed.

“Smithson! See who’s at the door and why he cannot read the sign!” Mr. Stenten, the headmaster of St. Brendan’s School and Home for Orphaned Children, snapped at unfortunate Michael Smithson, who sat next to Charles on the long, wooden benches nearest the door.

“Yes, sir!” Smithson jumped up.

Everyone knew to obey Mr. Stenton. He ran to the door before standing on his tiptoes to look through the peephole. He walked back to his seat and said, his face very pale, “The visitor knocked because he couldn’t read, sir.”

“Why ever not, Smithson?”

“Because he is a horse, sir.”

“A horse, Smithson? A horse?”

“Yes, sir. A white horse, sir. With a horn.”

“A white horse with a horn? An antlered horse, Smithson?”

“No, sir. A horn, sir. A long, spiraling horn,” Smithson hesitated.

“Yes, Smithson?”

“A horn like a unicorn’s, sir. A huge, white horse with a unicorn horn. Which, I suppose, sir, makes him a unicorn.”

“A unicorn, Smithson? Are you a little girl? Ten-year-old boys, Smithson, have no business believing in foolish fairy tales. I will have to see you in my office, boy, at nine o’clock.”

“Yes, sir, but what about the u-horse, sir?” Michael stuttered.

Nothing good came of an invitation to the headmaster’s office.

“I believe, Smithson, that the horse is a figment of your imagination. I do not think there is any horse outside, antlered or not. Resume your seat, Smithson.”

Just as Michael returned to the bench, another knock — a louder knock — came at the door.

“Oh, very well then!”

Mr. Stenton strode to the door and threw it open. Gleaming on the front step, magnificent and frightening together, stood the great horse. But it was not possibly a horse. No horse’s flank could glow so perfectly. No hooves could stand so tall and deliberate. No mane and tail would swish like pure silver threads. And there was no way that such a horn could possibly grow, such a long, beautiful horn.

“Wha-?”

Mr. Stenton’s break from his usual apathetic state was interrupted as the unicorn (for surely there was no other creature it could be, fairy tale foolery aside) stepped across the threshold and toward Michael. As the unicorn made his way toward him, Michael squeaked and toppled over sideways, off the bench.

Never pausing, the unicorn continued, advanced past Michael, sparing him not a glance, and stood in front of Charles. Speechless with both awe and fear and a strange soaring sensation, Charles simply stared back into its eyes, which glimmered like black pearls set in the silvery fur. The unicorn lowered its sharp horn, and the hall let out a collective gasp. But the creature simply nudged Charles’s knee with its nose in a clear gesture.

“Get on.”

Obediently, automatically, Charles climbed up onto the unicorn’s back. The unicorn was galloping past Michael and the children, past Mr. Stenton and his look of outrage, before Charles had time to feel frightened or doubtful, or that maybe he had been a little hasty in his decision to flee the miserable, droning, raucous life at the orphanage. He had known that the unicorn, as soon as it stood in front of him, would take him away if he so chose. However, perhaps his life was not something to cast away so quickly. Even if he was trapped and unhappy, he was alive and some kind of safe. Even if he hated it, if he wished to escape, he had not fully thought through the decision to be free and independent.

But too late, for the unicorn had leapt through the still open door.

The great unicorn flung himself into the wind, and they were soaring among the stars, part of the dance, part of the harmony. As each flaming sun turned on its axis, a singing came from the friction in the way a finger moved around the rim of a crystal goblet will make singing, and the song varied in a pitch and tone from glass to glass.

But this song was exquisite, as no song from crystal or wood or brass could be. The blending of melody and harmony was so perfect that it almost made Charles Wallace relax his hold on the unicorn’s mane.

 

 

Thinking About Boxes

Pushing is very interesting, if you think about it. It is either hard or easy, or it depends on what you’re pushing. If you happen to be a stronger person, then what you’re pushing seems lighter when it isn’t. Or maybe it isn’t the pushing that’s interesting. Maybe it’s the people that make it interesting.

I bet most people think pushing is a boring task, but it really isn’t. You also might think of pushing differently, depending on what you’re pushing. For example, if you’re pushing something you really like, you might like pushing more.

I happen to be pushing something right now, at this very moment, and it happens to be very interesting. It is a giant, humongous, super heavy, unbelievable box. We have to get it there in a few minutes, so I really should be more paranoid. We still have to push a few more boxes there.

You might think that boxes are interesting to push. On the whole, they really aren’t. If the thing inside the box that is being pushed is interesting, then, of course, that would be completely different. But if you are pushing a box, and that box has a lot of empty space in it, are you also pushing the thing inside the box? Because the thing inside the box is also moving.

However, pushing means exerting force to move something, typically with your hand on it. So, are you actually pushing the thing inside, or just the box? Are you pushing the whole thing? For example, if you are pushing a person, are you also pushing the parts inside of a person?

Now, I’m nervous. We are at least five minutes late. Based on where we are, we aren’t getting there for another ten minutes. Running with boxes is much harder than it seems. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. Late means taking longer, spending more time, being here for longer. Nobody wants to push boxes past dusk. We have about twenty minutes until dusk.

Time is interesting. We let it completely run our lives. It’s quite funny, actually. We do everything in our lives, consciously or subconsciously, based on something that doesn’t stay consistent on the earth. For example, in one place right now, dusk has already happened. In others, dusk is hours away. For such a long time, our entire existence is run on time. How much time has passed? How much time until this or that happens? What time is it now? When does time stop mattering? When can we just say that we exist right now, and that’s what matters?

It’s not just us. Plants are also based on time. Or did we just base them on time? How long until they grow? How long does it take from the time they were planted in the ground to when you can first see the signs of life?

Now, we’re here. We’re about twenty minutes late. All the light is gone. The box guy, as I call him, is pacing in front of us. He is angry. We are late, we are slow, we now must finish the rest of boxes in the dark. His lips are moving, and I can kind of hear his words, but my only thought is that he uses the royal we.

The royal we is the use of “we” instead of “I” by an individual person. It is self-importance that typically makes them do this. Self-important people often have no reason to be self-important. One issue with self-important people is that they often haven’t achieved anything to make them feel this way. Most people think they have a small ego, but those people have the biggest egos, and they pretend to be modest even though they clearly are not.

Self-importance also comes from status. For example, if you are, say, running a business and there are 12 people working for you, wouldn’t you automatically think yourself more important? And then, pretend one of those 12 people is challenging your authority. Would you let them, or would exert your self-importance, and the royal we, and say “no?”

We are almost done. One more load, and then we’re done. Then everybody goes home, wherever home is. Some people leave town, and others don’t. We all go to different places at the end of the day. But in the morning, we’re always back pushing boxes.

Home is different for all people. Some people say home is where you live, while others say that they are vagabonds. Home is a matter of opinion. If you ask someone where their home is, they might not say where they live. They might say a completely different place. The actual definition of home is where you live, typically permanently. But, what if your mind lives in a different place then your body? Is your home where your mind wants you to be, or where you actually are?

The boxes are different today. The boxes are smaller, and there are many more of them. The boxes have extra room in them. There usually isn’t any. I wonder what’s inside, but we are on an absolutely 100% need-to-know basis. And we don’t need to know. Ever. I really want to open the box.

The one I’m carrying right now is even opening a little bit. I can’t. I just can’t. I’m banned from opening a box. We all are. What’s the point to us? We’re just pushing them, aren’t we? But, what are we pushing? I’ve never thought about it before. I really want to know now. I need to know.

Temptation is the desire to do something, especially something wrong or unwise. Temptation is hard to resist. You never need the thing you are tempted to have. You just know you must have it. You must do it. There aren’t any questions. It’s the end of discussion.

I think I’m supposed to feel guilty. Or look weird. Guilty because I stole the box. Weird because I put it in my pocket. I don’t think most people have stolen cube-shaped boxes in their pockets. So far, only two people have given me weird looks. I know at least one of them knows I took a box. I don’t know if I should ask her to not say anything or just pretend I didn’t do anything. This is by far the scariest thing I’ve done in the five years I’ve been here.

Fear means being afraid that something might hurt or harm you in any way. Fear is scary. Fear is being scared. Everybody is scared of something or has feared something before. Depending on the person, different people have different levels of fear.

I don’t need to choose. She comes up to me and asks me about the box. Why did I take it? What was I going to do with it? Did I care about the contents? Did I know the contents? I didn’t have answers.

“Alexa Roberts, I expected better of you. You’ve been here,” the box guy looks down at his list, “five years now, haven’t you? I knew you were probably tricked into doing this. This isn’t like you. So, I’m going to give you a warning. If you take another box, you’re leaving. If you leave Raina, you’re leaving. If you stop for any reason, you’re leaving. Also, remember the power I have. Remember what I did for you. Remember.”

The last word is like a whisper, but I still know exactly what he’s talking about. He influenced a lot of things that were related to me. The only condition was me not leaving. I can’t leave this place. It is my home. It’s the only place I can be.

Restrictions. Restriction means a limiting condition or measure. Restrictions are rules. Most people hate restrictions. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Self-restrictions are different. There is no such thing as breaking the rule you made. It happens, but it doesn’t make sense.

For the next few weeks, we keep pushing those small boxes. I’m being watched. I’m no longer trusted. I have went from good to bad. I cannot be trusted. I’m searched after every load. They no longer think of me the same. Everybody is watching. I’m never alone anymore.

The past. The past means the time or period of time before the current moment. The past is history. Some people choose to forget the past, while others choose to remember the past. Constantly reliving. Constantly remembering. Constantly thinking.

I did it! I managed to steal a box! Again! I had slipped it into different people’s pockets throughout the day, and voila! Now, it’s in front of me in my bedroom. My hands are shaking as I reach out to open the flaps. I open it. Inside is a night-blooming cereus.

A night-blooming cereus is also called a moon cereus. They come from a kind of cactus called ceroid cacti. They require a large amount of sunlight, but only bloom at night. The moon cereus only blooms for one night before dying. The bud of the flower gets bigger before it blooms. The moon cereus blooms and dies in one night.

A night-blooming cereus in full bloom is beautiful. This one isn’t in full bloom, and it probably never will be. It won’t have enough sunlight to survive. However, I replant it in a pot just in case. I place it in the sunlight and hope. I hope that it will survive, that there will be enough sunlight. I hope that I will succeed in taking every single moon cereus from the box guy.

The next day, I take a compatible sack. They are these small bags that are bigger on the inside. Throughout the day, I find ways to take more and more boxes. I think I will take a break before anybody gets suspicious.

I’m too late. The box guy is suspicious. I overhear him say, “I bet Alexa Roberts did it. Do you have any more of the moon serum? We need to get the last shipment to her. Vera needs at least two hundred more for the potion. She’s going to kill us if we’re not ready by the blooming again.”

I run before the door opens. This was bad. Moon serum takes the truth out of you, and you can only speak lies. Therefore, everything you say will be reversed into the truth.

I continue my day like nothing had happened. My father had once tried to give me moon serum resistance training. He said that one day, my life would depend on it. I guess it does now.

My father’s life had depended on it. He just hadn’t been able to do it. If you fight the moon serum wrongly, it could be fatal. My father had practiced fighting it every day. He could fight it off in five seconds. Then one day, he did it wrong. He was being interrogated because he was believed to be stealing the sacred moon cereus, the most powerful plant. He fought it wrong. He lasted ten minutes, a new record.

At the end of the day, my sack is full. As I was leaving, the box guy stopped me.

“We have some questions for you, Alexa,” he says.

I stop where I was and try to calm down. He leads me into a room. It isn’t very big. It is really bright, and there is a glass of water on table with two chairs. He sits down on one of the two soft, comfortable chairs. I sit down opposite him.

“Please Alexa, have some water.” his voice is pleasant, as if the water is safe.

The ice in the water looks weird as I pick it up. I drink it as slowly as I can. The slower you drink the easier it is to fight it. When I finish drinking, I drop the glass to the floor before everything became disoriented. I focus on the small shard of glass by my foot. Slowly, everything comes back into focus, but I knew it would be a while before everything should be clear again.

The box guy’s voice cut through moon serum. “This is just a few questions, Alexa. Don’t worry. First question, have you been working here for a hundred years?”

“Yes.” The lie falls out of me. I control my breathing, slow and calm.

“Good. Do you push boxes?”

“No.”

I’m in control now, but I need to wait. He can’t know I’m in control. This is where everybody messes up, holding the control and not letting anybody know. Waiting for the right question.

“How do you feel right now?”

I almost smile. I could laugh right now. “Terrified.”

“Is this fun?”

“No.”

He’s catching on. “Are you in control?”

“Yes.” I always have been.

“Did you steal the boxes?”

“Maybe” I take a deep breath. My control is beginning to slip.

“It’s a yes or no question,” his voice becomes harder. “Did you steal the boxes?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know what’s inside the boxes?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in control?”

“Yes.” I am no longer in control.

“We’re done here. Don’t come back tomorrow.”

I get up, and my legs wobble as I leave the room.

Time can pass slowly or quickly depending on what’s happening.

I replant the rest of the moon cereus late at night. I go to push boxes in the morning, and nobody notices me. We’re back to pushing the big heavy boxes again, and I peek inside and realize there is nothing. They are heavy boxes with nothing inside.

Each night I check on the moon cereus, thinking of where my father had failed and I succeeded. I might be imagining it, but the buds are getting bigger. I check on them a few weeks later. It’s late at night, and we stayed pushing boxes for longer than usual. When I go to check on them, instead of seeing buds, I see flowers, the night-blooming cereus at its best. I stay watching the flowers until morning. One by one, they lose their lives, nobody knowing what their former beauty was except for me.

 

Rowdy

What haunts me most had absolutely no effect on anyone but me. It did not hurt anyone, or change anyone else’s life. But the scene still replays in my head, as though I tore out the heart of my best friend.

My dog, Rowdy, was almost fifteen years old. He had black and white fur, and was on the larger side. His dark eyes were a bit filmy with age, but they still glittered. He would eat absolutely anything, including paper towels. Once, he ate several pounds of dark, imported chocolate. We called the vet, who told us to make him sick to his stomach. Rowdy and his sister, Chessie, had a strange quirk where, if they ate anything frozen, be it ice cream or an ice cube, they would get sick. So we put out a bowl of vanilla ice cream, which Rowdy ate happily. And that did it. He was saved.

When he was angry at us for going out and leaving him alone, he would destroy something in the house, usually our mail. When we came home, he would get so excited and rush at the door. One of my first words was “Back!” spoken as soon as the front door opened.

He had been my only dog for quite some time, as Chessie had died, when I was three, from lymphoma, gained through our ignorance in letting her walk on pesticide-soaked grass. At that time, Rowdy’s eyes lost their sparkle. He moped around the house and ate only about half of his food. For him, that was akin to a hunger strike. We had to do something to shake him out of his grief and bewilderment.

But we never thought that a brief trip we took to Philadelphia would be what did it.

Rowdy had fallen asleep in the back of the car, like always. But just as we were driving into the city, he woke up and looked around. His head snapped from one window to another, his eyes widening. He gave a short bark. He was amazed. He regained the jaunt in his walk, and the gleam in his eye. Philadelphia saved him.

But five years later, I couldn’t.

Rowdy was past his best years. His kidney was failing, and it was time. I was eight years old and begged for more time, more nights when Rowdy would come into my room and lick my hand, more days where we would go on walks. I did not understand what home would be without a dog, and I didn’t want to understand.

But my parents were adults and less selfish. They explained that Rowdy would suffer if we let him continue on as he was, and the kindest thing for him would be to put him to sleep.

I remembered watching him get shots (benign ones), boosters, and vaccines at the vet before. The vet would put a dollop of spray cheese on a tongue depressor, and Rowdy would lick it up without the slightest idea that a needle was entering his flesh. I wondered if it would be the same way this time.

But I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t be there. I had to go to theatre camp, though I had no thespian talents to speak of. Our play was almost ready for production, and I needed to be there for the dress rehearsal, though I would have gladly skipped the entire show.

The last morning, we had plans for me to stay at a neighbor’s while my parents went to the vet, and she would drive me to camp when it was time. I woke up, dressed, and felt the little time I had left pressing upon me like a vise, so that I couldn’t savor any of it.

The neighbor came over to get me. She, my parents, and I were standing in our front hall. Rowdy was sitting in the middle, looking curiously at us all.

Everybody was watching me, knowing this would be the last time Rowdy and I saw each other. It was our goodbye, our final moment. I knelt down, scratched his ears and his head for a few seconds, looked into his eyes, and went out the door.

That was it.

In the midst of my conglomeration of eight-year-old feelings, from awkwardness to sadness to stress to confusion, I did not say goodbye. I did not tell him he was a good boy one last time. I did not tell him I loved him.

Maybe I didn’t say anything more because of all the people watching me, and I felt embarrassed. Maybe it was because I had to go to camp, act in a play, and like a normal person in general, and I didn’t want to start crying. Maybe I just wanted to pretend none of this was happening. But whatever the reason, I did not tell my moribund dog that I loved him.

That did not matter at all. It had no effect. Rowdy didn’t understand, and my parents were probably so distracted by their own grief that they weren’t really listening. Rowdy understood a few words, of course, like “sit” and “treat,” but he had no idea of what I had said or not said to him his last day on Earth. I could have recited a poem in his honor, and he would not have felt any differently.

Yet, I regret my final meeting with him more than almost anything else.

At camp that day, the grade above mine did their dress rehearsal while we watched. I couldn’t believe it, but the star of their show was a kid — boy or girl, I’m not sure — dressed as a dog, which depressed and annoyed me at the same time. And there was a maudlin song in their play called “Memories” (not the one from Cats.) All the while, I was unsure whether or not Rowdy was still alive and wondered if I should somehow sense the moment he died.

My failure to make the most of my last moment with Rowdy is a strange thing to be so fixated on. It’s insignificant and compared to the other problems in the world, ridiculously minor. But thanks to me, something that should have happened didn’t.

Rowdy never knew that I hadn’t said goodbye that day, but maybe he somehow hears the goodbye that I carry within me every day since.

 

Breathe Again

Cecily hated the color yellow. Everyone knew that. Well, she hoped they knew, but she was always wrong about that. Sadly, the paint in her eyes that slowly started seeping into her mouth was yellow. As she wiped the paint from her eyes and spit out the rest from her mouth, she stared at the culprit who had dared to throw paint at her. As she looked through her paint-filled eyes, she knew this was going to be a very long day.

“Sorry,” said Martinho sarcastically.

Martinho hated her. He was constantly pulling pranks on her, causing her to always bring a change of clothes. The first time he pulled a prank on her, she had to endure the rest of the day with whipped cream in her hair, eggs on her butt, and tomatoes all over her body.

She knew he hated her, but she did not know why. She never said a word to him. She probably wouldn’t even know his name if it wasn’t for her friend, Varinia, who was crushing on him hard.

She gave him look that said, Why do you always do this to me?

He knew that look all too well. She gave him that look every time he pulled a prank on her. He started laughing at her and taking pictures of her. He always took pictures because he always had to have a souvenir. He ran into the cafeteria, grabbing The Richards, the most popular guys at school, to join him laughing at her.

When she saw them coming, she ran into the bathroom, hoping they didn’t see her. As she hid out in the bathroom, her friend, Luciana, ran in, wondering if she was okay. She wasn’t okay. Martinho was starting to get on her nerves.

Cecily asked Luciana to get her change of clothes from her locker, but before she could get them, someone pulled the fire alarm. Everyone grabbed their jackets and ran outside.  It was pouring outside, but she didn’t care. As Cecily stood outside in the rain, the paint started to wash off, and she realized that she couldn’t let this go on.

Behind Cecily, there was a crash! Bang! Zander jumped out from behind the dumpster. The teachers saw him and took him to the principal’s office. They assumed that he did it because he was always causing mischief around the school.   

“Well, that was unexpected,” Luciana said.

Cecily smirked and gave her a look that said, Really. “We both know he had it coming. Plus, we know who really pulled that fire alarm,” Cecily said, looking at Diamanda.

“Yeah, Diamanda. So, tell me, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“I’m going to do nothing. There’s no point,” she said, defeated.

What!” Luciana screamed, and everyone within a five mile radius turned to look at them. They didn’t care, but decided to talk a little softer. “What? This has been going on for half a year now. You need to tell somebody and stop going on, bringing different clothes.”

“Maybe you’re right. My parents are starting to wonder if I’m going to school to change my clothes and impress a guy, but I’m not. Now, my dad wont even let me keep my door locked unless I’m using the bathroom. Sometimes I’ll take a shower, and I’ll come out and find out my door is unlocked when I clearly locked my door,” Cecily said, crossing her arms.

Luciana started laughing her butt off.  She could never take Cecily seriously. She was the kindest person she had ever met. She would never hurt a soul. She would act all serious, but she always had kind eyes.

“Dang, girl,” she said, still giggling, “how do you live like that?”

Cecily whined, “Will you stop laughing at me? It’s not funny.”

“Fine, I’ll stop. But you’re gonna have to figure out what to do.”

“I don’t know what to do. It’s getting harder and harder, being someone’s puppet on a string.”

“Well, never forget that I’m always here for you, okay? Unless Elijah calls. Then, I’m going to be preoccupied.”

“Girl, you are never gonna be preoccupied because we both know that Elijah will be calling me up, not you.”

“In your dreams, chica.”

“You’re right. He is in my dreams.”

At that, they both started laughing. Elijah has never even spoken to them, let alone known who they are.

After the Fire Department declared it a false alarm, they went back inside. Once Cecily was inside, she quickly grabbed her change of clothes and went to the bathroom. When she opened the bag, she cursed like a madwoman. She accidently grabbed her younger sister’s clothes, which looked like booty shorts on her.

Meanwhile, outside the bathroom, Martinho gathered up The Richards, Diamanda, and whole bunch of other people to see Cecily look like a wet dog. In the bathroom, Cecily realized she only had two options: put on her sister’s booty shorts, or keep on the wet sticky paint clothes. Cecily really only had one option, but she made two to make herself feel better.  As she put the clothes on, they became smaller and tighter around her waist. Her top turned into a crop top, showing way too much belly button for her liking.  As she looked at herself in the mirror, her knees started to tingle and became very wobbly.

“Dang, girl. You look hot,” Luciana said, staring at Cecily with amazement.

Stop!!! You’re not helping! You’re supposed to tell me that I don’t look good,” Cecily said desperately.

As her voice got higher, Luciana said, ”Now why would I do that? I would never lie to you.”

She looked away at that last comment. “Lies. If I had a nickel for every time you lied to me, I would be rich.”

“Now, that is a lie. Look at yourself. I bet you, the moment you walk out of that door, those guys will be following your every move.”

“The only way I’m going out there is if there is no one out there. Go check for me.”

While Luciana went to go check to make sure no one was there, Cecily tried to boost her confidence and self esteem.

Luciana came back with bad news. “Ummm… I uh… really think you should put on your gym clothes.”

“I’m not taking gym this year, so these clothes are my only option.”

“Well… you see… there’s this really big crowd outside, and they’re waiting for you to come out.”

No!! Why does he hate me so much? I’ve done nothing to him!” Cecily whined.

“I don’t know. If you say you’ve done nothing to him, then I believe you. But your best bet is to suck it up, pull it together, and go out there like you came to school in that outfit.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one wearing this skimpy outfit,” Cecily started to yell.

She tended to yell when things were getting out of hand, and she couldn’t do anything.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing the ‘skimpy’ clothing, but you are the sweetest, nicest person I know who wouldn’t dare get mad at someone, even when justified. You need to stop caring what everyone thinks about you, and only worry about what your friends think, because we’re the ones who are beside you through thick and thin, not them.”

“You know, you maybe a bookworm and a soccer fanatic, but sometimes, you give really good advice.”

“So, are ready to go out there?”

“Do you think we can wait a bit? I mean-”

“No. We can’t wait any longer. You need to face your fear. And buy me lunch, because lunch was shortened thanks to the fire alarm. So we need to hurry before they run out of fries.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

As they walked to the door of the bathroom, Cecily could feel her stomach clenching with butterflies. She came to the door and paused. As she was about to bail, Luciana yanked the door open. Everyone couldn’t believe their eyes. The nerdy girl, who always wore oversized clothes, actually looked hot. Even Martinho was staring, which is a first for everyone. As she looked upon the crowd, she saw smiles and looks of encouragement. Well, except for Martinho and Diamanda. Martinho stood next to The Richards with his mouth opened wide, staring at her, while Diamanda looked like she was going to kill her.

Diamanda growled at her, ”What are you wearing?”

Cecily replied, “Clothes, like you.”

Everyone started laughing. Cecily didn’t know what was so funny, but Diamanda sure did. Apparently, the “joke” Cecily made was to say, “Well, I’m wearing skimpy clothes, just like you wear skimpy clothes all year long.”

“Was that supposed to be joke?” she asked angrily.

“What was supposed to be a joke? I just answered your question.”

Cecily may have been a nerd, but when it came to popular stuff and noticing when a guy likes her, she was clueless. Diamanda started walking in a circle around Cecily, making her feel very uncomfortable.

“So, you think that you can just go around skimpy clothing, and everyone will forget what a dork you are?”

“I’m not a dork.”

“Oh, really? What are you, then?”

“I’m a decent person, unlike you,” Cecily said with a bit confidence.

Now Diamanda was furious. She could not let Cecily get the better of her. Cecily also couldn’t believe what she was hearing and seeing. Diamanda had the nerve to question what she was wearing, when she practically wore this everyday. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say Diamanda was little jealous. But why? She felt herself getting angry about this whole situation.

Cecily walked straight up to Diamanda, got in her face, and said, “You know what, Diamanda? I don’t care what you think about me. I know that you pulled the fire alarm so I could be soaking wet. And the best of all, I know damn well that I look good in these clothes, way better than you ever will.”

At that note, Cecily strutted into the cafeteria, with Luciana on her heels, who was laughing uncontrollably.

“Damn girl, I didn’t think you had it in you. You were on fire. After you left, Diamanda looked like you just took whatever soul she had left and ripped it into a million pieces.”

“Thanks, Luciana. Now I feel bad. Should I go and apologize?”

“Are you crazy? You just stood up to her, and now you want to say sorry? You shouldn’t feel bad about something that was a long time coming.”

“Yeah, you’re right. She totally deserved it.”

Luciana and Cecily were at the cashier, having their daily talk with the lunch ladies. Meanwhile, nobody could believe what just happened. Nobody spoke to Diamanda like that, let alone leaving her speechless in the process.   

“Well, Cecily’s a little spitfire, isn’t she? I thought you guys said she was a shy one,” said someone in a black sweatshirt.

He was one of The Richards.

“She is. I don’t know what’s gotten in her,” said Martinho.

He sure did like the new Cecily, but he kept that thought to himself.  

“She is so dead. The next time I see her…”

“Diamanda, just leave her alone. It’s not cool what you’ve been doing to her,” said Black Sweatshirt. “You too, Martinho. Why do you guys always mess with her?”

“Why do you wanna know?” Martinho asked defensively. “I didn’t ask questions when you were messing with…”

‘That’s in the past, and it’s going to stay in the past,” said Black Sweatshirt defensively.

The boys were neck and neck right now. Diamanda was about to step in when Cecily and Luciana walked out of the cafeteria. When Diamanda caught wind of Cecily, she glared like no tomorrow. Cecily was about to act like a coward when she decided to glare back.

As Cecily and Luciana were walking to the counselor’s office, Black Sweatshirt ran up to them. His heart was guiding him, not his mind. Black Sweatshirt secretly has had a crush on Cecily since kindergarten. She left soon after that, but he never forgot what she looked like. Seeing her again going into high school was like walking in a dream for him. He never thought he would get the chance to her again.

“Hey, Cecily! Wait up,” said Black Sweatshirt as he ran to her.

“Uh… hi,” Cecily said nervously.

“You don’t remember me, do you? We went to kindergarten together,” Black Sweatshirt said, hoping she would remember something.

“Uh… sorry. I don’t remember you,” she said nervously.

Black Sweatshirt gave Luciana a look that said, “Can you give us minute?” and she slowly slipped away.

“Don’t worry about it, it was a long time ago anyway,” he said. “My names Elektrec, and I was wondering if you could help me with something,” he said nervously, hoping she wouldn’t say no.

“Uh… maybe. Will I get in trouble for it?”

“No, of course not. I would never do anything like that to you,” he said sweetly.

Cecily couldn’t believe her ears. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. When Elektrec realized what he said, he started to blush.

Diamanda, Martinho, and the rest of The Richards were watching this whole exchange. Diamanda couldn’t believe that the hottest guy in school (and her long time crush since 5th grade) would ever like someone like Cecily.

Martinho was suddenly very jealous. He liked the new Cecily. Before, she was a nobody, a nerd. Now that she was finally something, he wanted her. He was the reason that she was a somebody now anyway. He sprayed her with that yellow paint that made her change her clothes, and that probably gave her the boost to stand up to Diamanda. She owed him, and he knew exactly what he wanted from her. He gritted his teeth and began walking towards the two to interrupt whatever was going on between them.

“Hey guys. How’s it goin?” Martinho said mischievously.

“What do you want?” Cecily said, annoyed.

“Oh, I just wanted to come and talk to you for a second. In private,” Martinho smirked.

“Actually, I was talking to her first. I just need to ask her one question, so could you give us a minute?” Elektrec asked nicely.

“You know what? I think I’m gonna stay right here. So you ask her whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere,” Martinho said, crossing his arms.

Elektrec slowly breathed out, “Uh, okay. Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me this weekend?”

“You… want to go on a date… with me?” Cecily asked, not believing a word that just came out his mouth.

“Yes. I really want to go on a date with you.”

“Is this a game? Are you just trying to play with me? Because that’s not cool and-”

Elektrec took a couple of step forwards and grabbed her arms. Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “I want to be with you, and only you. So what do you say we go out Saturday night? I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something comfortable and warm, because we’re going to be outside.”

Cecily was in awe. She couldn’t believe her ears. The only thing she could do was nod her head.  Elektrec gave her a swoon-worthy smile and, boy, did she swoon.

As he was leaving, he told Martinho, “You hurt her, and I hurt you. Got it?”

Martinho gulped and answered, “Yes, sir.” He turned to Cecily. “So, Uh-”

“No, just stop right there. I don’t care about what you have say. You don’t have the right to say anything to me after everything you have done to me,” Cecily said, getting angrier by the second.

On that note, she turned on the ball of her foot and went inside the counselor’s office. As soon as she got into the room, her friends started pestering her with questions about what happened. She told them about her date with Elektrec, and how she stood up to Martinho. She then realized that although today may have started out a terrible day, she stuck through it. Instead of today being the worst day of her life, it turned out to be the best day of her life, for new things began today. She might even wear her yellow scarf on the date.

 

The Darkest of Depths: A Novel Excerpt

Chapter Excerpt: Deja Vu

As they sat up, they became more aware of their surroundings. The stone bridge they were sitting on wasn’t stone at all. It was half rock, half molten magma. They had bubbles around them to protect them from the heat. The bubbles were in the shape of their outlines and seemed to move with them. Not only that, the walkway was floating in space. It was black, with stars everywhere, in every direction. The infinite expanse of space was so beautiful, it was hard to describe. They could see the Milky Way, and they could see Mercury, Venus, and Earth. And, of course, they could see the infinitely huge sun stretching out before them.

Sunspots seemed to stare at them like huge, beaded, black eyes. Arcs of gas leaped up and settled down again.The gas seemed to envelope them as if it were mist made of fire. They walked towards the sun slowly, surely, but in awe. As they approached the wall of fire that was the sun, the gas pulled back, revealing a tunnel made out of what seemed to be an arc of fire. They stepped into the tunnel, and the gas wall closed behind them like a door. They walked through the tunnel for what seemed like forever. Then, they approached this podlike thing that was a disk with a semi-circle of swirling ice on top, kind of like a Bosu ball.

“I think we’re supposed to jump on it,”  said Jack with anticipation.

They held hands and stepped in it. Power surged through them like nothing had ever done before. Arrows made of ice that appeared on the walkway pointed them down the tunnel, and they knew exactly what to do. They ran. Because of the energy, they ran at over 10 billion miles per hour, speeding along the tunnel so fast, they basically flew. Then, after a few minutes, an invisible force told them to slow down. They came to a halt at a gateway made of ice, broken in half down the middle. All that energy drained out of them, like water in a spilled cup.

They seemed to be standing in the ruins of a castle. There seemed to be an invisible bubble of force that made a sphere-shaped hole in the sun, and that hole is where the castle was. Shards of white stone were everywhere. However, the path to the main part of the castle was still intact, with little chunks floating around it. They walked slowly up the path to the front gates of the castle. An entire half of the castle had been blown apart, and bricks of solid ice as hard as stone littered the ice-white hallways inside. They came to a staircase. Liquid nitrogen was foaming and dripping from two bowls, one on each side of the door. They walked down the spiral staircase. Down, down, down. They went so deep into the castle that it became very cold, and they could feel ice-cold power trying to take over the heat that was the sun. They emerged in a room that was completely blown up. It was supposed to be a smooth field of ice, with walls surrounding it and a ceiling on top. Instead, the walls and the ceiling were completely blown apart, and where they were supposed to be had holes looking out at the sphere of gas that surrounded the castle. The only thing intact was the floor, but it was covered in rubble.

“Wait,” Ben said. “Look at that, in the center of the room!”

They gathered around a circle carved into the field with a mini circle at the center. Both of the circles’ outlines were glowing. Then, a line appeared, cutting both circles down the middle. The mini-circle split apart at the line, and out rose a ball of light, so filled with energy and heat that it blinded them for a second.

Then, light from the ball poured into Jack, turning his hair red, blazing with heat and fire. His pupils in his eyes had little fire balls, and his entire body seemed to emit smoke. Light from the ball then poured into Ben. His hair turned blue, and it coursed with electricity. The electricity ran down his entire body and into his hands, which sizzled with power. When the light finally poured into Daniel, his hair turned into the color of wheat, with strands of hair turning into leaves. Markings like vines engraved themselves into his arms, neck, and legs, and a wave of dim light burst from him, healing injuries, and making everyone feel wonderful. They all knew instantly what this was.

“The Eternal Flame,” said Jack with awe.

 

A Bridge of a Sun

When he was alone outside and had nothing to do, Charles often thought about the strange coincidence that revolved around his birthday. He was born at the same time as the opening of an obscure musical called “Chivalry.” He liked to acknowledge this, but he made sure the other boys didn’t see the unicorn poster he had in his desk. He didn’t want to be called “Uniboy” or something.

The unicorn nodded its head in agreement.

Wait. What?

Yes, there was a unicorn standing in front of him in all its unicorn-y glory. He whinnied (it looked like a “he”) and motioned for Charles to get on.

“No. I can’t,” said Charles. “You’re not real, so I can’t.”

The unicorn made the same motion.

“Fine,” sighed Charles, and swung himself onto the hallucination (it was not.) The unicorn seemed to smile, then looked surprised.

“What now?” said Charles.

Suddenly, the unicorn twitched intensely and whinnied as a pair of wings sprung from his back. The poor thing seemed to be having an identity crisis of some kind.

“Well. This will be fun,” said Charles. “Wanna fly or…?” he trailed off.

He felt at ease, strangely. The unicorn turned around and nodded.

That peace was not to last, for the unicorn, unaccustomed to his wings, accidentally flew at the sun. They almost were done for, when what appeared to be a bolt of lightning hit Charles’ new friend and mount. He whinnied, and they fell through some sort of shield. Charles was no longer flying on a unicorn. Instead, he was almost burned alive.

He couldn’t see a thing, then a wave of cold washed onto him. He sat up and stared into the face of a young man carrying a staff of some kind.

“You almost missed the shields completely,” the young man said.

“Okay…” said Charles.

“That’s why I had to do that,” said the stranger, and gestured with his staff.

In that direction, a voice said, “What a day… what a…”

Charles turned to look and saw another man, also young, in clothes and with hair the same color as the unicorn’s coat.

“Is that you?” said a shocked Charles.

“Yes, it is,” said the man with the unicorn hair. “It was fine and all, you know… I thought you would like me that way.”

“Enough with this!” snapped the wizard. He was looking at a screen-like device. “That cold spell I casted will end soon!”

“Teleportation?” said the former unicorn.

“They need him!” shrieked the wizard. “Go!”

And in a flash of light, they went. The wizard did not come, but the used-to-be-unicorn did.

“Um…” said Charles. “Where are we? Who are you?”

“I am merely a messenger who knows that you like unicorns. This is the center of a star, or the sun if you’d like.”

“Why are we here?”

“You are supposed to be here. We needed a human, so we made a way to choose one.”

“You mean…”

“Chivalry was a device to select you.”


“So was there, like, a prophecy or something?”

“No. Just, only a human can cross the Bridge and save us all.”

What?”

The “Bridge” turned out to be a bridge with a switch on the side farthest from Charles and his companion. This switch would shut off the power that was on the verge of destroying the sun, but why only a human could have the determination and drive to cross the bridge and hit the switch? No one knew. Charles was human, so he ran across the crumbling (this was scary) bridge, finally reached the switch. He turned around. His friend was on the other side.

“What are you waiting for?!” shouted the non-human.

“Was ‘Chivalry’ an actual musical or just a way to select a human?” asked Charles.

Why do you care?!” shrieked his friend.

“Well?” Charles asked.

“It was written with the intent of choosing a human, yes.”

“I loved that show…”

“SAVE THE WORLD! WE’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!”

Charles hit the switch. With no unicorn to carry him home (the wizard popped in and apologized), Charles had to be teleported magically. He said goodbye.

“See you?” said the former unicorn.

“Don’t know,” said Charles.

“Oh, yes… hello, my name is Aquila.”

“‘Bye, Aquila. I’m Charles, by the way.”

“Goodbye, Charles.”

And he was home.

 

Circle of Life

0 – 6 years

My name is Frank, and I was in the hospital because I had just been born. I have a lovely mom and dad, but the first face that I saw was some strange women. I stayed in there for one month because I was sick and had pipes sticking into me. My mom said that she had to wake up at 3 a.m. everyday to go to the hospital, and she wouldn’t know if I was alive or dead. She was very stressed, and my dad always skipped work. Luckily, my dad didn’t have so much work at this time.

When I got out, I saw something. I couldn’t really open my eyes because it was shiny and orange.

I heard my dad saying, “The sun is shining, and it’s very hot.”

I didn’t really understand what it was. I was little, but one thing that I knew I wanted was to be close to the sun. I wanted to touch it because I felt some strange connection to it. It’s like the sun was calling my name over and over.

I had to drink milk everyday. Really, I never liked it, but I used to hear my mom say that it would be dangerous if I stopped drinking milk at such a young age. I was turning one years old, and nothing had really changed, except I learned to say “Mom” and “Dad.” I was trying to learn my name.

I was two years old when I got my first toy. I really understood that it was a Ford Mustang and, from this day, I had one thing in mind. When I grew up, I want a real Ford Mustang.

I was three years old when I started saying some sentences like “Mom, I need to go to the bathroom,” or “Dad, I want a toy.” It was my first day of school, and I didn’t really remember if I liked it or not. I made one friend, and I always played outside. I was always so hyper. When it was time to sleep, I never wanted to sleep.

Every two days, we had the same thing to eat.

I remember when we went on a school trip to a zoo. In the middle of the tour, I suddenly felt something. I felt like something stung me on my hand, so I had to sit down. I missed the rest of the tour.

The past two years, I started speaking German and learning how to write and read. I was six, and I was doing a test so they could see if I was ready for first grade. I passed, and somehow I was the best. It felt good.

 

7 – 12 Years: Starting a New Life

I was seven years old when my first problem started. My mom told me that my friend moved away. I made the biggest mistake. I only made one friend. His name was Dan. We met on the bus. It was the first day, and we sat next to each other. We played Pikachu, and he was the first kid that came to my house. If I remember correctly, we always played with army figures.

After three years of school, a disaster happened. My mom fell sick, and it was not good. I was scared and didn’t know what to do. My mom couldn’t really walk, and if she did, her knee would start hurting, so she had to get thinner. When I did something wrong, she would lock me in a room. I always used to cry and would try to call my dad, but I didn’t blame her. I was her first kid, and she didn’t know how to handle it. But she was the best mom ever. Because of her, I would learn from her mistakes and do it correctly.

I was eleven years old when I was gonna fly to Germany for the first time. It felt so weird, and I was scared. But when we were in the air, it felt so good, and the view was so nice. I held my mom’s hand all the time. I could see she was still sick, but it wasn’t like when she had it first. The airplane had a TV in front of me, the seats were comfortable and cold, and the food wasn’t bad. On the airplane, I felt a stronger connection with the sun. There was a man waving at me, and I told my mom to look. She looked surprised and said that she didn’t see anything. I knew that she was hiding something when she had to go to the bathroom.

“Our son, Frank. The sun is starting to talk to him. What should I do?” said my mom to my dad.

“I don’t know.”

It was a big adventure. The first time I went hiking, I almost fell down because for a second, I didn’t think about the path and looked at an orange mushroom. While we were hiking, my mom had to take some breaks because of her knee. I was very proud of my mom that she did everything with me.

The next day, we went ziplining from tree to tree. We were about 25 meters high. When I was in the middle of the zipline, I wanted to brake, so I put my hand on the line. Then, my hand burned, and I realised that I wasn’t wearing my gloves. I was screaming and screaming, scared because my hand burned. Then, someone saw me and got help. My hands were black and bleeding, but not too bad. I was going to the medic when, on the way, the sun was shining. Somehow, my hand healed as if nothing happened.

At one point, I got lost and couldn’t find my mom. I was scared, but the sun gave me a path. How did I know that? Because it was dark when, suddenly, the sun made a path. If I told you how many times I was scared, it would be as big as the population of New York.

I was twelve years old when my mom was getting better, but not too much. I was now in seventh grade, and it was starting to get harder, but I was smart. I was trying to figure out what was happening to me.

 

20 Years Before Frank Was Born

“David, the son of the Sun god, I’m gonna send you to Earth. You can choose one woman to marry, because all the women on the sun disappeared. Your first son is gonna have the same powers as you do. And if you get the child, you have to bring him to me, your father.”

“Okay, but I’m not gonna risk that my son gets powers, or he’s gonna be in a lot of trouble.”

 

On Earth

“Hey. Before we get married,” said David to Lea, “You know that if we have a kid, he’s gonna have powers, and my father is gonna want him.”

“Yes. But you said that we are gonna try to keep him and not put him in trouble, right?”

“Yes.”

 

Back on the Sun

“Ah, my son. I knew that you would do something like that. Don’t forget I can see everything.”

 

25: The Moment

For the past thirteen years, I have been trying to figure out what was happening to me. A lot of times, I got hurt. When I went in the sun, I healed again. And every time I went to my parents, they always looked so scared when I told them about it.

When I finished college, I was gonna be an astronaut. I wanted to go to the sun because I felt that it wouldn’t harm me. When I told my parents about this, they said, “No.” They were panicking.

“It won’t,” said David, very quiet.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. What is going on with you guys?”

“It’s time that we tell him, David,” my mom said.


“Tell me what?!”

“Okay, Frank. I am not a normal human,” my dad said. “I am the son of the Sun god, and I made a promise that I will hand you over to my father when you were born. But I didn’t because he want’s you to fight the Elsaks with the powers that you have.”

“First of all, what the heck? Why didn’t you tell me before because that explains the healing. But how should I fight this Elsaks with only healing? And who are these Elsaks?”

“First, you can’t just heal. You can do other stuff, like shoot lasers from your eyes and fly.”

“What, I can fly? Wow.”

“Yes. And the Elsaks are aliens that attacked the sun a lot of times.”

Boom! There was a big bang. When we looked outside, it was the sun. A part of it broke.

“What is going on?” I said. “All of this is too much. I’m scared.”

“Go, Frank. Go and save your grandpa and the sun.”

“But how do I fly?”

“Just think about it.”

So I flew to the sun. It felt very good when I was near the sun. I just went in the castle, but I didn’t know how to land correctly so I made a hole in the roof of the castle and fell down. There, I saw an old man. I was not sure if it was my grandpa, but I saw a lot of weird looking creatures. One of them was longer, and I bet it was the queen. I focused the laser on her, but I couldn’t control it. I closed my eyes and opened them again, and all of the other creatures were gone except for the queen. Then, a guard came and took the queen. When they were outside, a huge ship came and, somehow, the queen was gone.

“Thank you, Frank,” said the old man.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything. I’m a god.”

“Holy, my grandpa is a god!”

“Now, you have two choices. You can stay here and get stronger, or go back home.”

“It would be very nice to be stronger, but I want to go back to my mom and dad.”

“Okay. I respect it.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry,” said David to Frank when he came back.

“It’s okay. But no more hiding stuff from me, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

 

So I’m now 65 years old. The past few years, I have been fighting crime and doing hero stuff. I really don’t want to marry someone because it would be dangerous to give someone else powers.

And here I am, writing the story of my life.

Bang! Another part of the sun fell.

Not again. Okay, I have to go and save the sun. By the way, my grandpa said that I won’t grow older than 70 years old.

“Come, Dad. Let’s save the sun!”

“I wish your mom could see us.”

 

River’s Tale

My name is River. My mother named me. Throughout my fifth year, I have traveled across what felt like the world. I used to live by the ocean in a tribe called Mist. Since the time I was adopted to Amethyst by Mrs. Moonstone, I felt like a part of something. But in order to understand that, you must know my horrible introduction.

I lived with my parents, who appeared to be stable at the time. What I did not know was that my parents were bonded by drugs. My father was like fire, and my mother was water. I guess my mom didn’t have it in her to put him out before it was too late. I tried very hard to block out my father’s actions. He joined the nearest tribe after my mom split the leaf. Tribes like to be bitter and competitive towards one another. One of the more offensive and humiliating practices that rival tribes commit is a wing skinning. They will rip the first layer of feathers and flesh off your wings. My father used to take me in a wagon around the town and show me off to his lumber partners when he still shared a leaf with my mom. During the splitting, he moved to an enemy tribe, and reflected his anger at my mother by committing crimes. He took extreme measures from the very beginning. He began with wing skinning. Later on, he started murdering the tribe’s decision makers and peacekeepers.

My mother was hoping to save the conversation of death for a year or two. When we would wake up to bodies hanging from the clothesline in the heart of our tribe, she needed to push the conversation immediately. Everyone was fearful for their lives for the first time in years.

His last action was intended to make my mother kill herself. He broke into our house in the middle of the night, tied her to a chair, and pinned me down as he ripped out my wings that were firmly attached to my back, as they were supposed to remain.

My mother burned down our house the next day. The whole tribe would think we died that night. We sprinted through months of forest in days. All I can remember is the upside-down trees, as I was tossed over her shoulder for most of the time. Everything was fine, until we both came down with the flu after a week of travel. I was extra weak, since I was still recovering from two gashes in my back from my fucking father. My mother lay in the grass, and begged the Earth to take her away. I begged her not to leave, but the flowers and trees answered her prayers.

I avoided religion. After my mom’s death, I concluded that it was too powerful. I seemed to magically recover when I accepted my mother’s death. I traveled through trees and brush for weeks, walking and walking. I was found near a tribe called Amethyst. Mrs. Moonstone found me napping in a patch of grass near her fishing spot, and brought me back to the tribe. From there, I was adopted by her. I loved her rose-gold colored hair, her dark green eyes, and her freckles. She spoiled me. Everytime she was mad at me for disobeying the codes, she could not remain upset for more than a few moments.

I met my true family in my caterpillar age of school. Fallie was my first friend and, later, she became a sister. During my first day of school, we learned how to weave baskets. I was so anxious that I hid inside my finished basket. When everyone started to laugh at me, Fallie put her basket over her head, and sat down right next to me. She was always there when fairies would laugh at me for being wingless and call me an elf. Mrs. Moonstone had also adopted a young fairy named Rexel when he was an infant. I was five, and he was almost two years old during my first year living with Mrs. Moonstone. As Rexel grew up, we became great friends. I helped settle his problems at school, because I vividly remember mine from the same age.

When Rexel was in his tenth year and I was in my fourteenth, Candy Brom Star rolled into town. His body and clothes were so detailed. His hair was bright, salmon pink, and puffy. His face reflected indigo in certain lights. He had rosy lips, big, round sunglasses, and he wore outfits that screamed, “Who the fuck are you?” He was rather large for a child as well. Everyday, Candy Brom Star did himself up to look different than the day before. Candy Brom Star’s unique style distanced him from many fairies in Amethyst, but Rexel was drawn to him. At first, I was skeptical about Candy Brom Star. I found it peculiar that Rexel was playing with what looked to be an adult fairy after school everyday. I found out later that Candy Brom Star was one year behind Rexel.

Everything was going pretty well until Mrs. Moonstone became very forgetful. Over time, she forgot our names. Eventually, she could not even leave her bed. I stayed home with her, while Rexel and Candy Brom Star would go out and do who knows what. Candy Brom Star and Rexel were out the day Mrs. Moonstone died. I wanted to find Rexel, but I was afraid that if I left her for a second, I would not be able to say my final goodbye. Rexel is still upset about missing her death to this day. Mrs. Moonstone gave the house to Rexel, but I was supposed to save it for him until he was old enough to legally inherit it. I was fourteen years old, the minimum age to own property.

Candy Brom Star moved in with us because his home was too dangerous. His mother was always selling drugs to fairies and, occasionally, a goblin. She would sell her own spit, which made her a major target. Goblins love their fairy saliva. Goblins are usually nasty creatures with no negotiation skills. It is rare to live near goblins, but the founder of Amethyst must have been unaware of their presence.

We didn’t live by any tribes, which is good and bad. I would know. Tribes cause nothing but tension. There is already plenty of tension within our tribe between the rich and poor. Though, with our goblin problem, it would be helpful to have double the fairies alongside us to fight. The community leaders have decided to stay friendly but distant with goblins. They had posters up on trees all around Amethyst that state the Goblin Trade And Affairs Act. We traded plenty of supplies with goblins, almost half of what we create. But we were not allowed to give them saliva. If any fairies were caught dealing saliva, they were thrown in jail “for the safety of the town.”

It had nothing to do with safety. Those upper class rats don’t want people desperate to make a living walking their streets. I suspected that Candy Brom Star’s mother had a good relationship with a community leader. It’s hard to believe that no one had grown suspicious about goblins showing up at her door, especially since goblin communication is only available during an entire community town hall. In summary, the town was afraid of goblins. They will overpower us. They will kill us. It was an unhealthy relationship, and whenever they come close to declaring war, we basically give them everything we have. They run the town, even if no one will admit it.

Ever since I became our house’s authority, I insisted that Candy Brom Star move in with us for his own safety. After a few months, he accepted that his living situation was too dangerous, and set up his new room in our attic. I knew that taking in Candy Brom Star would come with more responsibilities. I knew that he was trouble, but it didn’t matter what he was as long as his mother was dealing with goblins.

After a few weeks of living with him, I was on the verge of kicking him out. Whenever I would yell at him for making a mess, or bringing rats into the house with his stupid candy stash, he would shrug and grin at me. If I kicked him out, he would be homeless due to the goblins permanently staying with his mom. I wanted to slap her.

Rexel loved Candy Brom Star, but he was also getting very irritated by his habits. He was constantly puffing nutmeg all over the house. Our nutmeg, from our kitchen. The house smelled, and we were both ready to let him go homeless.

And finally, we did. He was actually fine. He found places to stay, but I was still always worried about him. He was family.

***

Today was Rexel’s birthday. We actually had no clue when his real birthday is, but we celebrated on November 3rd. That was the day that Mrs. Moonstone adopted him, and the day he was found under the Forgiving Tree. Its the tree that you leave things you don’t want. It really takes an asshole to leave a baby there. Fallie stopped by with a present for Rexel, but had to leave. Candy Brom Star had arrived an hour ago in a black suit, rainbow colored shoes, and a rainbow tie. He gave Rexel an orange bandana. Rexel thought it was hilarious, but I threw it out because orange was the color of the goblin flag. I bought the biggest cake in the bakery because Rexel had managed to stay out of trouble this year, and he deserved a big ass cake for that.

Rexel and Candy Brom Star were rolling around on the wooden floor when one of the floorboards cracked. Rexel’s leg was stuck in the hole where the floorboard had been. When we managed to pry his foot from the hole, we noticed it was wet. I grabbed a lantern, and we went underneath the house to investigate.

Candy Brom Star shouted, “Holy shit, it’s a pool!”

Rexel firmly held his hand over Candy Brom Star’s mouth until he bit it.

Rexel said through gritted teeth, “You better shut the fuck up. It’s 11:30 at night. You’re going to wake everyone in Amethyst up, and who fucking knows if this thing is legal? We could get kicked out of our own home for this.”

I shone my lantern over it. “Guys, it is. It is a pool.”

Candy Brom Star whispered, “See you on the other side,” and jumped in.

Rexel rolled his eyes. “He’s a moron.”

I stepped in, and Rexel did after me.

“I think Mrs. Moonstone had her share of secrets,” said Rexel.

“I agree.”

We swam all night. At one point, I questioned whether Candy Brom Star actually was on some kind of drug because he tried to kiss me. I slapped him. I had no clue how this thing was still down here.I wonder if Mrs. Moonstone knew about this. Did she create it herself? She was a very mysterious woman.

I went to bed, and Rexel and Candy Brom Star stayed in the pool a while longer. As I lay in bed, I gazed at the ceiling. As I continued to wait for sleep to come, I saw a timeline appear on the ceiling, memories flashing by. I saw my mother’s face as she watched my father rip my wings out of my back. I saw my mother’s last few smiles before she died. I saw Mrs. Moonstone hand me her winter hat when I was freezing. I saw Rexel for the first time, and as the the timeline came to an end, I saw how much happier I am now. My biggest worries are my two younger brothers and if they are safe. With completely a blissful mindset, I closed my eyes.    

 

Recounts from the Life of Hector

Oh, kids these days. Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Always on their God-forsaken phones and what-not. They’ve got no respect whatsoever. When I was a young chap growing up, we didn’t have phones. We would go out, play in the park, get all muddy. Now all these do-nothing, nasty children stay inside all day and post ridiculous pictures of themselves. (Are they called selfies?) These names. Sigh. These teenagers aren’t even cool. They are complete attention-seekers, drama queens… the list goes on and on. And what’s with these hoverboards? A pile of flammable crap if you ask me. Serves ‘em right to catch on fire. And don’t even get me started on the respect issues. They see me hobbling along, cane in hand, and it’s like they don’t notice me! They shove me like I’m nothing and knock the wind out of me! I respond the classic “Get lost!”, and they look back at me like I’m from Mars! Y’all know, I’m so lonely here in New York. Ah! Look what it says here in the New York Times! “Trumpet to Pull out of Paris Agreement”! How does that even make any sense? Oh, wait. Agh, these damn eyes of mine! Even with special reading spectacles! I was wondering, trumpets! Hahaha… *breaks into coughing fit* Bugger that! Nowadays I can’t even laugh without coughing out my lungs! Back to the headlines. What is wrong with that total idiot? Something’s not right up there in that orange head! Fifty years ago, global warming wasn’t even a thing. Now? Global warming this, global warming that, all this money being put into it! Us, the generation that was born in the World War II era, we’ve done a lot! Take me, I served in the army in the Vietnam War! Let’s not get too deep into that, it’s depressing. In that period of time, everything we did we meant. Now? Look at North Korea. What are they doing? Ballistic missile testing? Why. Why?! There’s absolutely no point whatsoever. Anyway, as I was saying before I got interrupted, my nearest relatives are my kids, and they’re bloody overseas in London doing who-knows-what with their lives. And they call me once a month! Talk about ignorance. Times were so good when Bertha was still around. We would take a crack at them kids on the street and scare the mickey outta them! Those were the good ol’ days.

I’m getting hungry. The kitchen is so far away. Crikey! Oh, blimey! Ah, my back! Sorry, I just tripped over this damned carpet. It gets me every time! I’m getting clumsy in my old age. Crap! It just has to be today. I’ve got nothing in the pantry! Well, s’pose I’ve got to go out to the grocery at the corner of the block. And it just happens to be raining. Sometimes New York seems to hate my guts! Where did I put my umbrella? Ah, yes, the closet. Why is this door so hard to open? *grunts* Finally! Let’s get this over with. My keys! Er… there they are! Aight, my wallet’s in my back pocket… I’m ready! Oh, wait, and my cane. This memory! Why! The elevator never works, and I’m all the way on the second floor! I’ve called the superintendent, people these days are so damn slow with their work! They take bloody ages to get a simple elevator fixed! Disgrace. Utter disgrace! Good morning to you too, Arthur! These are the people I like. They know the simple concept of respect! Unlike the majority of the population. Hey! You! Yes, you! Girl! Aren’t you gonna say sorry? That’s right! Stop giggling, you moron! Show some respect to your elders! I’m gonna kick your butt if I ever see you again! And by the way, what are you wearing? More like what aren’t you wearing, you’re showing half your bare skin! Kids have the weirdest styles. See what I mean? Kids, always on their phones, texting all their friends, having online wars, what has society become? In the fifties, we had no electronics. When we had arguments, boy did it get physical! I miss those days. Here we are! What do I need? Uh, let’s see. Oh, hey, employee! Could you get me… a few microwave enchiladas, six microwave mac n’ cheeses, five microwave chicken penne al frescos, seven microwave quesadillas, four microwave lasagnas, four six-pack bottles of Poland Spring, six boxes of Kellogg’s cereal, two jars of tomato sauce, six nonfat Greek yogurts, extra-virgin olive oil, honey, five dozen eggs, three bunches of bananas, and twelve bars of chocolate, please? Why’re you looking at me like that? What? You don’t do that kind of service? I don’t want to get into an argy-bargy about this, young man! You don’t wanna mess with me, I guarantee you. That’s right! Now go get me what I asked for, boy! Service is so bad in stores. They see I’m old with a rapidly balding head, wrinkly skin, wearing a beret and clothes from the 90’s, and they immediately assume I’m gonna be a grumpy, old fart! Could you possibly imagine that? Ha! On a side note, I am completely fine, I just can’t do much, exactly like the Kardashians! My phone’s ringing! It must be my son. Oi, you! Kid! How do I accept this call? Thank you! There’s this teeny tiny percent of the population, they know respect! Hello, William! Wait, what? Social security?! Ugh, what do they want this time? This month alone they’ve bothered me six times! Unbelievable. What? I need to move out of my apartment? I need to move to a retirement home? What’s the logic behind that? I’ve been living in my place for more than six years, I’m not ready for a retirement home! They sound so nasty! Okay, to sum this up, you’re kicking me out of my own home? I’m telling you, you belong in a damn mental asylum! I ain’t listening to you bunch of rowdy gits! No, I will not calm down! Do not tell me to calm down, I do what I want to do! You and the whole crowd of young people, y’all lead sad lives! Sad, sad lives! You have nothing good to do with your lives, so you work for dumb agencies like social security and take out your depression on old people! This isn’t fair! Oh, you did not just tell me to shut up. I know you didn’t. You shut your own trap, dig yourself a nice, little hole and, here’s an idea, why don’t you jump into it too? Don’t you dare hang up on me! I still had some words to say to that imbecile! I’m not going anywhere against my will. Nowhere! I’d better head home and enjoy life before they send a whole blasted police squadron to manhandle me to a retirement home! I almost forgot my groceries! Where’s that young lad? Finally! You took your sweetass time! How much? $127.85? Wow, this place is getting greedy!

Hello, Arthur! Can you believe this? Social security called me again! They want me to move to a damn retirement home! How have you escaped them? Jammy old chap. Why are they calling me again? I suppose they just want to inform me that I’ve been arrested for “bad attitude,” doesn’t sound too far off what they would do! Boy, what do you want? I don’t want to hear your ugl-wait, what? You’ve made a mistake? There’s another Hector Wright living in New York? Thank god for tha-I mean, uh, that’s right, punk! Of course you made a mistake! Stupid agencies, don’t know what they’re doing these days. Stupid agencies! Good-for-nothing, we can handle ourselves. Bloody Hell!

 

Gold

January 19, 2017

I woke up today to the usual chorus of whining dogs on the farm. I arose from my small bed and looked over to the clock. 5:27 AM, it read. Mama and Baba would still be asleep. Time to start the morning chores.

I put my shoes on and went over to the small kitchen. I had harvested the wheat yesterday, so I still had enough to make a whole batch of baozi. I kneaded some dough and went outside to harvest some cabbage for the filling. As Mama had taught me, I left some for later. I trudged back to our house with three small cabbage leaves. I added them to the flour and meticulously pinched the top so the cabbage would stay inside. I filled our only pot with water and dropped the dumplings in, one by one. I put them on the stove and waited for them to cook.

As I was about to harvest some rice for tonight’s dinner, I witnessed Baba’s sleepy face coming into view.

“Good morning, Baba,”  I said to him.

Baba nodded and went out the back to the dog meat farm.

I turned off the heat on the pot and took out the dumplings, careful not to burn my work-worn fingers. Baba came back from the farm and asked to talk to me. I nodded yes and sat down on the concrete floor with him.

“HuiNing,” he started, “I come with great news!”

The only thing more joyous than the words he was speaking was his face. It was the first time in about ten years that I saw him smile. He was smiling so wide that his gold tooth was showing, and the tips of my mouth curled up as well.

“We have received an offer from a kind gentleman by the name of Mr. Chen,” he continued. “He runs the Lychee & Dog Meat Festival in Yulin, and he has offered one hundred thousand yuan in exchange for 2,000 pounds of dog meat!”

I smiled, but it wasn’t as full as Baba’s. I knew it was a big deal, since our farm had never been successful. Furthermore, I was never a dog lover, but something didn’t seem right.

“That’s great news, Baba!” I half-lied. “I’m off to school now.”

I grabbed my small school bag and trudged out the door. When I got to school, I sat in the back of the classroom as usual. I couldn’t focus on what the teacher was saying today. My mind kept drifting out to the deal and what would happen. I knew Baba was never a big fan of our dog farm, but I knew he did it for our own good. Before, the dogs seemed like just a way to keep food on the table. But now, I wasn’t so sure what would happen to the dogs.

 

January 28, 2017

Today is the start of the New Year. We are off from school, so I took the day to prepare for the feast tonight. I harvested some yu, or fish, from the rice paddy, a symbol for prosperity. I also harvested some rice and turnips to make tang yuan and luo buo gao. I spent the whole day cooking, but my mind was drifting off again. The whines of dogs drowned out all my thoughts so much that I almost burned the fish.

As I was setting the food on the table, Baba came home with a huge tray of dumplings.

Mama gasped. “Are you sure we can afford those?” she said.

“We might as well use the money to treat ourselves ahead of time,” Baba smiled. “This will definitely be an auspicious year, starting it off with a promise to live a comfortable life!”

That was when I knew the sale was coming closer – and quickly.

 

January 29, 2017

Baba was sick to his stomach today since he ate so much last night. Since he couldn’t feed the dogs, I volunteered to take care of them for the day. It was a long walk, since the dogs were kept such a long distance away from the house. As I got closer and closer, the whining became more and more clear. But the only thing that was worse than the sound was the sight. About five dogs were stuffed into each of about twenty tiny cages. The barbed wire cut into their skin.

Mama had directed me to give them only a small bit of food. But my morals instructed me to give them at least twenty ounces per cage, so that’s what I did. As the dogs ate with great gusto, I noticed one that looked too scared to even eat. Instead of eating like the others, he looked up at me with his big, hazel eyes. He had golden fur, and he was a bit smaller and frailer than all of the rest. He looked just like me, a little part in a big world. Immediately, I knew I couldn’t leave him in this cruel place. I had to save him.

I cut the wire with my pocket knife and took him out, but he yelped as the barbed wire poked into his leg. I examined the spot. Fortunately, it didn’t look too bad. I gave him some more food, and he ate it quickly. He must have been starving in there. He licked my face, and it brought up a feeling that I had never experienced before, a mixture of compassion and raw emotion. As I was carrying him back, I forgot an important aspect: Where would I keep him? That’s when I was struck with the sad feeling that the rescue may not be successful.

But then, I remembered something: there was the box that contained all the dumplings Baba bought. It would definitely be big enough, and it could go under my bed.

Now, what would I name him? The first thing that came to mind was jing, or “gold.” He may not be worth much to somebody else, but he was gold to me. I stuffed Jing under my shirt so Mama wouldn’t notice him. He started to fall asleep, breathing slowly and steadily. When I reached my small room, I placed Jing on my bed. He stretched out, and I could have sworn that his lips curled into a smile. I stroked his fur, which was rough and coarse. I made a mental note to bathe him at some point.

Trusting that Jing would wait there, I snuck out to the kitchen to take the jiaozi box. I brought it back to my room and poked some holes at the top so Jing could get some air. I divided it into two parts: one for sleeping, and one for going to the bathroom. I added some cotton, from my small pillow, and some old paper and moved Jing into the box. He was so quiet. It seemed as if he knew that he might be caught and sent back if he made a sound. Jing curled up again, but kept his beautiful smile.

 

February 11, 2017

I had saved up my money from the last week to buy a small bottle of shampoo from the market. I ran back home, hoping Baba wouldn’t catch me and be suspicious. When I got to my room, I took Jing, who was playing with the cotton at the bottom of the box. I laughed but stopped myself, hoping nobody would wonder what was happening. I took Jing to the stream and squirted some shampoo on his fur. I rinsed him off with some of the water and stroked it through his now silky fur. He shook the water off, and he looked exactly like a cotton ball. It was the first time I’d really enjoyed myself for as long as I can remember.

 

February 23, 2017

It had become part of my daily morning routine to take care of Jing. I changed the paper, and I put half a baozi in the pocket of my mianpao to save for him. I go to my room, stroke Jing, and give him the baozi. He eats with great relish, and I usually start to smile. But not today.

Today, I noticed a drop of blood coming out of Jing’s left front leg. I looked closer, and the top of his leg was swollen. Jing was still eating, and he didn’t look like he was in pain. I knew I couldn’t afford a veterinary bill for Jing, so I put some soothing herbs on it for now.

That day, at school, I wondered what it would be like to not worry about money. I know that’s why Baba wanted to sell the dogs, but there had to be a better way.

 

March 2, 2017

Days have passed, and the soothing herbs weren’t helping. I’ve started saving up some money to buy him some ointment. I hugged Jing tightly. I didn’t want to let him go.

 

March 14, 2017

I’ve saved up the money to buy some ointment. After school, I ran straight to the market. With the pharmacist’s recommendation, I bought a small tube of ointment and some gauze to wrap the wounded spot. With no time to waste, I ran home to Jing. I lathered some ointment on the wound and wrapped the gauze around it. Jing yelped when I put the gauze on. Beads of sweat started forming from my forehead. What would Baba say if he heard that? I told Jing to quiet down and hid him under my bed. Just then, Mama walked in my room.

“HuiNing, did you hear something?” she questioned, looking confused.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe from the dog farm?” I suggested.

“Yeah. Probably,” Mama replied and walked off.

Phew!

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and hugged Jing. Then, I thought of something. Jing is only one of the thousands of dogs being treated like he was. What if I could help them out, too? But the more I thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. What could I do? I’m just a small part in this big world.

 

March 21, 2017

Jing’s leg was looking somewhat better, but maybe I was being optimistic. I tried to lift the gauze up to see how the wound was doing, but he moved it away. That couldn’t be too good. I gave him his baozi, stroked his fur, and walked off. Healing takes time, right?

 

April 3, 2017

I sat in the back of the classroom as always, constantly biting my nails. Jing’s leg wasn’t looking much better this morning. When I was doodling on my paper, the first thing that came to mind was Jing. I wasn’t taking note of what would happen if anyone saw me, but someone did. Meixin, the most popular girl in school, was apparently looking over my shoulder.

“Is that your dog?” she whispered, paying careful attention to where the teacher was looking.

I blushed and nodded. Why was she looking over my shoulder? I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Why is his leg swollen?”

“It got infected from the barbed wire in his cage,” I whispered. “He would have been slaughtered and eaten.”

Meixin gasped, “You’re joking. Who even eats dog meat?”

“Tons of people,” I started. “There’s a whole festival.”

I was too embarrassed to tell Meixin about our farm.

“Someone’s going to have to stop that,” she said, scrunching her face up.

“It’s hard, okay? We’re just little parts of a big world.”

Meixin started to shake her head, but the the teacher caught a glance of her. She shrunk back into her seat. She scribbled something on a paper and handed it to me.

Meet me at my locker after school, it read. So that’s what I did.

“Operation: Dog Rescue,” Meixin started.

I just shook my head. “It’s not worth it! Nothing’s going to happen. Plus, what do you even know about this?”

“There’s no harm in trying,” she said optimistically. “I’ve researched it during lunch,” she added.

I sighed. I knew Baba wouldn’t be too happy about this. But I couldn’t just let all those dogs die.

“Okay,” I replied, still shaking my head. “I’ll help you with this, but just don’t get your hopes up.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We have a chance. Chances can go a long way. First, we start schoolwide,” Meixin started. “Let’s hand out fliers and make a club. We can use my computer.”

“Okay, then,” I said, a little more positive.

Then, I sighed. What luxury to have a computer at your fingertips!

“I’ll come back tomorrow with the fliers,” Meixin said. “What’s your dog’s name anyway?”

“Jing.”

She nodded. I knew she knew why I chose that name.

We both said goodbye to each other. For once, I actually thought this idea had a chance. That was more than I could ever ask for.

 

April 4, 2017

Meixin and I posted the fliers around school. By the end of the day, we already had seven people asking to join. I smiled almost as wide as Baba did when he was first given the offer. This really meant a lot to me. It meant that we had a chance of saving thousands of dogs’ lives. But I felt a tinge of guilt about Baba.

I checked the time. I said a quick goodbye to Meixin and darted back home. Baba would be really suspicious if I stayed even a minute later. I checked on Jing, who was sleeping. I hugged him, and he licked my face affectionately. I smiled. Jing went back to sleep. I noticed that he was sleeping a lot more these days.

 

April 17, 2017

When I went to school this morning, I received some of the best news I’ve ever heard from Meixin.

“The website is almost ready. All we need is specific information, maybe something about your dog,” she said.

“Thank you so much!” I exclaimed and threw my arms around Meixin.

We embraced for a second, and then I nodded. “I’ll bring my dog tomorrow. We can take pictures and write about him.”

Meixin raised an eyebrow. “You really think nobody will notice him?”

I nodded confidently. “Believe me, if I’ve been keeping him in my house this whole time, keeping him at school for a day is nothing. He never makes a sound.”

 

April 18, 2017

After stroking him a couple of times and making sure he did his business for the day, I moved Jing into my schoolbag. Today, I was careful not to jumble my schoolbag around too much on my commute to school.

Meixin met me at my locker, waiting for me to open my schoolbag. When I did, Meixin said, “Aww!”

I told her to remain quiet so she wouldn’t attract attention.

“Sorry!” she answered, “Jing’s just so cute! How do people have the heart to do this to innocent dogs?”

“That, I don’t know the answer to,” I replied, thinking of my parents.

To them, the dogs were a way to support our lives.

We took some photos of Jing and loaded them onto the website. By then, class was about to start, so I kept Jing in my locker. We agreed to come back after school to continue.

At class that day, I fiddled with my pencil. The clock couldn’t tick fast enough. I wanted to go check on Jing, so I asked for a bathroom pass. I went to my locker, and Jing was asleep as usual. I stroked his head, and he rolled over on his stomach. My lips curled into a smile. I stroked his soft fur as he slowly went to sleep, his beautiful smile almost as wide as mine.

After giving Jing a stick to chew on, I went back to class, hoping I hadn’t taken so long. Unfortunately, it had been almost 10 minutes since the time I left. The teacher gave me a dirty look.

“What took you so long?” she demanded.

I was able to make up a believable story about losing the bathroom pass and having to look everywhere for it. She nodded and ushered me back to my seat. I sighed in relief. If she didn’t believe me, that could have been bad.

Finally, the final bell rang. I sprinted to my locker, overjoyed to get started. Meixin came along with her computer a bit later. She asked me to write something about Jing and handed me the computer.

This is Jing, I started. His front leg is infected from a rusty barbed wire cage. He was too scared to eat much and would have either starved to death or died of his wounds if I hadn’t saved him. Jing isn’t the only dog who has had these experiences. Millions of other dogs live like this. It’s up to us to stop it.

Meixin read it and started tearing up. “If this doesn’t draw people,” she said, “I don’t know what will.”

 

May 2, 2017

It had been two weeks since the website had been posted. After school, Meixin met me at my locker, smiling.

“We’ve already got 1,000 people to sign our petition!” she said.

We both cheered.

“Meixin, I think it’s time that I tell you something,” I started. “My family actually owns a dog meat farm, and that’s where I saved Jing from. My father got an incredible offer from the festival owners, and I hope you’ll understand that it’s not something that I support.”

Meixin nodded, “I’m so sorry. This must be so hard for you.”

We said goodbye to each other, and I ran home to Jing. I darted into my room, threw my school bag on my bed, and frantically grabbed the box from under the bed.

“Jing!” I whispered excitedly, moving him from the box to my arms.

Jing perked his head up, eager to hear what I had to say.

“It’s working! We’ll be able to stop the festival!”

Jing smiled but looked as if he wanted to go back to sleep.

“How’s your leg doing?” I asked, removing the gauze as he tried to move his wounded spot.

I noticed that it was turning purple. I wiped away a tear.

“You’ll make it, Jing. I know you will.”

But even then, I wasn’t so sure.

 

May 15, 2017

After a week and a half of changing out the gauze and using new ointment, Jing’s leg was looking the same as it was before. When Meixin came to tell me that we had 12,000 supporters. I couldn’t smile for real. Meixin noticed and asked me what was wrong.

“Jing’s leg isn’t looking so good,” I replied.

“Why don’t you take him to the vet then?” Meixin suggested.

“It’s not like I have the money. Vet bills are expensive, you know,” I replied, firmly.

My mind drifted again to how luxurious it must be, not having to worry about money.

“I’m sorry…” Meixin responded quietly.

“Don’t be,” I said, keeping my firm tone. “I’m sure you could afford a vet bill any day. It’s not like you’d know anything about how hard I’d have to work for it.”

I walked away to my first class. Meixin didn’t meet me at my locker at the end of the day as usual. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that?

 

May 26, 2017

Meixin met me at my locker that morning. But this time, she didn’t look like her usual pristine self. I noticed that she was more tan than the last time I saw her, and she had various scratches all over her body. Her eyes also looked more sleepy.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I’ve decided to walk a few steps in your shoes,” she started, “and it’s harder than I’ve ever worked before. Long, strenuous days with low pay.”

“Wow,” I replied, surprised, “You’d really did that?”

She nodded. “And I made 175 yuan,” she said. “That should cover some of Jing’s vet bill.”

Thank you!” I exclaimed a little too loudly.

I hugged her tightly, tucked the money into the pocket of my school bag, and ran off to my first class. After school, I grabbed Jing and ran to the veterinarian’s office.

“This is Jing,” I told the lady at the front desk. “His front left leg is infected. Can I have an estimate as to how much his vet bill would cost?”

She examined him and turned to me.

“Twenty-five would be generous,” she said plainly.

“Here you go!” I said, overjoyed as I handed her 25 yuan.

The lady looked at it and laughed. It wasn’t a warm laugh, but quite the opposite. It was a laugh that froze your insides with embarrassment.

“No, sweetie. Twenty-five hundred. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be carrying around that much,” she said as I was checking my pockets.

“Thank you,” I gulped, taking Jing back home.

Twenty-five hundred yuan was probably the combined income we made in a year! There was no chance of getting medical care for Jing. I put him back in his box and wiped away my tears. It wasn’t going to work. I had to face reality.

 

May 29, 2017

“So, how’d it go?” Meixin asked me at my locker.

I just shook my head. “There’s no way I’m getting 25 hundred yuan, even if I skip school to work.”

Meixin just nodded. At least we didn’t argue this time.

“Well, I’ve decided to brace myself for the worst with Jing and move on,” I said, a hot tear rolling down my cheek. “There are thousands of other lives I can focus on. How many people support us as of right now?” I asked, wiping away my tears.

“About 4,500,000,” she replied, but not with her usual enthusiasm. “We need about 500,000 more, but that should be easy since it keeps getting sent all over the internet.”

“Wow,” I replied.

Saving lives of thousands of dogs would be a huge victory, even if I’m letting one go in the process. One special dog, my heart kept telling me.

 

June 12, 2017

Jing’s leg kept looking worse and worse, and he was sleeping more and more. At least his little, golden heart was still beating. He licked my face this morning for what I thought may be the last time.

When I got to school, Meixin told me that we got all the signatures needed, and it was being sent to the owners of the festival. I forced half a smile.

“I’m-” Meixin started, but I assured her that it was okay. I wish I could’ve assure myself that.

 

June 19, 2017

This morning, Jing barely had the appetite to eat his baozi. He only ate a couple nibbles before he went back to sleep. I couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen when he didn’t eat at all.

I got some better news when I went to school, though.

“Look, HuiNing!” Meixin exclaimed with the widest smile I’d ever seen her wear.

She handed me a newspaper. The headline read, Lychee and Dog Meat Festival in Yulin Canceled.

My eyes truly lit up for the first time in weeks. Thousands of lives would be saved! I was in a good mood for the rest of the day… until I got home.

An obvious negative result came into play that I had thought about before. Baba was even worse than his previous sleepy-faced self. He was counting on that offer. All his life, he’d been working so hard for a chance. A chance like the one that I had taken from him.

“HuiNing, I have to tell you something,” he said when I walked in the door. “They canceled the festival. We have to return to our normal selves.”

I felt so guilty, not only because I was responsible for this, but also because I did it behind his back. I felt so guilty that I decided to tell him the truth, something I would never do otherwise.

“Baba, I have something to tell you,” I said. Baba turned around to look at me. I continued, “It was my fault that you lost the offer.”

Baba just shook his head. “I know you feel bad, but…”

“No, seriously. I created the petition that forced them to cancel the festival. I couldn’t just let all those dogs die. But, listen, Baba. I have an idea. How about instead we clean up the dogs and open an adoption center? We could make the same, if not greater, amount of money.”

Baba frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but I continued talking, “When you were sick, and Mama asked me to feed the dogs, I kept one in my bedroom. He has an infection on his leg and has golden fur. He has the most beautiful smile, and he means the world to me. His name was Jing, and he is slowly dying of infection from his wounds.”

Baba shook his head, but he had a glint in his eyes as he looked deep into mine. “I tell you what,” he said. “We’ll deal with what to do with our farm later. First things first: we have a dog to save.”

My eyes opened wide. “Baba! The estimated vet bill is 2,500 yuan! Where are we going to get that money?”

Baba just smiled. “Some things are worth more than money, HuiNing. We better go before we waste any more time.”

I gave Baba a big hug around his neck. And he hugged me back. I led him to my room, where I took Jing out of the box.

“I guess the jiaozi were worth it!” he joked.

We put Jing in the basket of his two-seater bike. He climbed into the front seat, and I took the back seat. We pedaled as fast as we could, finally reaching the veterinarian’s office. The woman at the desk seemed to recognize me. She started to say something, but she saw that I was with my dad and closed her mouth.

“Twenty-five hundred yuan. Here you go,” Baba said, writing a check.

“Sorry, sir,” the woman started with a grin that matched her laugh. “I would estimate about 3,000 yuan right now.”

Baba gulped but barely hesitated to write another check. Just then, the head veterinarian stepped in.

“Daiyu, let me take care of this one,” he said.

Daiyu rolled her eyes and walked off. The head veterinarian introduced himself as Dr. Yingjie Zhong. He and Baba shook hands. Dr. Zhong examined Jing, and his eyes opened wide.

“This dog needs immediate medical attention!” Dr. Zhong said, and started to speed walk to his office with Jing in his arms.

“What about billing?” Baba asked.

“There’s no time to discuss that right now. A life is much more valuable than money,” Dr. Zhong replied.

I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

 

June 20, 2017

Jing is still at the veterinary office. I visited it this morning before school, but Dr. Zhong told me that Jing was having surgery and couldn’t be visited. I nodded and went to school. The idea of Jing being okay seemed much less distant now that he is under medical care. But there still was a big chance that he wouldn’t survive.

I told Meixin about Jing’s status at school. She looked overjoyed.

“Jing has a chance!” she exclaimed.

A chance, I thought. Not a promise, but a chance.

 

June 23, 2017

The clock barely moved for the last three days. With each tick, I wondered if Jing was still alive and breathing, especially when Baba took me to Dr. Zhong’s office at the end of school. My heart was beating rapidly.

What if they couldn’t fix Jing’s leg? What if it was too late? What if…

I stepped in the door, and my mind went blank. I shut my eyes as tight as possible. The sight of Jing’s lifeless body lying on the table would be unbearable.

After I finally braced myself for the worse, I plucked up enough courage to open my eyes. I was right about one thing. Jing’s body was lying on the table. But he opened his eyes! Jing perked his head up, thumping his tail on the table.

He’s alive!” I exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly.

He had his beautiful smile as he did before. The only thing that was missing was his front leg, but a missing leg could never make him any less valuable. After all, gold doesn’t lose it’s value over time.

 

EPILOGUE

Dr. Zhong charged no fee for Jing’s treatment. Baba vowed to repay him someday. Apparently, the story about how I stopped the festival went all over the news. The President of China was so amazed, that he granted us enough money to turn the dog meat section of our farm into an adoption center, which was also all over the news. Since so many people heard about it, our farm and adoption center became one of the most popular places in all of China. We made even more money than we would have gotten from the offer.

Our first adopter was none other than Meixin and her family.

Meixin just shook her head and smiled. “Like I said before, chances can go a long way.”

 

Ashes of America

Chapter One: America, 2037

The nation was in shambles, rocked by conflict and corruption. The Republican Party had been in control of the White House for two decades, and their rule had seen America descend into turmoil. The 2034 election of Louis Moor was hardly a victory for the Republicans, whose use of voter suppression outraged the nation, leading to the three day “Red November” riots that wreaked havoc on the Capitol. A year-long war with the Russian terrorist group VL-16 made Moor extremely unpopular, and the anti-free speech acts he had passed to silence the outcry against the war made him hated. His Vice President, Fabian Hall, had called for the imprisonment of anti-war activists, which had been met with mass protests across the nation. The protests had been deemed illegal, and thousands of protesters had been arrested. Meanwhile, mass deportations have severely hurt the U.S. economy, which was already in debt from the conflict with VL-16. Far-right Senator Brigham Wall of Oklahoma saw the opportunity to gain power in a country that had become a police state with no money, a country ripe for conflict.

 

Chapter Two: The Banner of Liberation
In March of 2037, Senator Brigham announced that he was leaving the Republican Party to create the Knights of American Liberation Party, known as “Kalp,” with notorious white supremacist Jonah Clay. Wall was running for President on the Kalp ticket. He held his first rally on March 15, 2037, in Oklahoma City with a crowd of almost 2,000. Wall proclaimed that he would “ensure White Americans [would be] protected and respected,” to which the crowd cheered in agreement. The flag of Kalp, a blue circle with thirteen white stars arranged in a circle, in the center of the stripes on the American flag, was seen flying above the headquarters of the U.S. Nazi Party, flapping in the breeze next to the swastika.

The following week, President Moor journeyed to Oklahoma City to make a long, anticipated speech condemning Senator Wall. As Moor walked down the steps of the Oklahoma Capitol building at 2 o’clock on March 19, 2037, beneath a blue sky, shots rang out. The crowd ran in all directions as shots continued to ring out. Moor collapsed, his red blood splashing on the white steps. Secret Service officers rushed towards Moor, swarming around the dying president. Sirens wailed as both the police and Secret Service jumped out of their cars and into the streets, armed with assault rifles. The ground shook at the same time as the Oklahoma Capitol building exploded, followed by a thunderous boom. Marble and bricks shot up into the air, raining down upon the street. The air was filled with screams, and even some of the police officers fled the scene, joining the stampede. Where the Capitol building had stood only moments before was a burning heap of rubble and rock, from which black smoke rose up, settling above the city like a blanket of darkness. The retreating crowd looked up as a small blue plane circled around them, dropping bright pink leaflets onto the streets. They read in bold, black letters: Save our land, save our race: Vote Kalp!

 

Chapter Three: The Deathbed of Democracy  

For the first time in over 70 years, an American President had been assassinated, shot to death on the steps of the Oklahoma Capitol building in front his supporters, through an act of domestic terrorism. The bombing of the Capitol building was an integral part of the terrorist attack, claiming thirty-eight lives, civilians, and President Moor alike. Moor’s assassination marked the transfer of the presidency from one authoritarian leader to another, as Vice President Fabian Hall was sworn in as President hours after Moor was killed. Hall, who had been a well-known believer of totalitarian control over the populus, immediately ordered the suspension of freedom of speech and habeas corpus, and had six of the nine Supreme Court Justices arrested for declaring his actions unconstitutional. The nation was too shocked and weakened by the OKC attacks, financial crises, and Hall’s draconian laws to speak out against the President. America’s former allies were divided over what to do. Should they fight terrorism but back the Hall regime, or condemn Hall but risk fueling the terrorists? The world did nothing and watched as America crumbled.

Back in the U.S., Brigham Wall was using the attack on the OKC to gain supporters and influence. Wall denied any responsibility in the attack, stating that the plane that dropped Kalp leaflets was sent to “comfort the victims with a message of hope,” leaving questions about how quickly the plane came to the site of the violence unanswered. In rallies across the country, Wall took advantage of the post-attack fear, telling supporters in Utah that “attacks against America and the white people of America [would] not go unpunished.”

The biggest moment of the early days of Wall’s campaign came when he held a rally in New Mexico only five miles outside the Zuni reservation in May. Thousands of Zuni protesters faced off with eight thousand Wall supporters at the rally, many of whom were armed Neo-Nazis. Before the rally even began, fighting broke out. A gang of Neo-Nazi skinheads hurled molotov cocktails at the protesters, injuring dozens of unarmed people. The Zuni protesters ran from the Neo-Nazis and into Wall’s private thugs, who attacked them with metal clubs and pepper spray before moving on towards the rally.

When the rally finally started after a three hour delay, it had been fortified by Wall’s private thugs, who set up barricades of rocks, concrete, and barbed wire. Wall began to speak but was soon interrupted by the boos of protesters who were joined by hundreds of activists from the nearby Navajo reservation. Violence once again broke out. Wall supporters showered the protesters with beer bottles and stones as the protesters swarmed over the barricades into the rally.

A young Zuni activist named Clyde Sullivan jumped on the stage and pushed Wall into the chaotic crowd. Grabbing the microphone, he yelled, “Terrorists and racists! Go home, Brigham!” before being dragged off the stage by the mob of Neo-Nazis. Wall, protected by a few supporters, escaped the riot, and was whisked away in his van.

The fighting raged on, spilling out into the parking lot and onto the highway. The state police soon arrived in riot gear under orders from New Mexico governor, Jane Dawson, who was a vocal supporter of Brigham Wall and Kalp.

“All protesters must stop attacking Mr. Wall’s supporters at once,” the police roared through bullhorns.

Wall’s supporters continued beating the protesters, while the state police watched and did nothing. Rivers of Zuni and Navajo blood trickled across the tarmac, crimson ribbons that laced the black asphalt. The screams of the protesters filled the air like smoke as their hands were placed in handcuffs, their legs in shackles, their bodies in chains. The Neo-Nazis cheered as the protesters were carted off to prison by the state police, the law in a police state.

Brigham Wall praised the “heroic actions” of the state police officers, who “displayed courage and necessary force in the face of anti-white terrorism.” He did not mention that the violence at his New Mexico rally was started by his supporters.

Meanwhile, in the White House, Fabian Hall was passing more fascist legislations in response to the violence in New Mexico. It prompted thousands of Americans to amass at the Canadian border in New York, begging Canada’s border patrol to let them into Canada.

American immigration into Canada, much of it illegal, had skyrocketed since 2020, when then-President Donald Trump postponed the 2020 election because of so so-called “voter fraud” in the previous election. It rose again six years later, when China declared an embargo on the U.S. because of American nuclear testing in the South China Sea, which devastated the United State’s economy. Now, U.S. immigration to Canada was swelling yet again as white supremacists and a fascist President trampled on the constitution as they had twenty years before. American refugees filled the woods of northern New York, living in makeshift camps, in a state of limbo. Democracy was on its deathbed.

 

Chapter Four: The URF

In May, a few weeks after the fighting at the New Mexico Wall rally, in a dilapidated building in the slums of the now nearly empty Brooklyn, a dozen activists met to create a new organization.

“In 1972, the Black Panthers declared the need for a united front of all oppressed peoples,” began Clyde Sullivan, the Zuni protester who had pushed Brigham Wall off the stage in New Mexico. “Today, with the Neo-Nazis in control of our country and their terrorist attacks being a threat to us all, we are creating that front.”

The small group of activists nodded in agreement.

“We are a revolutionary organization,” he continued. “Our goals are to reclaim this land from the fascist regime and the European colonizers who have oppressed the poor and minorities on this continent for 550 years. We will fight the U.S. regime on physical and digital fronts. We will spread justice to the oppressed. We are the URF: the United Revolutionary Front!”

The new members of the URF cheered.

Clyde waited for the cheers to end and continued, “Our first target is Columbus Circle, a symbol of colonial oppression that is currently held by Hall’s police…”

That night, as torrents of rain lashed their backs, the members of the URF crept through the police barricades, and past a lone and oblivious policeman. They gazed up at the statue of Christopher Columbus, which Fabian Hall’s regime had attached a massive American flag to. Clyde led the URF party to the the statue. Without saying a word, they silently laced the statue’s base with explosives. Clyde and the URF slipped out of Columbus Circle and into the darkness. Behind them, the statue exploded. Flames shot into the black sky.

“The revolution has begun,” declared Clyde.

Columbus’s head crashed against the pavement, shattering into a thousand pieces of burning rock.

“The revolution has begun,” he repeated. “The revolution has begun.”

 

Only One Wearing Black

Luther and I walk quickly out back. I show him to my dad’s grave.

“I’m really sorry, Neena,” Luther says.

I drop down and cry. Luther holds me tight, his cold, ghostly arms against mine. Leaves are falling.

“My dad made my mom so very happy, and she was nice and cheerful, and she also invited guests for dinner,” I cry.

“Shh,” he hushes me.

The reason my mom is so mean is because my dad died, and there is no one there to support her. I was supposed to support her, but I’m so selfish. I don’t care about anyone but me and Luther.

“Neena, will you marry me?” Luther asks from behind me.

I spin around. “What?”

“Will you, Neena Violet Tate, take me as your lawfully wedded husband?”

I clearly hear what he said, but I’m so nervous to answer.

“We are only fourteen and fifteen,” I say.

“I know. But, Neena, I love you, and I can’t afford to lose you,” he says, reaching out to my hand.

“I do,” I say.

He smiles and hugs me. Luther takes my phone out of my jean shorts pocket.

“Hey!” I shriek playfully.

I chase after Luther and my phone. I fall on the ground, laughing. He kneels down to kiss me, so I take my phone back, accidentally hitting the song, “The Show” by Lenka. He picks me up to my feet and dances with me. I have no idea how to dance. I’m not much for dancing but, for him, I do. I can’t help it at all. I’m laughing and dancing with him for the first time, which is incredible.

***

Dear Black Diary,

The day of our wedding was romantic, and no one was there but us and the chirping of birds. I wore a long, black dress that poofed out at the end. I walked down the aisle. Luther looked amazing with his new emo haircut, and his makeup done all black, and I felt amazing. Earlier, we had helped each other with makeup and clothing, and it had been a blast. He called me “gorgeous” this time. No one had called me gorgeous before.

He knows how to make me happy, and he knows how to make himself happy. I hope he knows how much I love him and how good that wedding cake tasted. Even though we are fifteen and fourteen, this was a great wedding and the best wedding. The happiest wedding of our lives. I know he enjoyed it. I cannot believe we got married. Who needs a ring when you’ve got love? By the way, he gave me this journal, as I am the only one wearing black after all!                                                                                                                                                                Love,                                                                                                                                 Neena Black!

 

Only Two

She was alone. She told herself she wasn’t, that she knew her purpose, that she knew how her story was to unfold. But the truth was, she didn’t. She had no idea why she was alive.

She told herself that her friends cared about her, but they obviously didn’t. They weren’t her friends. Not really. She told herself that her parents were just busy, that they tried to be at home with her. They didn’t. They only cared about themselves.

She didn’t know why she was put on the planet we called Earth. She didn’t have a purpose. She wasn’t the most intelligent, she wasn’t the most beautiful, and she didn’t have any special talents to speak of. She was alone.

***

A while later…

She met someone. She found a boy at her school to be friends with. Neither were popular, neither had many friends, and neither had loving parents. But when they were together, it didn’t matter to them. They just had fun by themselves. They didn’t need anyone else.

***

A while later…

He was alone. Mostly. But he found one friend. They didn’t need a group. They didn’t need things. They just talked. And walked. They were friends. He liked her. She was fun. He liked the way the world lit up around her, even if nobody else noticed. He noticed.

***

A while later…

She wasn’t alone. They asked each other out at the same time, both without confidence, both nervous. They laughed about it afterwards, now holding hands.

***

A while later…

She was… something. Not alone, not sad. This was new to her. She was… happy. Before now, she hadn’t known why she was put on this planet, this Earth. She knew now. She was here to be happy, to be with him.

And they were happy by themselves. Only two.

 

Inquisition

Prologue

Dr. Howard

The Tyrian purple carpets of Dr. Howard’s waiting room gave the whole room a medieval feel, like I was waiting within the walls of a castle. Even with the navy blue carpeting in the outside that felt as modern as it could be. It’s funny how once you’re severed from the rest of a building, the entire aesthetic can change. Just like how this room looked like a place suited for royalty, but it felt like some sort of dungeon. My mother had promised me that this would be a “way to practice socialization with other children your age” and “help you get to know people in the real world better.” But let me tell you, it didn’t feel like it would help me whatsoever. Two therapy sessions a week, plus many more at school, was good enough. And I still wish she hadn’t forced me into a group, especially not Dr. Howard’s group. Especially not his.

I took a seat. The chairs were the same color as the carpeting. There were two other kids here: one African-American kid wearing a suit and tie, and another kid with light brown hair who was wearing a T-shirt that stated “If History Repeats Itself, I’m Getting a Dinosaur” in bold, green letters, along with a helpful illustration of a tyrannosaurus rex. They weren’t talking or even looking at each other; one reading his phone and the other a copy of Action Comics which was apparently in the bin of comic books and encyclopedias. The whole place seemed to have an aura of menace to it; I wasn’t sure if that was my own feelings or the serious looks on people’s faces, but it was something.

It took a full five minutes for Dr. Howard to come out of the waiting room and beckon us into the main room. Immediately, I noticed how the slate-grey couches changed the aesthetic a bit more to the modern side of things, but the purple shade of carpet was still there.

“So, today we have a new member of our group,” Dr. Howard began. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

“Um, sure,” I said, caught off-guard by the question.”My name is Theo Moore, and I am in 8th grade at the Peterson Day School.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Howard said, ”Just what I was looking for. Sebastian, would you like to begin the group by introducing yourself to Theo?”

“Alright,” the African-American kid said, “My name is Sebastian. I’m in 9th grade at Lockhart Academy.”

“And why are you here at this group?” Dr. Howard asked.

“My mother recently left my dad and married some new guy. Still trying to cope.”

“And Gregory, why don’t you introduce yourself and your goals?”

The other kid perked up. “Well, my name’s Gregory, and I go to 11th grade at the Candlelight School. I’m apparently here because I’m too ‘intolerant of others’ and a bunch of other crap like that. But for real, I’m just trying to help some Jews at my school figure out the right way through life.”

“So, you’re a Nazi,” I said flatly.

This was not what I was looking for — I was going to be spending an hour and fifteen minutes a week with some crazy racist.

“Dude, Hitler killed eleven million people. That’s bad any way you slice it. But now apparently it’s awful to hate Jews, or to try to convince them to repent, because six million of those guys just happened to be Jewish. So, no, I’m not a Nazi, thank you very much. I’m just a humble anti-Semite, and I wear that badge proudly.”

I looked over at Sebastian, shocked to hear these words coming out of somebody I was supposed to practice bonding with.

“Yep, he’s a Nazi,” he said.

“I am not — okay, whatever. I’m not gonna explain it for the umpteenth time.”

“So, Theo,” Dr. Howard interjected, “What’s your goal for this group?”

“Well, I guess it’d be to be more social with people, as that’s the reason my mother signed me up.”

Everyone nodded. This group would grow to do the opposite of what my mother wanted; it would not turn my social life into a success, but it would actually destroy the remnants of a social life I would grow to have. If my mother had found a different group, and I had never met Gregory Redford, none of this would have happened. None of it.

 

Chapter One

Welcome to Candlelight School

The first time I had heard the term “Asperger’s” was on some YouTube meme; an ad for a McDonald’s burger that aired in some Asian country overseas. I was six, and YouTube was what I used for downtime. Apparently this type of thing was funny to me. The commercial involved a seductive Ronald McDonald pulling a burger from, well, behind his lower back. An “ass-burger,” if you will. Many commenters were smart to notice this and said that they finally understood “ass-burgers,” which I thought was just a funny use of the word. But it was because of my “ass-burgers” that I thought seeing such a tame curse word being used randomly and indiscriminately was funny.

This is the story of how my life went for the first eight years of school. I went to the Peterson School and tried to justify every pamphlet about how it treats kids with “learning differences” as “everyone’s different, and we use that in our teaching.” Medication was just something I thought everyone took; my dad took vitamins for a period of time when I started taking my pills, which reinforced the idea that I was the same. Even when it started to dawn on me, there were still misconceptions. If you had asked me back in 6th grade what my disorder was, I’d say OCD. I exhibited symptoms of it, and I heard people mentioning it, so I thought it had to be what I had. But I eventually found out, even if I couldn’t pinpoint an exact time when I realized I was on the spectrum instead.

But as I realized the fact that I wasn’t the most normal kid, I also realized the benefits. To put it simply, I was smart. I may not have been the most well-mannered kid (far from it), but I ran academic circles around my classmates who couldn’t remember how to format an essay. Obviously, this meant we learned it every single year of school. Eventually, we decided that enough was enough and started to look for a new school. That school became Candlelight. Now, I’m not gonna go into all of the schools that rejected me, because there are a lot. But I will say that Candlelight was probably my second choice once I visited it. It was a great school for me, and I got accepted to the school around mid-May. I ditched Peterson shortly after and was ready to start my new life.

The orientation was fun; this was where I turned in the homework they gave me over the summer and picked my classes. There were five classes in a day: you started with an English class you choose for the whole year, followed by two classes that rotate every seven weeks: A science and social studies class (the latter can be another English class, history, or anything that isn’t science). After that, you have lunch, followed by math, advisory and an afternoon elective. No classes were separated by grade, minus maybe a few of the harder ones. Candlelight was a very small school, only around sixty kids total.

Orientation was fun. But after a long weekend, it was time for business.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome. My name is Julian, and I’ll be your English teacher. This class will be focused on expressing race and identity through literature.”

I chose this class because it was something I was interested in, well, the identity part more than the race part. I’m a white Christian male, but I did have “ass-burgers” to shake things up. Julian was an older man who had brown hair that was greying slightly and thick-rimmed glasses. Simply put, he looked like a professor.

“It looks like you’re all here today. So I’ll begin with you guys introducing yourself to me with your name, grade level, and your favorite soda.”

We started to go around the circle. I think now’s probably a good time to mention something. If you’ve been observant, you may have noticed that Gregory went to Candlelight. He was asked to leave, but he still went there. And of course, that means he told me lots about the happenings of the school. So I know… um, a bit more about the school than some other new kids.

“My name is Emily, I’m in eleventh grade, and my favorite soda is Sprite.” Attempted suicide by sticking her head into a carbon monoxide oven.

“My name is Devon, I’m in tenth grade, and my favorite soda is Pepsi!” Cheated on his then-girlfriend because she was overweight.

“My name is April, I’m in tenth grade, and I like most types of orange soda.” Heroin addict, suffers from crippling depression.

“My name is Derrick, I’m in twelfth grade, and my favorite soda is Coke.” Got into a fight with his friend that resulted in a three-week suspension.

“My name is Jeanette, I’m in tenth grade, and my favorite soda is Dr. Pepper.” Prone to migraines, tends to often leave class because of them.

“My name is Thomas, I’m in ninth grade, and I love Sprite.” New kid, I think. Not someone I had heard of before.

“My name is Zach, I’m in tenth grade, and my favorite soda is cream soda.” Hoo boy, this one’s a doozy.

If any kid was mentioned in the group more than the others, it was Zach. The Jew. The degenerate. The stubborn kid who wouldn’t accept the evils of Judaism and repent. The kid whose hate-filled stories you didn’t need to read between the lines to figure out: he was being bullied. By Gregory. I felt really bad for the guy, no matter how much Nazi propaganda Gregory spewed about him. It was hard not to. And here he was, sitting in the class, seen for the first time with real eyes from the group. It’s always weird meeting someone like this in person. I mean, I kept insisting that “Zach’s a human being,” but now I knew it.

And finally, myself.

“My name is Theo, I’m in ninth grade, and I’m not a fan of carbonated beverages. I do enjoy Snapple drinks a lot, though.”

***

The rest of the class was a Q&A session with Julian about himself, the class, and what to expect from his classes. After that, we headed to our science classes, mine being a genetics class.

Abe, our genetics teacher, was a little late, so we piled into the room. I sat down and grabbed a Chromebook from the cabinet nearby, going off of the veteran kids who did the same. Everyone was talking… well, except for myself and a couple others who were most likely new. Suddenly, something caught my eye, or rather, ear.

“Looks like Gregory isn’t coming back.”

It was a girl with light brown hair and braids. My heart sank. I hated Gregory, but I was hoping nobody would bring him up.

“Praise the Lord,” muttered another kid I realized was Derrick. “Hallelujah.”

“Are you guys seriously out of the loop? Kid was expelled, like, three weeks before school ended. What, you thought he was going on a trip?” This one was a girl with long, flowing black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

“That’s too late, though,” Derrick continued. “Erwin should’ve shut it down as soon at the bullying became apparent. Not waited two or three months until Zach got mental trauma.”

“Yeah, but he’s gone now. Can’t change the past.” Braids again.

“Damage has been done, Valerie,” the other girl said, “Both to Zach, and to me. You have no idea what he’s done to me.”

Before Valerie could inquire what the other girl was talking about, a voice came in from the other room.

“Okay, chuckleheads. Time to start class.”

And thus marked the end of that discussion.

 

Chapter Two

Kelly and Amelia

“Hey, how was your first day, Theo?”

I hopped into my dad’s car as we began to drive home.

“It was fun,” I said.

I didn’t want to mention anything about Gregory to him, about what they talked about in genetics class.

“So what classes did you get?”

“Well,” I began, “I didn’t get geology, but I got genetics. Other than that, I got the race and identity English class, Roman history for social studies, algebra one for a math class, and ceramics as an elective. Pretty much all my first choices.”

“And who’s your advisor?”

“Well, I didn’t get Abe as my advisor like I wanted, but Julian, my actual advisor, seems nice enough.”

We talked until we got home. When we got home, my mother was cooking a pot roast in the slow cooker, and my senior year brother, Lawrence, was at study hall. His school started a week ago, and he was already lagging behind. Stella, my seven-year-old sister, was watching TV.

“So, Theo, Stella,” my mother began, “I am pleased to tell you that Nana and Grandpa have been fully moved to Crisp Gardens, and we’ll be seeing them over the weekend.”

“Does — does that mean we’ve sold their house already?” Stella seemed to be on the verge of tears.

My mother sighed. “Well, technically, not yet. But we’ve been moving stuff out of their house. Uncle Elvin’s currently in Pittsburgh to sort things out.”

Stella started to cry. “But I — I love their house. I don’t want it to be sold! Could we make it, like, a vacation home for the Moore family?”

“Sorry, honey, but there’s really nothing we can do. Houses are expensive; we can’t just buy another one like that.”

“Please? Uncle Elvin could pay half of it! Please?”

“I’m sorry, but you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

Stella stormed upstairs, crying. This has been an ongoing struggle with the family. Amelia, or “Nana” as I call her, has lost her short term memory, and “Grandpa” Paul has been struggling with assisting Nana with everything that she has trouble with these days. I was upset about losing the house, but I didn’t show it. I was never one to cry. Lawrence also doesn’t show it, but I think he’s pretty upset himself. Stella, however, has been taking it hard.

***

The next day, the three of us piled into the car. We first dropped off Stella and Lawrence at the Raymond School, a private, academically competitive school that seriously makes me wonder how my parents pay for our combined tuition. Then, it was just me in the car. When we got there, my dad turned off the radio, currently set to 2000’s hits, and issued me a challenge.

“Hey, so I know it can be hard to socialize, but you can take it slow. I challenge you to say hi to another student. It’s that simple.”

I spent the rest of the day contemplating who the simple hi should be directed at, who might be a kindred spirit, and who definitely wasn’t. Eventually, I decided on Zach, as he probably felt lonely due to the bullying anyway. So I was ready to sit down next to him at lunch when a girl walked up to me. The girl with long, flowing hair who was previously talking about Gregory in my genetics class.

“Hi,” she said.

In what universe does a girl like her walk up to me anyway?

“Um, hi,” I said.

Mission accomplished.

“What’s your name?” She was smiling, and just overall gave an aura of positivity around me.

“Theo,” I responded after three solid seconds after staring into space.

“I’m Kelly. Welcome to Candlelight! Mind if I show you around?”

“I guess,” I said.

My heart sank. Remember when I was talking about how Zach was the most used name by Gregory in our group? Well, Kelly’s up there. Like, really up there. His girlfriend. His pride and joy who he would always talk about quite creepily. And then, she cheated on him with someone from her hometown. Walter or something. They broke up shortly after. I walked with her, but it was more of a sleepwalk, because I was barely hearing her talking. I was thinking about Kelly, and how she cheated on Gregory. I didn’t blame her, but it was still quite a jerk move. I knew my way around, so it didn’t matter whether I was listening to her tour.

We got to the upstairs area, and I tuned back in. Her voice was very beautiful and uplifting. Why would she go out with someone like Gregory anyway? Whatever. After the tour, we decided to eat lunch together. My mother had made pasta with sausage sauce last night, and so I ate that.

“So what school did you go to before Candlelight?”

“Peterson,” I responded.

“Ooh, just across the street!”

It was true; Peterson was really close to Candlelight. Most people’s reactions to hearing that someone went to Peterson would say something like “What do you have?” or “Autism or ADHD?” Something that would make you feel a little uneasy. But she was nice about it, just pointing out other things relating to Peterson other than “the bad kids” that go there.

“Yeah, it’s nice because we don’t have to change our morning routine. We can still drop my siblings off at Raymond before dropping me off.”

“Wow! You have siblings that go to Raymond?”

I could see genuine wonder in her eyes; Raymond is a very selective school. `

“Yep. Sister and a brother. Brother’s not taking it well, though. Senior year and his attention’s still elsewhere.”

“Oh. Hope he’s going to do better later, especially in such a crucial year.”

Kelly was actually really good at keeping up a conversation with me, and I felt at home. I didn’t forget the cheating part, but I kept it in the back of my mind as we hit it off. She was clearly more than Gregory said about her.

***

“So, what grade are you in, Theo?” Amelia had asked me this not half an hour ago.

I felt bad for her, but Lawrence was just annoyed. Sorry, I mean “Elvin,” my uncle’s name, and the name Amelia was calling Lawrence for a while.

“Ninth,” I sighed.

I was getting tired of it, too, but it wasn’t her fault. Therefore, I kept it in.

“Sorry, could you speak a little louder, sweetheart?”

“Ninth,” I said, accentuating my voice.

I made sure that she could hear.

“Oh, ninth! You know, when I was in ninth grade–”

“Come on!” Lawrence growled before my father walked him out of their room in the assisted living complex.

A brief silence.

“Continue?” I asked, to my mother’s delight.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. Ninth grade, right?”

I nodded.

“Yes, when I was in ninth grade I went to a new school. I told the whole place that at the old school I went to, I was a cheerleader! I wasn’t, though, but people believed it! It was truly delightful to see all the young men there crushing over me. But halfway through the year, a girl I knew from my last school came. And you see, she actually was a cheerleader. The illusion broke, and everyone hated me. I was the loneliest kid in the–”

“That’s enough, Amelia,” Paul said very directly.

This story was new to me, but apparently not to Paul.

“What she’s trying to say is not to pretend to be someone else. It will backfire.”

“Okay,” I muttered. I waited a while and then said, out of earshot from my mother, “What if you just told half the story? Where nothing I said was a lie, but I still don’t mention the bad stuff?”

Paul looked into my eyes and said to me, “Then you’re playing a dangerous game of Russian roulette.”

 

Chapter Three

The Smackdown

It was not yet two weeks into my class when the first conflict happened.

It was early morning, at around 8:00 a.m. I got seated in the classroom early, as I usually did so I wouldn’t be late. Jeanette and Derrick came in together a few minutes after, then April and Emily. Then Devon, then Zach, then Thomas. We all got seated and waited. All the students were there. And none of us really noticed that Julian, the only member of the class who needed to be there, was not.

After a short while, Derrick spoke up. “Hey Thomas, where were you yesterday? You’ve missed school three days in a row.”

Thomas, who was typically the quiet kid, muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry,” Derrick responded, “what did you say?”

“I said, it’s none of your business,” said Thomas, with the nastiest tone he could have used.

“Okay, sheesh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if it was personal. Sorry if it was a problem. I mean, if you’re depressed or anything, I’m free to talk whenev–”

Smack. Next thing I noticed, Derrick was on the floor, rubbing his cheek.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you little shit!”

He jumped up and charged at Thomas, knocking him to the floor and beginning to choke him. Thomas started kicking frantically until one of his kicks hit a part of Derrick that I shall not mention in this text. Derrick let go and ran back. Thomas punched him again. Zach pulled out his phone.

“Do not talk to me again. Period. Got it?”

Thomas kept punching him over and over again. Zach held his phone in the air, apparently filming the sequence of events. Derrick raised his fist up in the air and hit him hard in the head, knocking Thomas over and onto the ground.

“Ow…” Thomas replied, clenching his head.

“That’s what you get,” Derrick said angrily.

He marched away and back to his seat. I looked down at Thomas, who was now in pain a mere nine inches away from the back right leg of my chair. He looked at me back in agony. I ran up the flight of stairs that took you from my English classroom in the basement up to the main floor, and burst into the front office.

“Um, I think we’re gonna need a teacher in Julian’s classroom quickly. Please.”

The next day, I entered the common room for morning announcements. When I walked in, I noticed an large, old man with white sideburns and little hair other than those sideburns. It was Erwin, the head of the school.

“Greetings,” he began when we went into the room. “Now I’m sure some of you had heard about the fight yesterday between Thomas and Derrick in the English classroom, or at least a tiny snippet of what happened yesterday.”

Everyone nodded.

He continued. “It was quite the nasty fight. Thomas is currently in the hospital from a minor concussion, and the rest of the people involved have been disciplined accordingly. There have been many fights at Candlelight. But very few reach the level that this one did. Remember: once you decide to put hands on another person, the entire situation escalates beyond your control. And none of you got a teacher in the room until the damage was done. I thank Theo for what he did, but honestly, he should have found someone at least a full five minutes before Thomas hit his head on the tiled floor of our classroom. Devon could have done it too, as could have April, or Emily, or anyone there, really. But nobody made the right choice in time, and the price was paid. Zach is currently facing a two-day suspension for his decision to film the incident. Thomas will be returning to the school after his own suspension and head injury are each taken care of. But Derrick, due to having a history of fights much like this one, will not be returning to our community here at Candlelight. I hope you understand the severity of this incident, and that we will not tolerate something like this again. Have a good day, and go to class.”

The whole day had a bit of a somber undertone to it, mostly due to the long speech Erwin gave about the fight I stopped. I did feel bad about not getting to the front office earlier, but Erwin grilled me about this whole incident, and I was on the verge of tears.

So, thinking that telling a group of people meant to comfort me and keep my secrets safe would’ve been a good idea can be forgiven.

***

“Hold on? Derrick was expelled? Finally, I thought that dude would never go.”

“Please, Gregory,” I said, “this isn’t something I want to make light of, okay? It was a shocking experience for me.”

“Yeah, but not as much of a shocking experience for this Thomas kid, am I right?” he winked at me.

Gregory has a tendency to make jokes that only he out of the entire room didn’t hate.

“Please stop!”

“Okay, okay. And what did you say Zach did? Filmed the thing?”

“Yeah,” I muttered.

I did not like where this was going.

“That degenerate has always liked watching people suffer. Just like the Jewish elite care so little about anyone minus themselves. It’s in their blood.”

For the past few months, Gregory had been looking at a website dedicated to “exposing” the Jewish conspiracy behind all our money and has gone from a “humble anti-Semite” to a full-on lunatic about this stuff.

“He’s not a degenerate. Seriously, stop calling him that.”

“Can’t stop calling him that if it’s the truth.”

“Please, please stop.”

“Okay, okay,” interjected Dr. Howard. “We get the point, Gregory, you don’t like Jews, and you don’t like Zach. Theo has asked you to stop, so please stop.”

Gregory sighed. “Fine.”

Sebastian, known to give great advice to both myself and Gregory, spoke up. “I know that principals can be tough on us, but he’s punished who he’s wanted to punish. You did the right thing, even if it was a bit late to the party. Don’t keep feeling bad for yourself.”

“Thanks,” I said, even if I didn’t feel much better.

***

I didn’t hear anything more about this until Thursday, two days after my group meeting with Gregory and Sebastian and the day Zach got out of his two-day suspension. It just so happened that when I was about to go to lunch with Kelly, Zach had walked up to her and started talking.

“Listen, Kelly. We’re kindred spirits here. Both of us have been wronged by Gregory. So I feel it’s important for you to see this first.”

Kelly let out a small “Mhm”, and I walked up to them.

“Hey Theo, this is Zach,” Kelly said, clueless about how much I truly know about Zach.

“Hi,” I said, “I believe we’re both in Julian’s English class,” I said matter-of factly, ignoring what happened in that class.

“So you need to know about this too, I guess, considering you saw the fight. Have you heard of Gregory Redford?”

“Know the name,” I said, startled.

“Well, long story short, he’s a bully. Bullied me because I’m Jewish. Got expelled late last year, but it appears the tirade has not yet ended. Listen to this.”

What followed were the most intimidating sixteen sentences of my life.

Listen, I heard what happened yesterday. Two guys duked it out in your class. Beating each other up, choking each other. It was a mess, that’s for sure. And did you alert a teacher? Did you try to intervene? No, you just stood around and recorded it on your phone. How could you do that? Just keep a record of one of the worst fights in Candlelight history? Doesn’t surprise me, honestly. I mean, you people do it all the time. Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, Jew. I’m still around. I got a spy at Candlelight reporting everything you do and more. And maybe one day you’ll consider repenting. I sure hope so.

“Wow,” Kelly said. “I thought the guy’s expulsion would be it. Sorry this happened to you.”

“That’s not the problem. I’ve learned to ignore the guy. But listen.” He rewinded the voicemail and played the last five of those sentences.

Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, Jew. I’m still around. I got a spy at Candlelight reporting everything you do and more. And maybe one day you’ll consider repenting. I sure hope so.

Rewinded again.

I got a spy at Candlelight reporting everything you do and more. And maybe one day you’ll consider repenting. I sure hope so.

And one more time.

I got a spy at Candlelight—

Paused.

“This is a big deal. Means he still talks to people outside of Candlelight, and they tell him things about the happenings around the school.”

“Is that really a big development?” I asked timidly. “I — I mean, he has to have some friends here.”

“Nope,” Zach said. “Pretty much everyone here hated his guts. Besides, his parents block social media on his devices, so he couldn’t have gotten it that way. This is really big.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said.

I called home sick before math class that day. I had never hated Gregory so much in my life. He broke confidentiality just so he could get a kick out of someone. I mean, what we say in group is supposed to stay in group. And I knew that the “spy” wasn’t anyone who went to Candlelight last year.

I knew it was me.

 

Star Stealers

Long, long ago, the beings of planet G-23 did not know the art of war. But the future, with its winged ships and armored spacesuits, dragged them out of their peaceful stasis.

Ava Maria saw the first encounter from the port window of her room, her twelve-year-old human fingers against the reinforced glass. A small dagger rested on the sill, an ancient artifact from Earth that she had never needed to use. From her window, she glimpsed the beings’ high cheekbones and pointed ears. Their skin seemed to shimmer like a mirage.

Humanity called the beings of G-23 the Fae, a word self-explanatory and easy on the tongue. The word, Fae, promised the sort of benevolence and wisdom, immortality and grace, that sharp-eared beings had been depicted with in myth.

But this was not so.

None of this was so.

 

You are not the Fae for which you have been named. This is an appearance crafted from human myth, an illusion of skewed sunlight designed to put the humans at ease. For you knew they were coming.

This is the reason you were sent.

The memory is still clear in your mind. Your queen gathered together both sides of your planet Grandrane: the half always stricken with night and the half drowned in vicious sun.

On one side of the hall stood your sisters of midnight. Their hair — twisted, laced, and braided up into intricate loops — grew as long as nature allowed. Their skin was as pale as the low-hanging moon, and as riddled and pockmarked with scars. Their pupils were as dark as black holes, wide and all-consuming.

You observed them from beside your kin of sunlight. You were markedly different from those who lived in the sun’s shadow. Every kin of yours had hair cut short or buzzed to a fine fuzz. Your skin was marked as well, though with the sun’s freckles and burns. Your eyes had the same golden glow as your favored and closest star.

Before you, your queen raised a hand.

The children of night summoned their scimitars, blades curved like the arcs of the shooting stars that sacrificed themselves to make these weapons. Beyond the halls of this palace, this coliseum, the night sky grew a bit darker for its loss.

You latched onto your own solar flare, twining the flame and light between your fingers until a broadsword solidified in your palm. Its gleam was blinding. Above you, the sun exhaled part of its strength.

Your queen brought down her hand, and both sides charged as one.

Your numbers were evenly matched, a soldier of sun to every messiah of midnight. Where blade met blade, sparks smoldered in the air. It was impossible to tell whether they were specks of moon or sun.

The sparring was short. It was not designed to be to the death. This was how each warrior found her partner on the planet of Grandrane. In the clearing dust and smoke, there were laced hands and matching grins.

Your own partner gave you a feral smile, one with nocturnal fangs, and a hand to pull you off the ground. You spat out a wad of the shimmering gold blood and took it.

Now with a crowd of mixed dark and light, your queen finally addressed the heart of the matter: The Congregation of Many Stars had called upon your race to stop the inexorable invasion of the human conquerors. Humans, who had already decimated their own planet, sought to colonize elsewhere. Somehow, this uncivilized race, one that has only managed long-distance space travel in the last century, had wiped out every other effort to halt their progress. Their innovation and intelligence may have been lacking, but their weaponry was all-destroying. You were the Congregation’s last resort.

At this, your queen seemed to find amusement. It was no secret that Grandrane was feared. Across the universe, you were called the Star Stealers. The Many Stars thought you took too much for savage purposes — coveting other planets’ stars for your own games of war — but they would rather have you as allies than enemies. And, your queen smirked, the Congregation of Many Stars didn’t seem to have complaints now that they had called upon you to fight for them.

So begins your war.

You leave Grandrane for G-23, as the humans have named it, purposefully placing yourself in the mankind’s path as they catalogue the universe in such binary things as letters and numbers. You don the guise of their fabled Fae, refracting sunlight for perfect human features and sharp ears, and masquerade as a familiar face in a vast and unknowable space. For long days and long nights, you live in your structured pairs like mortal twins, one sister’s eyes always open, always watching, always waiting. G-23, with its unpredictable and infernal rotations of light and dark, does not work as Grandrane does. It is during your night’s retreat that the first human vessel is spotted.

By the time humans make first landfall in their bubbled helmets, the sun has wiled its way back to the zenith. Midnight’s children have already sunken into their counterparts’ shadows, making your numbers appear half of their true value.

You play nice for the first two days, ignorance feigned and eyes wide and innocently blinking. You nod to their questions, show them your homes made of twisted roots and hollow trees. You blink prettily and preach of living in harmony with nature and the universe.

At night, you and the humans sleep. At night, your dark sisters sneak onto their ships, glean what they can of weaponry and tactics, and report back.

“Enough of this,” they hiss on the third night. “They are a weak race. Have you not seen the way they shield their eyes from the sun? How their skin burns beneath it? What they wear is not armor. It is life support for their feeble organs. We trained for eons before they walked, much less flew. Let us not waste any more time.”

“Then let us be done with it,” you whisper back.

You are glad the humans have not shown themselves to be creatures of honor and mercy. If they had, perhaps you would have abided by an honest duel. But as it stands, they have destroyed more planets than you have stars, so you feel no guilt at slitting sleeping throats.

Their blood does not glow as yours does.

Of course, the sheen of your light-made weapons and their gurgled cries wake the others, but you have advantages: doubled numbers, surprise, and your enemies’ ignorance. The hilt of your broadsword rests heavy in your hand, the heft of it most clearly felt when you slice through their brittle metal. The arc of its swing leaves a trail behind it, a burning afterimage. They meet your swords and scimitars with guns and bombs, but the heat of your stolen fire burns away their lead. It is not a fair fight, but you knew this when you agreed to the war. Humans do not specialize in close quarter battles, not when they are in their thin spacesuits and subject to their own shrapnel and radiation. This you knew and planned for, like so much else.

Once the fighting begins to die down, it is clear who the victors are. Covered in blood and space dust, you are as savage as your foes.

You personally deal the final blow, ripping a gash into the side of their beached spacecraft. Metal melts, drips, and cools. Pressurized air seeps away. You look back at the fallen, every empty-souled human heaped on the ground.

And then… pain.

Something sharp stabs you in the back. The horrible cold of steel sliding through you brings with it a pain you know heralds death.

You turn, sword dissipating as your energy slips away, and see a young girl clutching a dagger, golden with your blood. She is dying, already gasping away her last breaths, but she is smiling something wicked at you. You recognize that smile. You are her only revenge.

You smile back.

 

Ava Maria has always been a creature of vengeance. There is something sick and satisfying about finally taking it — the feeling of resistance against her dagger and having sticky, blood-stained fingers. There is something depraved about it that calls to her.

The strange part isn’t the death creeping through her lungs. This she saw coming. The strange part is the Fae’s smile at her. It is a smile of pride. It is a smile that says Ava Maria is the only redeeming thing this Fae has seen of humans. It is a smile that says Ava Maria belongs in the Fae’s afterlife with other women and warriors, not in a human’s heaven. It is smile that says you are like us. Your thirst calls for blood like a Star Stealer. You desire retribution and bloodshed.

In her revenge, Ava Maria understands.

Ava Maria and the Star Stealer meet death together.

 

The Smart Oinker

One day, when I was practicing making a sculpture out of wood, Momma Pig came into the living room saying she had an announcement. She said that she wanted me and my two brothers to move out of her house and live in our own home. Surprised by this announcement, I was excited to make my very own home. I said goodbye to Momma and walked through the door with only a cob of corn to eat when I was hungry.

After traveling for days, I had decided on the perfect place to build my house. It was a vast, green meadow with a lot of free land. There was a ten-foot-wide mud pool to bathe in. There was also enough room to grow some crops to eat. I began to work right away. I decided that I was going to make my home out of solid bricks, so it could keep me warm during the cold nights. I had bought some bricks and cement mix from the local store. My plan was to make a four story mansion with its own pig pen. I began to work right away.

After working for a few days, I saw my brothers rolling down the hill, laughing and coming towards me. My brothers’ names were Sausage and Pork Chop. Sausage was the youngest out of all of us; he was cute with big, brown eyes and chubby cheeks and just liked to follow Pork Chop. Pork Chop was the middle child; he was very strong, but he was not very mentally strong. He kinda looked like a surfer but as a pig. In my mind, I really hoped they wouldn’t ruin my perfect home and live near me.

Sausage came up to me and said, “Hi, Bacon!”

“Hi, Sausage and Pork Chop. Why are you guys here?” I asked.

“We decided that we will be living near you. We can’t wait to be neighbor buddies!” yelled Sausage excitedly.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait,” I said.

Though, in my head, I wanted to die. Even though I loved my brothers very much, I couldn’t stand them. Back at Momma’s home, they would always take my stuff and would never work for what they got. They would just play all day with no work. I got back to working on my home while they were tanning in the sun. After a couple of hours of working, I asked if they were going to start working on their homes.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” said Pork Chop.

Then Pork Chop and Sausage got up from tanning and began to work on their homes. I was honestly surprised that they would even start. Ten minutes later, my brothers both yelled “Done!”

“How can you be done? You just started,” I asked, confused.

“Um, well, we started. Now we are finished,” said Sausage.

When I went over to go look at their so called “homes,” I was not surprised by what I saw. Sausage’s house was made out of straw, which he found on the ground, and it looked like he just built a small fort that you can sleep in. When I looked over at Pork Chop’s house, I was happy that they didn’t copy each other. His house was made out of sticks that he pulled off trees. His house was a little larger, but it sure wasn’t better. Both of their homes were just sticks or just straw stacked on top of each other to make four walls and a roof. All I could say in response was “Nice.”

“How’s yours going, Bacon?” asked Pork Chop.

“Good, I’m close to finishing the first floor but I’ll be…”

And before I could finish, my brothers were already gone and were tanning on the grass again. I went back to work, and the same thing happened for the next couple of days, where I would work, and they would have fun like always. One day, I ran out of cement mix, so I decided that I would take a break from working and would grab lunch and grab some cement mix also. After eating at my favorite restaurant called the “Leftovers,” I saw a sign on their cork board that said that a pig-eating wolf had escaped the local prison. I figured that I should hurry up and finish my home before the wolf could find me. When I got back to the meadow, where my brothers were splashing each other in the mud bath, I told them that there was an escaped wolf on the loose that eats pigs.

“Aren’t you guys scared by this news?” I asked.

“Not really,” Pork Chop said. “Our stick and straw homes will hide us from that little wolf.”

“Well, good luck,” I said.

In a few days, I was completely done with my new brick mansion. It was a masterpiece. On the fourth floor, there was a balcony where I could see above the whole meadow. In the kitchen, there was a state-of-the-art metal trough with refilling leftovers. Since I heard about that wolf running around the city, I added high quality locks all around the doors and windows. I put a ten foot high metal fence around my home and added a high tech security camera, so I could see every inch of my house to see if anyone was breaking in. I decided that I was going to show my new home to my brothers and see if they would get jealous. So I went up to my brothers, playing tag in the grass, and asked if they wanted see my home.

“Do we have to?” Sausage asked.

“Yes, I want to show you my hard work,” I told them.

Fineee, we were in the middle of a highly competitive game of tag though.”

Once I had taken them to my house, I told them to cover their eyes so it would be a surprise. They didn’t really care, but they did it.

“Three. Two. One. You can open your eyes,” I yelled

“Cool house.  Can we go back to tag now?” asked Sausage.

“Are you guys jealou…?”

But before I could finish, they were already back to playing tag. I didn’t really care though. I couldn’t wait to go relax in my new home. Days went by where I just relaxed in my pig pen and ate my gourmet corn. Then one night, I saw on my security camera that there was a tall, slender, hairy animal walking around my home. Almost like he was trying to figure out how to get in. The next morning, I went to my brothers’s houses to ask them if they saw anything unusual last night.

“No, not really, but I felt a strong wind through my window, almost like breathing,” said Pork Chop.

“Yeah, I felt that too,” said Sausage.

“Weird, I didn’t feel a wind last night. It was a pretty calm night.” I said with hesitation.

“Well, Sausage and I are going to go play hide and seek. Bye, Bacon,” said Pork Chop.

The next few days, there was a little fear hovering over all of our heads, not knowing what that animal was. Two days later, when I was scrubbing down myself in my mud jacuzzi at midnight, I saw the same animal back again. This time, he was grinning a wide grin, showing all his sharp teeth. At that point, I had figured out it was the pig-eating wolf. I was worried about my pig brothers, whose homes were just a few feet away from mine, though I was too scared to go out with that wolf prowling around. And my lazy brothers didn’t want to install cell phones in their homes, so I couldn’t contact them.

The next morning, when I decided that the coast was clear, I rushed to my brothers’ houses to ask if they were okay. But I was too late. When I got there, Sausage’s house was blown down with no sight of Sausage anywhere. There were just two big footprints left on the ground, along with Sausage’s teddy bear. When Pork Chop got there, he was confused and very emotional. Of course he was sad. He had just lost his favorite brother.

“What happened, Bacon???”

“I don’t know. I saw that wolf that eats pigs on my security camera last night. I think that he might have gotten to Sausage.” I said with sadness.

“Why did you let this happen, Bacon?! Why didn’t you warn us!”

“I don’t know. I was scared. I am sorry!” I yelled.

“Yeah, well, Sausage is gone because of you.”

I later asked Pork Chop if he wanted to stay in my house since it was safer, but he said no. I also asked if I should call the police and see if they could do anything, but he said he was going to deal with it himself. When Pork Chop got mad, he stayed mad and wanted revenge, and I knew that I couldn’t stop him. For a couple of days, nothing happened at all. It was very quiet. And I didn’t see that wolf on my security camera. I supposed that the wolf was gone or he got caught.

One morning, after my cup of joe, I noticed that I couldn’t hear Pork Chop grunting from doing 1,000 push ups everyday. He started doing this since Sausage left. When I went on my balcony to see where he was, I saw his house was knocked down also. I rushed to his home, praying that the same thing didn’t happen to him like what happened to Sausage. Though I was afraid I was too late. I searched around to see if I could find anything left behind. All I could find was a lot of big footprints, a lot of blood, and Pork Chop’s necklace with a picture of our family in it. I started to cry and cry, knowing that I had just lost all of my brothers. Even though I didn’t want them to live next to me or not be as annoying as they were, I didn’t want them to die. I knew that the wolf would be back for me, so I had to be ready. I needed a plan to catch this wolf and put him jail forever. This time, it was my turn for revenge, and no one could stop me.

I bought a bunch of supplies from the hardwood store and built my trap right away. My plan was for dress up a stuffed animal that looked like me right in front of my gate. Then when the wolf would take the bait, a trap door would open from under him and lock him up in a crate. When I finally finished, I waited for days for him to come back. Soon I thought he would never come back. Then one night, when I least expected it, the wolf came back. I was just waiting for the wolf to take the bait so I could release the trap door. And when he finally took the bait, I pressed the button to release the trap door, and the wolf dropped into the crate. I called the police, and they took the wolf away.

For a month, nothing was ever the same. I just wasn’t used to not seeing my brothers playing out in the meadow everyday. I decided that I should go back and visit my mother and tell her about my brothers. When I got back to her house, it brought back many old memories. I went back to my mom’s room, where she usually was and told her I was back.

“Hi, Bacon, how are you doing?”

“I am fine, Mom. How are you?” I asked.

“Good.”

“Do you want something to eat? I could make something?” I asked because she didn’t sound too good.

“No thank you, Bacon. I had two really big meals the past two weeks.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Where are your brothers? Did they not want to come?”

“No, actually this is why I came, because they were murdered.” I said with disappointment.

“Really? By who?”

“I think it was by a pig-eating wolf. But don’t worry, I caught him, and he’s in jail now.” I said, somewhat proud.

I was a bit suspicious at how she didn’t really care about Sausage and Pork Chop’s deaths. Also she sounded a little different.

“I am very proud of you, Bacon.” she said, in a different voice. “I really liked your trap by setting up a fake pig in front of your house.”

“Then… wait, how did you know about that??” I asked, very confused.

“But too bad it didn’t work.”

 

Fort Sphere Woods

It had been about two hours of driving. At least I thought so. The radio blasting 93.5 at volume 10. Samantha hummed the music. I glanced at the rear view mirror that welcomed me to a rainy evening in fall.

Driving through Fort Sphere Woods always made me think of when Samantha and I would come here as little girls who would play in the leaves and find an abandoned shed while searching for frogs. We never got to see what was in that shed, I mean, not that we cared. As I dozed off, Samantha tapped me to turn the music on louder. Just as we heard “On the hill”, our favorite childhood song, Samantha reminded me of all our young moments together. Her ludicrous laugh always made me laugh as well. I was disappointed that my best friend was going to another school. Yet I felt proud and excited for her to be starting a new life. Her school was Richwood Staren School. An elite boarding school. All of a sudden, from a distance, I saw those blue and red flashing lights that never mean something good.

The car still going at 87, I  looked out the window to see the police cars, two… three… four…

***

I woke up on a bench to the sounds of sirens. I got up and tried to walk. Stumbled a bit but accomplished. I got up, walked towards the car, and it looked like my car had been hit by the street pole. I got up to walk around the car.

Just then, an officer held my arm and yelled, “Ma’am, stay seated. We will be right with you.”

As an ambulance arrived, two paramedics came out and approached me. They carried me onto the ambulance and checked me for anything. I asked to be excused and used a porta potty in the ambulance. I glanced in the mirror and saw that the side of my head was bleeding. Dizzy more than ever, I shivered and walked back to the paramedics. That’s all I remember.

I woke up in a hospital bed where I was greeted by doctors. One officer in the room asked me to sit up, and next thing I knew, he informed me that Samantha was dead. And that she had been dead for about four days now. I had been in a coma for four days. I held back more tears than my body could handle, my stomach falling into pieces.

“Sir, I really don’t understand.”

Not being able to interpret what happened, police officers yelled and yelled at me to admit that the murder was on purpose.

 

Bonnie Ventura

The building had a gothic feel to it. The windows had black soot stains from years of enduring rain and neglect. The whole place was a dreary sight, not to say that all gothic buildings were dreary. In my book, gothic buildings were the best types of buildings, compared to the square ones that looked like a four-year-old’s Lego experiment. I observed this from my car, of course. The rain poured down in sheets outside, and folks rushed from awning to awning, attempting to get to their small offices in buildings similar to the one I would soon enter. I checked my watch, 8:22 A.M., and sighed begrudgingly. It was just about time. Opening the car door and walking across the street, similar to the folks I had mentioned before. I now had a chance to see if the interior was just as inferior as the exterior. It was.

A secretary sat at a small desk with her ear pressed to a flip phone, the type of over-the-counter phone that drug dealers use. I guess these types of people couldn’t afford nice gadgets, like iPhones that recognize your fingerprints. She talked with a New Jersey accent and looked like she was straight from the eighties with puffy, curly blonde hair and bright blue eye shadow. In short, she looked like a washed-up celebrity.

The rest of the lobby was like her: outdated. A grandfather clock stood in the corner, the hands not moving. The retro waiting chairs were an off-color yellow with flowers embroidered in them, and the coffee table was covered in white chipping paint. Overall, it felt like your grandma’s living room. Cheery.

“No, I already told you I can’t do that for you, Mikey!” the secretary’s voice whined. “It’s above my pay grade!” This was spoken with a sharper tone than before, and without hesitation, the woman slammed the phone shut and placed it on her desk, robotically, shutting her eyes like a jaded schoolteacher.

“Cheery place you got here.”

“You think so?” she asked.

“Sure. If you like nursing homes.” She rolled her eyes.

“Do you happen to know something of an Arlo White?” I said, taking out my cigarette pack and plucking one out of its tightly packed box.

“Can’t you see this is a bad time to run your mouth?” she asked.

“It’s always a bad time to run your mouth.” I flipped my lighter open and the tobacco blazed.

“You can’t smoke in here,”she said. Slowly, I lifted my eyes so that I was looking at her from under the brim of my peach-colored fedora and snapped the lighter closed.

“This is the 21st century, you know, the only folks who light up nowadays are shady bums,” she said.

“Is that so?” I asked.

She pursed her lips together and glared at me with hatred that I wouldn’t think you’d be able to gather after a 10-second conversation.

“Yes, it is.” The room began to fill with smoke.

“Look, ma’am, do you have a particular reason for being here, or did you come here in the rain to be a pain in the neck?”

“Well, as I mentioned before, I‘m here to see an Arlo White.”

“Arlo White?” She had a snarky voice.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sounds like a fake name to me.” She slowly turned around to the wall of names behind her and scanned the rows passive-aggressively.

“It may be as far as I know,” I said.

“Arlo White, eighth floor.” She snarled, “You’re welcome. Suite 821.”

Without glancing back at the Madonna wannabe, I made my way to the elevator and pushed number eight.

“Some lady you are,” she half muttered to herself before painting her nails with the half-used bottle of Wite-Out on her desk.

The elevator dinged, and a girl wearing all Forever 21 clothes and false pink pastel nails stepped out, staring at her phone, out of place in comparison to the gloomy retro vibe of the building. As she walked, her Kate Spade boots clicked on the tile floor. Inside, the elevator was like any elevator, the buttons a pale yellow and the numbers up to 12. For some reason, someone thought it had been a good idea to install a stereo system.

“On 99.5, we have the hottest hits.”

“And the hottest men. Have you checked out Tyler Smith’s new album, Casey?”

“I have, and soon will the listeners with the song, ‘All I Know’ coming right up.”

Lucky for me, the elevator dinged just as the song started. Though from what I heard, it was decent. It wasn’t painful, but at the same time I wouldn’t listen to it on my own time.

My shoes squelched on the bland, red carpet, still soggy from the rain. Suite 821 was a bit down the hall, the door made from a cheap oak knockoff and the window from frosted glass with the words, “Arlo White, defense lawyer. ‘Call A. White if you want a fair fight!’” written in 50’s font next to a pair of cartoon boxing gloves. I grimaced, grabbing the knob and thinking of how sad Arlo White’s life must be, before opening the door.

Inside was an empty desk that should’ve belonged to a secretary, and a set of maybe five red-cushioned waiting chairs. No one was in the chairs, either. The whole place was as empty as a shut-in’s funeral. Wearily, I walked inside and observed the desk. On it was a white telephone, and next to it was a stack of papers with a sticky note. The sticky note read, “Out sick, Real Housewives marathon today. Will finish work Monday.” Today was Tuesday, which suggested that the Real Housewives marathon would be going on a whole week. It also suggested that Mr. White ran a loose establishment, but reading the note wasn’t necessary to prove that fact.

I pulled my off-white Polaroid out from my jacket pocket and snapped a shot. I prefer Polaroids because, like the secretary downstairs, I don’t have enough money to buy an iPhone. Plus, I got the pictures straight away and didn’t need to find a place to develop them. Maybe Mr. White and I weren’t so different after all: we both were in a tough racket and ran probably not even four-star businesses.

I checked my watch and decided I should knock on the second fake oak door, since I was supposed to have met Arlo five minutes ago. No response. The whole office must have slept in, except it couldn’t have since I had called the guy fifteen minutes ago on my way here. I pushed the door open to find a long table. On that long table was a hand clutching a pencil, a suit, as cheap as a McDonald’s breakfast combo, and atop that suit, a head. A head with a hat on it, a bowling hat. The kind they used to wear in the old mafia movies. It didn’t have the Godfather-type chicness, and yet, it didn’t seem like you’d buy one at a neighborhood garage sale. A piece laid a little bit down the table, a polished one, much nicer than anything else the sap had on him.

In the other room, there was a sound: a click. In the waiting room, the door of Suite 821 clicked open. I reached for my gat and peeked through the crack of the door. A man in a suit leaned over the secretary’s desk and sighed.

“There’s always some show on. She can never just do her goddamn job.” He talked in a New York accent and had light brown slicked back hair, a goatee, and a grey briefcase. He looked even more dead and cheaper than the sap in the office. Resting his face in his hands, he looked at the floor, and then, walked slowly up to the door. I hid behind the door frame, and he walked in, coffee in hand.

“Jesus H. Christ.” He stared ahead not in fear, not in sadness, but weariness.

He said, “Dennis, they got Dennis.” I walked out from the shadows.

“Who’s Dennis?” The man instinctively took a step back. Unfortunately, out of fear, he didn’t check where he was stepping and stumbled into Dennis’s lap, screaming and falling over, dropping his three dollar coffee, and spilling it all over his lap.

“Shit!”

“Who’re you?” I laid the piece on the table next to Dennis and helped the guy up.

“Me-me? I’m the fella who runs this fine establishment. Who’re you?” He sarcastically wiped the coffee off his pants.

“Bonnie Ventura. You Arlo White?”

“No, I’m Vito Corleone. I mean, come on, look at me, do I look like a threat?”

“The saddest looking people are the ones to look out for.”

“Gee thanks. I appreciate the compliment, but that ain’t the case with me.” He sat down, looking at the pool of blood surrounding Dennis. Then he sighed, shaking his head wearily.

“I could really use a drink about now.” He said.

“How about some coffee?” I said.

Arlo looked from Dennis to me.

“You didn’t kill ‘im, did you?”

“I’m a private detective, not a cop, killing ain’t my line of work.”

“Okay…okay.” He sighed. “But you’re paying.”

 

***

The diner was Slim’s Pancake House, and it was straight from the 50s. The lettering of the sign was that of the words on Arlo’s door, and the prices were cheaper than his outfit, a true gem.

“I like it. These types of places are rare,” Arlo said. “Nowadays, coffee is six dollars, pancakes fourteen when it tastes like a hotel breakfast. I say fuck that. I’m not paying for a five star dinner. I’m paying for scrambled eggs, no garnishes, no cheese imported from France, no long-range, all natural, low-fat milk. If I wanted that, I’d go to a vegan cafe in Brooklyn.” A waitress came to fill up our mugs.

“Thank you.” He took a long sip. “Nowadays, people are so picky. They only eat what the New York Times reviews.” I shrugged.

“All that’s true, but when it comes right down to it, some people are diner people and some just aren’t.”

“Are you a diner person?” he asked.

“I don’t see why people eat any other food.” I took out a cigarette from my coat pocket. “They don’t mind smoking in here, do they?”

“No.”

I flipped the lighter open, and Arlo watched the tobacco light.

“Could I have a light?” he asked.

“Sure, why not?” I handed him a cigarette and brought the flame to it. He leaned back against the classic, red-padded booth we both sat in.

“Now, are you ready to talk about Dennis or not?” He squinted.

“What’s your play here?”

“I don’t know what’s going on half the time, and I certainly haven’t figured enough out to make a play.” I took a sip of my coffee. It was black, but watered down, so the bitterness wasn’t nearly as bitter as it could’ve been.

“Isn’t it your job to know what’s going on half the time?” Arlo pointed his cigarette at me.

“My job is to figure out what’s going on, not to know it.”

“And how’s figuring stuff out going for you?”

“Not too great.”

“Not too great.” He leaned back in his seat and looked at me, relaxed.

“Well, my day hasn’t been going too great either. Dennis was an old…client of mine. Came to me for advice.”

“Advice on what?” He shrugged.

“Money stuff. Guy had a gambling problem, a serious one.”

“Serious ‘cause he was winning too much or losing too much?”

“I hired him when he was losing. A couple hours ago, he was winning.”

“And that’s something you pride yourself on?”

“The man’s dead. In my book, that’s nothing to be proud of.”

“I hope that in most people’s books, it’s nothing to be proud of,” I said.

“I can think of someone who may be proud of it.”

I raised my eyebrows at Arlo, and he smiled, not with smugness or happiness but with fatigue. The man didn’t have the impression of someone who prided himself with most things, or even cared about most things. I liked it. People who are too enthusiastic have too much to hide. In my theory, that’s where the enthusiasm comes from.

“Mikey Devant,” Arlo said finally.

“Mikey Devant? Sounds faker than your name.”

Arlo took a sip of his coffee.

“Well, I can assure you my name’s 100% real.” He smiled.

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“The secretary in your building didn’t seem to think so.”

“Who? Loretta?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t eat breakfast with her.”

“Did she have curly blonde hair and a lip on her?”

I nod.

“That would be Loretta.” He sighed. “Girl’s a real piece of work.”

“How so?”

“She’s got a champagne taste on a beer budget.” Without elaboration or pauses, Arlo continued. “Could be useful in your case here, though. See, when Dennis was my client, sometimes, we’d go to this casino on 14th, named Mirage – ”

“There’s a casino called Mirage?”

“Yeah, I know. Counterintuitive. Anyways, Dennis used to go there, and I’d talk to him about gambling, coach him on it.”

“So, you taught him how to cheat?”

“Nah, he taught himself how to cheat. I just tried to figure out what made it so addicting for him.”

“And what’d you find?”

“Nothing. I’d make a bad detective, but what I did find was that Loretta works there every Tuesday night, and Dennis had a thing for her.”

Uck. What kinda thing? Could she’a killed him?”

“I don’t know. My job is to figure out what’s going on, not to know it.’” He said, mocking me.

“No, my job is to figure out what’s going on. You’re a lawyer. Your job is to know what’s going on.” I paused. “So I take it that knowing stuff hasn’t been going too great for you?”

“No, it hasn’t. It hasn’t been going too great.”

I took out a flask from the inside pocket of my trench coat.

“You like rye?”

“It’s – ” He checked his knockoff Rolex. “8:57 in the morning. Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Ar, I’m a good detective, because I follow my intuition, and half of the time, what my intuition is telling me is that I could use a drink.”

“So you’re drunk on half your cases?”   

“More than half, and I wouldn’t say ‘drunk.’ ‘Drunk’ makes it sound like I don’t know where to put my feet. Drinking is what helps me solve my cases and gives me ‘moments of clarity,’ and if that bothers you, I don’t really care. All I know is that I’m too sober to solve this case, and I can see you could use a drink yourself.”

“Huh.” He studied me as I poured the rye into my 50s mug and swirled it around with a coffee spoon. Then he rubbed his eyes with his hands, exasperated. “I like rye as much as any other liquor.”

I filled his mug to the brim before tucking the flask back inside my coat. He sat and watched the liquids blend for a moment before drinking it all in one swift motion.

 

***

Since Arlo was evidently a not-so-great lawyer, and didn’t know what the word was with Loretta, we decided to pay her a visit wherever she lived, since when we left Arlo’s sad office building Loretta was not in her usual place in the lobby. We took my car, a pitch black ‘67 Chevy Impala. It used to belong to a moll who had a real thing for cars. So much so that she killed her husband in it after he tried to cut off her allowance. My sister, Ariana, worked on the case and managed to pull it out of evidence for me. Ariana was a good detective. Sure, she could be unenthusiastic, annoying, offtrack, and uncaring, but when it came down to the real tough parts of the job, she was a right on, smart girl. We would need her help.

“Ariana!” I put her on speaker phone.

“Bonnie, did you finally come to your senses and accept my offer?” She wanted me to join the force.

“You know, just as much as I’d do that, I would never stoop down to a cop’s level.”

“But you would stoop down to a con artist’s level.”

“Private investigators are not con artists.” I paused. “Except for maybe Archie.” Archie was a private detective and a con artist at that; the man had no real talent and spent his days hypnotising frantic victims of crimes who detested cops.

“Archie! Well, when you have a change of heart, you know who to call. Speaking of which, why’d you call this time?”

“You have any info on a Loretta Capman?”

“Hang on for a minute – I’ll see what I can do – ”

Arlo turns to me, “Your friend?”

“Sister.”

“Twins?”

“Two year difference.”

“Who’s older?”

“Me.”

Arlo and I went back to sitting in silence. He emptied his cigarette ashes into the Mikey atop my dashboard, as the rain tapped gently on his window. The storm was letting up now, though to be outside you’d still want an umbrella. Miserable weather. I preferred sunny days over rainy ones, but I preferred thunderstorms over sunny days.

Ariana got back on the phone.

“Well she’s not in the system, but the last charge to her credit card was at Lenny’s Lodge, a motel just outta town.”

“Address?”

“3932 Jameson.”

“Thanks, Ariana.”

“No problem.”

I hung up and started the engine. The streets were drawn weirdly throughout the city. Luckily, I knew where Jameson was because of its frequent use. If you wanted to go out north of the city, Jameson was the road to take. With that being said, whether Loretta killed Dennis or not, she was almost certainly guilty of something. Jameson was a long way from Arlo’s building, so going to a motel there meant you intended on skipping town, and skipping town after a murder meant there was some kind of connection. I turned to Arlo. I doubted it, but he might have known something about Capman that was important.

“So what was Loretta like?”

“What? As a secretary?”

I glared at him, “No. As a driver?”

Arlo sighed. “Well, I didn’t give her much thought.”

“Yeah. Makes sense, considering she didn’t know who you were.”

“She knows who I am. A while back, when Dennis and I were at Mirage, he was flirting with her, and when she asked who I was, he said a lawyer. She said something about how it was strange for a lawyer to be at a casino, and then said that if she ever needed law advice, she’d call me. About a week later, she called and asked me to dinner.”

“And you’re only mentioning this now? What did you say?”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. On a case.”

We stopped at a red light, and I shook my head, “You know, for a lawyer, you don’t seem to pay much attention to detail.”

“And for a detective you don’t seem very sober.”

“Being sober doesn’t factor into the job requirements.”

 

***

By the time we pulled up at 3932 Jameson Street, the rain had nearly stopped and it continued only as a misty drizzle. 3932 was on the outskirts of town, and pine trees nearly surrounded it. A rehabbed, one-story cabin had been transformed into a “luxury get away,” or at least, that’s what the sign read. The structure would’ve made a good log cabin if it was in a different place, at a different time, with a little fixing up. In front of the lodge was an American flag atop a relatively tall pole, the flag tattered and dirty. The whole building, flag and all, looked like it could’ve been a filming location for Twin Peaks.

The two of us walked inside.

“Jesus.” Arlo gazed at the walls.

He said “Jesus” in reference to the animal heads mounted on the walls. It’s the first thing anyone would notice when they walked in. There were so many that it looked like a taxidermist’s. Deer, elk, moose, fox, bears. A real nice place to stay if you liked dead animals watching everything did. It didn’t bother me per se; what bothered me was when hotels hung up motivational travel quotes to seem unique, when you could buy them at Macy’s, Kohl’s, or any retailer near you. Aside from the animal heads, what was noticeable was the smell of gasoline.

I approached the front desk. A man was sitting, reading the newspaper. He wore thin wired glasses, and looked like he was in his late 60s with a long white mustache, and a cowboy hat that made him look like a sheriff from a western.

“Excuse me, sir?” He sat next to an ornate golden bell, like Hector Salamanca. The man slowly raised his head.

“Yes ‘m.”

“Do you have a guest here by the name of Loretta Capman?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I don’t ask the fellas their names. I just give them their room keys.”

I took out a badge. “Well, could you check? It’s important.”

“I suppose so.” The man kept no computer, and instead had a big book with tourists’ names. His frail fingers flipped through the pages slowly until he stopped to squint at one page.

“Room 104.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We walked through the hallway to the end. As we walked, the smell of gasoline grew stronger.

“Jesus Christ. What’d the gal do? Light herself on fire?”

“I certainly hope not. That would destroy our one lead.” When we reached the door, I took out my gun. “Po-lice, open up!”

“I thought you said you weren’t a cop?” Arlo whispered, staring at the badge I still clutched in the palm of my hand.

“I’m not. I bought this on Amazon for 76 cents.” It read B. VENTURA. “It was name customizable.”

The loud sound of an engine growled from outside of the building, and I charged into the room, the doors unlocked. We ran to the open window. A rickety old 60s Cadillac leisurely passed the window. The car’s paint had chipped away. It was faded red with one of the doors being another color entirely, which you could only classify as a mix of blue and grey creating an unusual pastel metallic color. If the vehicle could be described as a person, it would be the weird quirky kid that no one wanted to play with at recess in elementary school. But it was not the vehicle that was important. It was the driver.

In the front seat sat Loretta Capman; in her mouth sits a lit cigarette; next to her, a duffel bag full of cash.

She batted her long eyelash extensions at Arlo and said, “Aw, look who’s playing games with the detective, sore loser honey. You’re missing out, 50 thousand in cash and you turned it down,” before speeding away in her convertible.

 

***

I sat in my office across from Arlo. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and then looked around. I had a small office, smaller than and slightly nicer than his too. It had a respectable vibe. Furnishing the room were several plants, like ferns and cacti, but the room was overall minimalistic: how I liked things. The carpet was white, the walls were white, and the desk was oak along with the chairs. On the desk was a gold plaque with my name, “B. VENTURA, Private Investigator.” It looked fancy, but you could buy it online for twelve dollars, similar to most of the knickknacks in the room. The most expensive thing was the liquor that I kept it in a cabinet behind me at all times. I checked my watch and poured the man facing me a drink of scotch.

“It’s not even 10:00 yet, Ar, this may be the quickest case I’ve ever solved.”

“You sound like a cop.”

“Fuck you. Now talk.”

“Why? Am I under arrest?”

“No, but you will be if you don’t cut the crap.”

He sighed, looked me dead in the eyes, and then threw the whole drink down.

“Fine. I lied when I worked with Dennis. I didn’t try to figure out what made gambling addicting; I helped him gamble. We’d go every Tuesday night, which happened to be the same night Loretta worked. The manager, Mikey and Loretta figured out we were cheating pretty quickly and had a talk with us. Dennis was dead set on the idea. He was the real mastermind; I just helped him a bit. So you know how I said she asked me out to dinner? Well, she did. She asked me to kill Dennis.”

“I knew she wouldn’t date you.”

“Don’t gloat over it. Anyways, she said Mikey, the manager, would give me 20 of the 50k Dennis and I stole if I could take it from him.”

“And you didn’t take it?”

“Of course I didn’t take it. Taking it from Dennis meant killing him, and I may cheat at gambling, but who doesn’t? I needed money. Being a lawyer doesn’t exactly buy a Rolex.”

“But it does buy a fake one.”

“That it does. But just because I’d prefer a Rolex and a fridge that works, that doesn’t mean I’d kill a man, especially a man I know; I couldn’t live with myself.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“Right now, I’m thinking I could use another glass.” I poured him one. The light from the glass reflects onto the ceiling painting’s different hues of brown and orange.

“Loretta. I’m guessing Mikey promised her 20 of the 50k Dennis stole. She flirts with him, then they go home, but he catches her stealing the money. She shoots him.”

“Leaves it in your office as a warning.”

“Exactly.” I lit a cigarette.

“Lotta work to send one message.” Then I paused. “You ever think of quitting the law business?”

“To do what?”

“Investigate.”

“I lied to you; I cheated at gambling. Why would you want me to work for you?”

I shook my head and exhaled the smoke, blowing it into the air and leaning back in my chair.

“It’s the people who admit they lied that you can trust, not the ones who claim to never have.” I paused a moment to let it sink in.

“So you’re not going to arrest me?”

“We don’t need another person locked up for years for a minor crime.”

“Is that why you hate cops?”

“Is what why I hate cops?”

“You talk about how all cops do is kill people. You hate them because you hate the justice system? And if you hate the justice system, my question is why are you working in bringing people to justice?”

I sighed and lifted my chin up slowly to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t hate cops or the justice system, and I do what I do because I’m good at it. I dislike both because of the power we give them and how strict our prison policies are.”

“In China, you can be put away just for talking about certain things.”

“Well, this isn’t China, and we’re not communists.”

“It’s more of a dictatorship,” he said under his breath.

“You like politics so much? Be a politician.”

“I thought you wanted me to be a detective.”

“I do.” He studied the ceiling before glancing around.

“Not a lot of room in here for another desk?”

“Then make room.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette.

“I’ll work with you part-time, but I’m still a lawyer.”

“You get 10% of all profits.”

“10%? What am I? A slave? No. 50.”

“30.”

“30.”

“10.”

“15.”

“20.”

“Fine.”

We shook on it.

 

Fear

I see you all. All the different people. Running around like ants in a farm that has been shaken too hard. You get angry at the little things — your coffee when the barista gets the order wrong, the weather because it always seems to be raining, and the jammed printer in the back of the office that never seems to work. I see you. But you don’t always see me.

I am a cloud hovering over everyone, waiting for the right moment to let all hell break loose. To let the lighting surge through your heart and the thunder burst in your eardrums. I start with a drizzle, small warnings that I am close, but you put up an umbrella and curse the gods. Oh, but you are so wrong. I am no god, wait till you see the eye of the storm. But you never look up to see my raging clouds.

I am the monster hidden under the bed, the one you always get a glimpse of but can never catch. I have fangs and long hair that drips to the ground like a willow tree. My eyes are black and inky and always watching. You see the glimmer of light in my fangs as I scowl. I slowly crawl back under the bed but you never go further than to pull your covers back over your eyes.

I am that one guy waiting in the wings. I watch the show as you sing and dance and run around the stage. You look so happy, so naive. I stare at the production lights through my thick glasses. No one notices me. I am the theater geek who can ruin the show with a push of a button. I see the makeup plastered onto your faces and and your mouths frozen in smiles, but your eyes don’t match the scene. You look to your left as you gallop across the platform, only to watch me close the curtains one final time. You see me, but you don’t stop my actions. You don’t even bow for the wonderful show you put on. Honestly, you fooled us all.

I am the cat waiting to pounce on the mouse. Licking my jet black paws, I imagine devouring the small creature. The mouse doesn’t notice me. It scampers back and forth, creating some sense of order in its life. And when it finally glances at my sleek fur and long whiskers, it does nothing more than wait eagerly for its demise.

I am confused. Why don’t you run? I predict it is because you know that I am only a part of you. A mere shadow, changing shape every day. You created me. With every one of your actions, you give energy to my storms and you pump blood into my veins. You give me life, only to have me destroy yours. You see me in the scariest of your nightmares and in the shadows where no one bothers to look.

I create tornadoes that wreaked havoc through your neighborhood, tossing your life into a pile waiting at the garbage dump. I take your bed sheets, the ones you used to cover your eyes, and I wrap them around your fragile neck. I take the air out of your lungs and you lie limp in my arms. I close the curtains and break the props, smiling as I go. I eat the mouse, its tiny bones crunching on my sharpened pearly teeth. I am made to be remembered. And yet I am still the forgotten piece of your soul, the memories you chose to leave behind. I am your worst enemy. I am you.                       

I am fear.

 

Houses on May 28th

Mary went upstairs later that night to check on Jamie. She knocked on his door quietly.

“Jamie… are you there? It’s Mommy.” Mary jiggled the handle and the door was locked.

There was no sound. “Jamie… I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

Still, no reply came.

“Jamie, listen. How about we go to the arcade? You and Lisa would have much more fun there than picking out a toy from a store.”

Mary went downstairs and got the emergency key they kept in case somebody accidentally locked themselves in a room. She unlocked the door and the room was empty. Everything was completely untouched. Peter’s books were all in order by genre on his shelf and the globe he got for his birthday was in its regular spot.

“Peter!” Mary yelled.

Peter came running up the stairs.

“Mary, what’s wrong?” Peter was out of breath, although lately he’d been trying to work out more.

“Jamie’s gone! He’s not in his room!”

“I’m sure he’s in the house somewhere. You check the bathrooms and I’ll check Lisa’s room.”

Minutes later, Peter and Mary met up again in front of Jamie’s room.

“He’s not in the bathrooms!”

“Lisa’s gone too!”

“Where do you think they went?” Mary asked.

“The arcade!” Peter replied quickly.

“No, you ass! They wouldn’t be able to get to the arcade by foot.”

“Maybe they went exploring. You know how much Jamie loves exploring. And how courageous Lisa is.”

“You get the car keys and I’ll get some flashlights and we’ll go!” Mary said.

Together, they left to find their children.

 

***

“Jamie, are you sure this is a good idea?” Lisa asked.

They were walking in the woods behind their house, and it was about half past one. A slight breeze blew through the air and the sky was clear.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Jamie answered.

“We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“No, we’ll be home before Mom and Dad wake up.”

“Are you sure,  Jamie?”

Jamie paused. Lisa’s flashlight was flickering. The bushes were rustling and a small figure stepped out from behind them.

“Good morning, kiddos.” It was a boy about eleven years old, the same age as Jamie. He had blue eyes like the ocean and chocolate colored hair.

“I’m the same age as you, Scott,” Jamie said.

Scott laughed. “It’s a figure of speech.”

Lisa looked grumpy. She reminded Jamie of the floating rainclouds over grouchy people’s heads in cartoons.

“Why the long face, Lisa?” Scott teased.

“Scott, I’m eight years old. Don’t call me kiddo.”

“Alright. If it really bothers you guys that much, I won’t do it.”

“Scott, where are we even going?” Jamie asked.

Scott smiled and his eyes lit up.

“It’s this old house that I live next to. It’s really cool and I wanted to explore it with you guys.”

“I’ve got two water bottles, my flashlight, a pack of batteries I stole from the kitchen cabinet, and a box of Girl Scout cookies.”

“Yep, that’s everything we need to survive,” Jamie said sarcastically.

“What kind are they?” Scott asked.

Lisa looked inside her yellow backpack.

“Shortbreads,” she said.

“Goddamnit. I wish they were Thin Mints.”

The kids continued walking to the house. They approached train tracks that smelled of rust after rain, which was strange because it hadn’t rained that night or the day before.

“Jamie, please don’t go on the train tracks,” Lisa said.

“Why not?” Jamie said.

“I don’t want anything to happen. I have a really bad feeling.”

“What do you think, Scott?”

Scott froze. “I think you should listen to your sister. For some reason I think she’s right.”

“Are you really sure, Lisa?”

“Yes.”

Jamie got off the tracks and they continued to walk along them. It had been about five minutes when Lisa turned around and they noticed a light in the distance.

“Jamie, do you see that?” Lisa asked.

“What?” Jamie said and then turned around. He saw the light.

Scott saw it too. “It’s a train. And it’s getting faster.”

Scott was right. The kids could hear the sound of the train huffing and puffing. The train whisked by them.

“Lisa, if I had stayed on those train tracks, I don’t even want to think about what would have happened,” Jamie said.

“You made a good call,” Scott said.

“Are there trains on this track often?” Jamie asked.

“Not usually… ” Scott said, and trailed off.

The house was the size of a mansion with tiles coming off the roof and a mailbox practically grasping to hang onto its pole. It was covered with vines and the bushes were overgrown. On the porch was a cracked light and a wooden rocking chair. There was also a small driveway, which was strange, because the house was in the middle of the woods.

“This looks like a shack,” Lisa said.

“Scott. What. Is. This?” Jamie asked.

“A house.”  

“You know, I never really noticed that.”

“Are we gonna go in or what?” Lisa said.
Together they walked onto the porch, and Scott opened the door. The first thing they saw were crimson colored stairs.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” Scott asked, with a grin.

“Let’s go into the bedrooms,” Jamie said.

Scott led them upstairs and there were three bedrooms. The first one they entered seemed to be a guest bedroom. It was pretty bare and simple with only a bed and a dresser. The second room was a child’s room. There was a small bed with pale, pink blankets and pale, yellow pillows. There was a shelf with books, dolls, and records. Jamie reached up and picked one up off the shelf.

“Scott, do these still work?”

“When I found this place two weeks ago they did.”

Jamie went up to the record player on a table and put on a record. It was jazz music with a man singing about how he missed somebody.

Scott picked up one of the dolls. It had a crack in its cheek. The doll had green eyes and brown hair. It had on a dark blue dress with lace falling off. Its eyes seemed to glint in the flashlight’s beam. He shuddered.

Lisa looked at the books on the shelf. A Wrinkle in Time, The Wizard of Oz, The Phantom Tollbooth, The Secret Garden, and Peter Pan. Lisa looked around, and she got a sickening feeling.

“Let’s go into another room,” Lisa said. They went into the next bedroom, which must have been the parent’s bedroom. There was a bed with green covers and white pillows. There was a table with old makeup products, and the mirror above was chipped. There was also a large wardrobe with a drawer hanging open.

“Hey, guys. Look at this,” Jamie said, and pulled out a large book from the drawer.

Scott frowned. “That’s strange. When I was here, that drawer wasn’t open.”

Scott hesitantly sat down next to Jamie and Lisa did the same. The book happened to be a photo album. The first picture was of a young man and woman smiling. The man was a sailor. The next photo was with the same man and woman, but she was kissing his cheek. Another photo was their wedding and there were many photos of what must have been aunts and uncles and cousins. Another photo was the house. The next one was the couple sitting by the fireplace in the living room, and the woman had a rounded belly. The photo after was a baby. The next photo was the couple playing with a female toddler. There were no other photos after that.

“You know what’s weird?” Lisa asked.

“What?” Jamie said.

“None of the pictures are labeled,” Lisa said.
“This is really creepy,” Scott said.

Lisa looked at the mirror, her eyes widened in fear.

“Lisa, what’s wrong?!” Jamie cried.

“Did you turn the record player off?” Lisa asked.

“No. Why?”

“Because it stopped playing.”

They all went silent.

“We should leave,” Lisa said.

“Yeah. Make sure you have all your stuff,” Jamie said.  

Together, the kids got up and closed the door behind them. They quietly walked down the hall as though they were trying not to disturb a sleeping dragon.

Suddenly, there was a thumping sound coming from the child’s room. It was getting louder and louder.

“Guys. Quick. Go!” Scott cried. They ran as fast as they could. The thumping sound got louder. When Jamie and Lisa got out of the house and into the woods, they stopped to relax.

“Where’s Scott?” Jamie asked.

“Scott! Scott! Where are you?!” Lisa yelled. But no matter how loud they yelled and how far they searched, Scott was nowhere to be found.

 

***

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Lisa’s quivering voice came from upstairs.

Jamie and Lisa had arrived home after running all the way through the forest, back to their house. As soon as they got to their lawn, Lisa was filled with a burst of energy and she ran through the door, all the way upstairs. She quickly realized that her parents weren’t there.

“I don’t know!” Jamie said. “Maybe they went shopping?”

“Why would they go shopping at five in the morning?” Lisa asked.

“Right. Alright,” Jamie said, trying to calm himself down.

The front door flew open loudly and in came their mom and dad.

“Jamie! Lisa! Thank God. We’ve been looking for you for hours!” Peter said.

Mary hugged both of her kids. “What were you doing out this early in the morning? We were going to call the police!”

“Mommy, Scott’s gone!” Lisa cried.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

Jamie began to explain. He talked about his plan to go exploring with Scott and the house he took them into. He described the fright they got and how they left Scott. Jamie hung his head low.

“I’ll call the cops,” said their dad. “He’s probably still stuck in there.”

Jamie and Lisa were sent to their rooms as a punishment. They fell asleep with hope in their heart because they knew their dear friend would be found.

 

***

The police went and searched the house, but they found nothing. Scott’s parents were devastated. So were Jamie and Lisa. A giant search was led to find Scott. They searched for five months. At the end of the fifth month, a scrap of paper was found in the house which was believed to be in Scott’s handwriting. It said: May 28th. Nobody could figure what that meant.

A funeral was held in Scott’s name in November. Jamie and Lisa thought that the date meant something, and that Scott was still alive somewhere. They kept this between themselves.

 

Cigarette Story

“It wasn’t me, it was her.”

My mom found cigarettes under my bed and I had to make up an extraordinary lie so she wouldn’t think they were mine. The extraordinary lie I came up with was that they were my sister’s. So great, I know. I swear I’m not that bad of a liar. I have to do it quite often. My mom sat me and my sister down at the dining room table as though we had killed someone.

“Mom, you really think I would do something like that?”

“Yes, actually, I do,” she responded.

“Wow, good to know how you think of me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah sure,” I responded sarcastically.

“Mom, you know I would never do something like that,” my sister said emphatically.

“Yes, I do know that honey,”

“Are you serious Mom?!” I shot back at her.

“Yes I am serious. Your sister is the good one in the family,” my mother said slowly, each word stinging a little.

“Why the hell do you think I would have cigarettes when my father died of lung cancer from smoking?! Violet wasn’t nearly as close with him as I was, so it was obviously her,” I snapped, thinking how good of a lie that was.

“Mom, please, how could you believe that?”

“Come on, Violet, you obviously hid them under my bed so I would take the blame because, after all, you are the good one in the family,” I exclaimed, storming off to my room.

“Sage, get back here right now.”

I moved a little bit quicker up the stairs. I began to think that I couldn’t live in this house anymore. I went to search for information about my mysterious older brother. My mom had him way before me and, when my parents got divorced, he moved in with my father before he passed so now we aren’t sure where he is. According to my mom, he has adopted similar habits to my father, including a lot of drugs and alcohol. But screw it, I’d go anywhere rather than staying here.

I searched my mother’s closet and under her bed, where I saw a box with a lock on it. This has got to be where it is, but how to do I get into it? I thought of all the important dates and valuable numbers. I tried everything possible. Then I realized I’d forgotten to try my birth year, and to my surprise that was the code. I felt kind of better, because at least my birth was worth putting on a lock. I found so many interesting things in this box, like pictures of my father and a mug shot of my mother. Wow, that was quite a shock. What could my goody-two-shoes mother have done to get a mug shot?  After a few minutes of searching, I found a letter with his address. I packed up my stuff and planned to leave the next morning at dawn. The night was long and dark and I laid awake, waiting for the sun to rise. I gathered snacks, soda, and candy–all I needed to survive on my journey.  

 

***

It was cloudy and sad outside, which wasn’t helpful for my mood at the moment. My older brother’s house was about a five-day walk away, which I was definitely not doing, so I just needed to walk to the nearest train station. I checked Google Maps. It was a two-day walk.  Crap. That’s a long time. Whatever. I began walking towards the direction of the train station, and what do you know, I ran into my best friend Isabel driving her car to school. Ugh, this is the worst possible time to run into my over-protective best friend. I put my hoodie over my head and walked quickly past her car. She flew by and I think, Phew I’m good, she didn’t see me. Next thing I knew, I heard a car swerve around and Isabel was pulling up on the side of the road next to me. Damnit. My entire run away plan is screwed.  

“Sage, what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be going to school?” she said, intimidatingly.

“No, I don’t have to go if I don’t want to.”

“Oh wow, you’re feeling salty.”

“Yeah I am, so you can leave me alone now.” I said, getting really vexed.

“Okay, but only if you tell me where you’re going,” she responded, acting like my mother.

“The train station. Now I’m not saying anymore.”

“I’m coming with you,” she responded.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“Please Isabel, now is not the time. I’m really not in the mood to be arguing with you. I need to be alone right now.”

“If there is a serious reason, you need to tell me. And I can either help you or come with you.”

After minutes of her pleading for me to tell her, I finally gave in and explained the whole situation with the cigarettes and my running away plan.

“SHE FOUND OUR CIGARETTES?! MY MOM’S GOING TO FIND OUT AND SLAUGHTER ME!”

“It’s fine, I got it under control. I blamed it on Violet. I mean, she didn’t believe me, but still it’s fine.”

“Oh god Sage, we’re screwed. Did they find the weed?”

“Of course not. I hid that a lot better, because if they saw that I would be in a whole lot more trouble.”

“Okay, at least they didn’t find the weed. Cigarettes aren’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I’m not that stupid.”

“Because of the circumstances, the cigarettes and your mom’s bullcrap again, I give you permission to run away,” she confirmed, acting like I cared if she gave me permission.

“Glad to know you approve. I must be on my way now,” I responded with a pretty rude tone that made me feel bad after saying it.

 

***

I finally arrived at my brothers wrecked shack at the end of a long sketchy road. My heart was racing as fast as a subway car as I walked up the creaky, wooden steps. I knocked at the door and took two steps back. A tall, drowsy, drunk guy opened it. My heart sunk to my toes as I realized he was just like my father before he died: a crazy, drunk, guy. He looked at me with a confused face as though I meant nothing to him. I looked back with a longing desire for him to recognize me.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong address.”

“Get out, kid.”

 

***

His harsh words were not helpful to my lingering feeling of neglect. My sister, my mother, and now my brother. I turned around with an aching heart, dreading my upcoming journey back home. I felt tons of different emotions as I walked up to my driveway, nervous for how my mother was going to react, happy that I would be in the comfort of my own home, and just generally confused about how I felt. What do I do now? I never wanted to come back here.  

I pulled out my key and adjusted it to fit into the hole. The tension I felt vanished.

 

Milo

Milo fingered the the small trinket he had brought to life: a small, funneled hole isolated in a scratched piece of black plastic,  leading directly to a platform with a risen, rusted steel rod that carried a corrugated paper wheel. A mess of wires was connected to the end of the rod, which led to a circuit box hoisted on another rod. This was the generator, and out of its back end was a series of small holes with distinctly colored wires protruding out of each one to a platform of respectively colored LEDs. He merely blew a weak breath into the mentioned hole, and the lights went off in rapid succession in a dazzling array of eye candy — or at least to the best abilities of LEDs.

He sucked in the amount of air sufficient enough to blow into the spot he knew would create the most friction. The LED lights went off for the 176th time this evening — it was a result of the many sighs he’d blown throughout the course of the day, locked in his basement bedroom, trying to make his parents think he was still stewing about what had gone on in the kitchen earlier. He was biding his time until dusk, trying to keep his mind focused and clear, yet nagging thoughts still clouded the corners of his mind. They were all jammed up by the very thing that instinctively wanted to liberate them: his mouth. He channeled his words through his inventions, letting them speak for themselves. But this was important. He could not let any other event distract him from his precisely planned schedule.

With that in mind, he instinctively glanced at the timer at the foot of his pullout mattress, noticing a reminder of reality — one minute and 24 seconds had immediately a burned a hole in his mind, and through there he could clearly see written: You are an entire six seconds off schedule. You were already supposed to have escaped through the back window into the streets, and begun to bolt at a pace of approximately 12 miles per hour towards the hyper-generator. A brilliant failure.

As his thoughts chastised each other, his body was trying to give them direction. He did distinctly what they were telling him to put into action, except the whole escapade was completely offset. He still found himself sprinting for his last clinging hopes, knowing that there was a way the contraption could hold out for a few more seconds — unless it overheated. It came into view shortly as he bolted towards the first story of the tallest apartment building his neighborhood knew. Milo’s soles slapped the slick blacktop, barely gripping the surface. He reached the first step of the steel fire escape in exactly 58 seconds. Maybe there was a chance.

Milo flew up the grated metal platforms, exasperated by its design that prevented him from taking a direct path to his only objective in thought. He normally would’ve taken caution about the gaps between the steel bars, but his foot glided mindlessly across the surface, unheeding the fact that it could easily trip him and create more of an obstacle than there needed to be. Ironically, Milo almost did fall face-flat to the ground if it had not been for one more inch of blessed air. He caught himself, sputtering with sudden bewilderment, and made no hesitation to get up to his feet without learning his lesson whatsoever.

And then he was simply there — he almost stopped for a harsh intake of oxygen at the sight of the city skyline that was somewhat refreshingly beautiful in its own way. Almost. But his lungs would still burn and know no relief until that very machine was up and running on terms he could be satisfied with. He made haste in throwing the protective plastic cover that was draped over the mechanism, immediately connecting the AC power supply to the main body, and watched with immeasurable satisfaction the whirring lights, signals, and wheezes emitted from it as it managed to start up experimentally with some mechanical miscalculations somewhere in the process.

Just as it seemed as if everything was coming perfectly into place, with an entire four seconds left on the timer located on his wristwatch, Milo observed a shadowy figure with rather large pants in what seemed to be a uniform-esque, collared shirt strutting along the unmistakably same rooftop as himself, not fifteen yards away from where he was positioned in a crouch. He muttered a string of unintelligible half-swears under a cloud of chilled breath, as every sinew and muscle of his body strained to put itself into a temporarily permanent position. The figure absently grunted, scratched something indiscernible on his roughly six-foot blob of a body, and seemed to question what the suspicious darkness behind him held. He stared in raw stupidity — at least it seemed so when you were looking at him from the perspective of Milo — at the multi-shaped object looking as if it were going to collapse at any moment. He made the decision to advance towards it, and Milo would’ve half-sweared many more times, except the man would hear it and the whole plan would teeter past the brink of destruction. It looked as if the whole scenario would be ruined as the man advanced, each step marking an interval at which Milo gradually grew increasingly insane. He dared not to make a move, but the man made every one he could. He lumbered with a flat-footed swagger over to the hulk in the night, and then the figure seemed to clarify its purpose.

“Alrighty, whos’ere?” Milo kept still. Accent lumbered closer and placed a hand upon the intricate pipes and gears, interconnecting with each other to create a productive whole. Milo cringed, not three feet away from him and barely managing to conceal his own teenage figure. “S’rsly, mistah o’ missas, ya’lls bettah reveal yo’self o’ else I’s gonna start t’ invest’gate.”

Mistah was torn. He could conjure a not half-bad lie if he were to reveal himself, and Accent didn’t exactly seem to be the brightest person to set foot on his grounds. Then again, there was everything about the situation to be suspicious of, and it wouldn’t be the most difficult option to simply steal off into the inky darkness, leave this all behind, and start anew. Mistah also did not have very much time to process his options in the first place.

“Okays, here’s I’m comin’, ‘n don’ say I did’n’ warn ya.”

Milo chose the more physical situation to play out and broke out of a Usain Bolt-esque mold towards the rooftop’s hazy edge. He was inhumanly determined, straining his eyebrows together like he never knew he could, and doing his best to ignore the barking cries chasing his heels. He was praying, just praying, for some sort of fire escape in the direction he was going — and then he tripped.

It was a nondescript, capped pipe heavily thickened with paint, a subtle stalagmite, and it had rendered his entire conquest utterly unsuccessful. Milo sputtered in disbelief. His abdomen slapped the rooftop, and the other way around, causing him to hurt all over. He gritted his teeth. He should be concerned about his personal safety, but all that engulfed his mind was the looming fear of the generator completely failing without him to man its many operations. Accent swaggered over to Milo’s failure of an escape, cocked his brows and brought them together simultaneously to create an expression of complete misunderstanding. It didn’t look like Milo was ever touching the control panels of his creation with a build like Accent’s never budging from its standpoint.

“So, mistah… ya’lls wan’ t’ tell me what youse is bein’ up here f’r?” Accent questioned with an undertone of accusation.

Milo reluctantly turned his face to the man and just stared in utter confusion. He squinted in the dark of the night. What he saw was not a face that you passed by on your way to the usual bus stop, but a cobweb of skin that stretched from his left ear to rightmost side of his lip. So, that was where that ever-so distinct drawl came from…

He stared. He knew he shouldn’t, but something in his mind just wouldn’t allow him to pull his field of vision away from this exotic character who still seemed somewhat approachable. This attitude swept over both of the rooftop members at the moment, and neither one nor the other dared to speak a word for a very long few seconds.

And then Accent penetrated the thick silence with his rowdy dialect. “Look, kid. I knows youse ain’ g’ne t’ b’lieve me, but… heres we go. T’is warse all just an act- ‘n y’r g’ne t’ have t’ come with me t’ somewheres ya’lls has nev’r b’n t’ b’fore. Youse is g’ne t’ have t’ leave all dis b’hind- ‘n n’vr come back. ‘N-”

Milo’s voice found its home in the pitch-black air and broke through. “I… I don’t think you understand… sir. The machine behind you is highly unstable and is bound to go into its automated meltdown phase any second now, soon in milliseconds. So either we make a bolt for it, or you let me man my own invention — and your future doesn’t look so bright if you don’t make a decision in about 13 seconds.”

Milo drew a sharp sigh, and made one for himself, not caring to brush his sooty experience off as he returned to the structure from which he had came from, now using it for its intended purpose — an escape. He heard the rumble, deep like a vintage car engine starting up for the first time in many years, then the wheezing pops (imagine an amplified version of the pressure applied upon your ears at high altitudes), and the clanks and clatters, the most disappointing sound of all.

On the fifth floor’s platform, he suddenly halted.

He thought about how he no longer had to run, how the destructive shame was over, and that he should be worrying about the poor man with the deformed face who he had left to burn in an explosion that would have never happened if he had never listened to his stupid aspirations that were never going to make a difference at all in his tiny, little town on the edge of nowhere, and how he must help the man the best he could…

He turned on the ball of his foot, preparing to ascend the stairs once again.

Out of all the possibilities, Milo was staring directly into the same chest he had faced just a few moments earlier, and he began to reel back in utter horror. The man should be dead (and Milo didn’t want him to be), yet here, in the living flesh, he stood. He acted like it was normal too. Milo swallowed the saliva down a throat that burned as if he had swallowed a spark from one of Pa’s summer weldings.

“Heh… kids.” And that was all Accent contributed to the situation in his gruff undertone prior to dragging Milo towards the palm of his hand, which let out an insignia of pure energy, drawing every neuron in his mind towards that one location rooted in a place where Time and Space fell easily at the hands of Mentality and Power… And then they vanished with an adrenaline-fueled sweep of sound. Without a doubt, he must join Them.

Keep in mind that this was all before the Collector.  

 

Clinophobia: Fear of Sleep

It has been six days now.

6 days.

144 hours.

8640 minutes.

518,400 seconds.

 

The days are getting longer. The nights, an eternity. Have you ever noticed how slowly the sun moves? I have, I’ve watched it. For 12 hours. Sunset to sunrise.

It doesn’t just disappear below the horizon. It doesn’t just emerge in one fluid movement. Beautiful hues of cotton candy pink and baby blue don’t just place themselves in the sky. The sun takes its sweet, precious time, like it has no care in the world. It will never have to leave its family. It will never die of old age.

Time, to it, is meaningless.

I’ve been counting the days, counting the hours, calculating the minutes and seconds. I write in my pink, leather notebook I got from Christmas. The tally marks, scribbled onto the page. The numbers and equations etched in the thick, off-white canvas. They are the only convenient ways to fill the empty space.

One hundred forty-four tally marks later, I remain seated on my quilted comforter, staring aimlessly out the fogged window.

I think I have a problem.

My eye bags are darker today. The thin, muted gray shadows under my eyes have become a concentrated purple, like a bruise left after a punch in the face. It aches and stings. It begs for sleep — sleep to heal the wounds. But I cannot. I will not. My complexion, once fair and peachy, is now pale, yellow, and sickly. My pink lips are chapped and peeling. The exposed skin stings every time I touch it.

I have done the impossible. I have aged 20 years in six days.

Maybe it’s the coffee. The dark, strong caffeine rushing through my body. The sight of it makes me shake. Maybe it’s the yelling. It rattles my bedroom door, twists the wooden knob and smashes itself into my room. Or maybe it’s just me. Me and my restless mind. Always racing, like a never ending sprint to the finish line.

My heavy eyelids droop, lower and lower, but I refuse to close my eyes. I cannot. The conformation, the acceptance. I will not. If I close my eyes, I will conform to the rules of time. The rules we all follow blindly, unwillingly, unquestionably. If I let my heavy eyelids cover my eyes, if I lie my head on the pillow and pull my sheets over my cold, nimble legs, I will accept the average patterns of time.

I am not average. I cannot, I will not.

I am not afraid of the darkness. In fact, I think it’s quite nice. I enjoy not being able to see anyone or anything around me. The shadows and the blackness reminds me that I am different. I refuse to be average.

The blinding red beams of light illuminate from my digital clock. 7:00. I reach over to grab my pink, leather notebook and my dull #2 pencil. The book opens to a page full of meaningless dark dashes.

My brittle pencil makes a heavy black line, snags on the rough paper, and snaps.

 

Spilled Milk (Part One)

Ever heard the expression, “Don’t cry over spilled milk?” Well, sometimes, you should cry over spilled milk. In this story, you will learn how the spilling of a glass of milk set off a chain reaction that destroyed the entire universe in a matter of days.

 

***

It was April tenth. A normal day. It all started at breakfast. I had just woken up, and my family was still asleep. I was eating pancakes. They were very good pancakes (especially considering that I made them) and just as I was reaching for more, my arm moved, and I knocked over my glass of milk. As the glass was falling, I caught it mid air. However, this threw me off balance, and I fell off my chair with a thud and, in the process, dropped my glass of milk, which spilled all over the floor. This may seem insignificant, but we lived next to a construction site and a nuclear power plant. The construction site was so loud that if one more decibel was emitted, the power of the sound waves would destroy the plant. The whole neighborhood was forced to wear headphones to block out the sound. The sound emitted, when my glass fell to the ground, added that extra decibel. You can probably guess what happened next. In the few seconds that followed, I ran down the stairs to my family’s basement and threw on my gas mask (everyone in the neighborhood was given one in case of this situation.) Sweat poured down my face in the rubbery mask. I started hyperventilating, just thinking about how many people I had just killed. Suddenly it came, like when you know you’re just waiting to throw up, but it still comes somehow unexpectedly.

BOOM!!!

I was thrown against the wall and the ground at the same time. Everything hurt. When I finally gathered enough energy to look up, I saw that the roof of the basement had been obliterated, along with just about our entire city.  When this completely dawned on me, I fainted.

I woke up about 13 hours later. It was becoming hard to breathe. The air was very stuffy. It was like sucking on a sweaty pig. The filters on my mask were starting to fill up. I wasn’t sure where we kept the spares. If they were upstairs then I was screwed. I might as well look for them. I began to grope around the basement. Black smoke had clouded the sky, and the lenses of my gas mask were fogged, so it would be hard to find the extra filters. I crawled along the floor until I reached a door. I stood up and fell down. My legs were shaky and weak. I slowly heaved myself off the ground. I leaned against the door and felt for the doorknob. The supply closet! If it was, I was saved. If not, well, let’s just say I was already having trouble breathing. I slowly turned the doorknob. I peered through the lenses of my mask. I could make out an oddly shaped thing in the middle of the room. I walked in. As I felt for a wall, I stumbled and fell into a tub of some sort. Of course! This was the bathroom.

I was doomed now. I had almost no air left. I struggled to stand up in the tub, and then I fell again. I hit the edge of the tub with my chin and bit my tongue. I could taste blood. I carefully crawled out of the tub and slithered out of the bathroom. I began to feel around in a last attempt. I collapsed from a deprivation of oxygen. My head clunked against a box.

I turned around and saw a cardboard box with nuclear stuff scrawled onto it. I remember writing that! I flung off the lid. Yes, the filters! I quickly exchanged my mask for a new, less fogged one.

I then folded myself into a ball and cried. I cried and cried for my family, for my friends, for everyone that I killed.

 

World War C (Part One)

I was over at my house when it started. It was something that I’m sure nobody in the entire world was expecting. Nothing, not nukes, not machine guns, nothing could stop this.

My name is Jake, and this is the story of how I survived the Great Purge of 2017.

But it is not the type of purge you would think of. People who spoke spanish called it, “las vacas de los muertos.” If you know spanish, you know what that means. It sadly means, “the cows of the dead.” Yep, this is the story about the zombie cow apocalypse. So let’s get into it already.

 

***

I was driving home from my normal day routine. I would wake up, drive to the animation organization, animate some videos or video games or something like that, get a paycheck, feel good about how much money I had just earned, realize that it wasn’t a lot of money, drive home, go to bed. But I was stuck at the second to last one on my list. I was sitting in my car, on the highway, stuck in complete traffic, but I did not know why. I turned on the radio to pass some time, and I heard something that would start a whole new phase of my life.

“If you do not get outututut, the-e-e-m leeeeeave!”

The whole station was staticky and messed up.

“Heeeeelp! Moooooooooooo!”

Now it sounded like a sick cow had gotten into the station. Well, that was weird, but the traffic had started moving again, so we were getting somewhere. An hour later, I was walking through the front door of our two story house with my normal end-of-the-day face on. As I turned the knob to the door, a couple of ambulances rushed past my block with their sirens blaring, driving around 60 miles per hour.

There must have been some pretty big mess.

I shrugged and went inside, but something was definitely wrong. Things were misplaced, and that was something that my mother would never approve of. The vase with our new roses was on the floor, broken, instead of on our dinner table. Pictures and paintings on the wall were on the floor or dented. But the weirdest part was how the entire kitchen was completely destroyed. Pots and pans all over the place, the counter was flipped over, silverware was everywhere. Almost as if something big ran through here.

“Mom!!!” I yelled, now suddenly alarmed. “Dad!!!”

What is going on?

I ran upstairs to my parents bedroom, in hopes that they might not have heard me. But as I ran up, I noticed that it seemed like something big had come through here as well. As I ran to the bedroom, I saw that the door was smashed open and in pieces. I slowed down to a walk as I heard screams dying off within the room. As I closed in on the room, I saw something moving around in it.

Then I screamed as I saw what was inside the room, a messed up looking greenish cow chewing on two people who looked familiar.  

My mother and father.

The rest of that day for me was all a big blur. I remember the creature looking over at me and snorting. But if I could remember one thing from that time, it was the way the creature looked. The cow-like thing’s eyes were dead, instead of full of color, blank of expression and dark gray. Its skin was greenish black with rips and tears, and some of it was falling off, as if the creature was shedding its skin.

I remember sprinting out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door as fast as I had ever run. And I kept running, till I couldn’t run any more. I collapsed on hard concrete, on a street I didn’t know. Wiping tears off my eyes, I realized my knee was bleeding like crazy.

I didn’t care.

Just then I passed out.

 

***

When I awoke, I was greeted by strangers rushing me on a stretcher through the halls of what looked like a hospital, but it wasn’t. I knew this when I saw a truck speed by, to my left, carrying a rather large bomb, which looked to be nuclear. All of a sudden, they shoved me into a room with medical supplies everywhere, and they lifted me onto a bed. Just then, one of the people carrying me took a syringe off a table and stabbed it into my neck. Everything around me started spinning, and my insides felt like they were on the loopiest roller coaster in the world.

I passed out again.

I woke up, this time, to find I was still in the bed with tons of wires and tubes strapped around my body.

I didn’t know what was going on, where exactly I was, what that thing in my house was, or if there were more of them.

But I did know one thing. I was going to get revenge for what it did to my parents.

 

The Bomb

Chapter One

 

I had five minutes to defuse a bomb that would destroy everything. It was located in the left wing of a hospital, but I didn’t have any other information. I was not given a defusal kit. I was only given the resources around me, but they would do just fine. I raced down the hallway, visually checking every space possible to place a bomb. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, so I kept going. I ran into a waiting room filled with people in chairs. I looked around but could not see anything suspicious, until I saw a small flicker out of the corner of my eye. I raced to the suspicious spot and looked under the chair occupying the location. A small, black bomb was fastened to the bottom of the seat with tape. I ripped the tape off and grabbed the bomb. The bomb was completely black besides a small, green light that gave off the flicker. I flipped the bomb over to reveal a panel connected by two screws. I scanned the room and spotted a screwdriver on a desk in the corner. I grabbed it and unscrewed the panel to uncover a mess of black wires with a battery underneath. This might be a challenge for most bomb defusers, but I was not most bomb defusers. I separated the wires from each other and singled out the two wires that would disarm the bomb. The first wire connected the battery to the rest of the unit, and the second wire powered the timer. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk and cut both wires at the same time. The light on the bomb turned off, and my surroundings morphed into a white simulation room. My commander walked toward me and grinned.

“Congratulations Agent Alpha! You’ve set a new record: one minute and ten seconds.”

I smiled. I knew that I would set a record as I located the bomb, but I didn’t think I completed the trial that fast.

“Thank you, Commander! It’s nothing much. I only want to serve my country!” I replied warmly.

Agent Cayes, a good friend of mine, shook my hand.

“I knew that you would beat the record! I expected nothing less from an agent as talented as you!”

I nodded and smiled.

“Good luck on your test! Even though I make it look easy, take your time. I easily could have failed this trial if I didn’t study hard last night.”

Agent Cayes nodded and walked out of the room. I left the room and entered the elevator. I swiped my ID card, and the elevator took me to the top secret floor.

 

Chapter Two

The top secret floor contained the apartments that every agent lived in. I exited the elevator and walked into a small, white room. The room was completely empty, besides a retina scanner and a keypad. The keypad controlled which room you would arrive in, and the scanner was simply for security. I keyed in my room number, 302, and placed my eye against the scanner.

“Eye approved. Agent Jonathan Alpha,” The scanner deadpanned.

A tube came down from the ceiling and vacuumed me into the complex of tubes. I took a series of lefts and rights and landed in the center of my white apartment. The tube retracted and became flush with the ceiling. I exited my room and entered my white living room. It contained a tv on the wall, a simple sofa facing the tv, and two doorways, one leading to the kitchen, and the other leading to the bathroom. I slept on the sofa, and thus, a bedroom was unnecessary. The bathroom contained a sink, shower, and toilet. The entire room was also white. Noticing a trend? The kitchen contained a refrigerator, microwave, sink, shelves, and stove. The room, and everything in it, was white. White is the theme of many things in my life. The suits we wear are white (when we wear them), and the rooms and furniture we have are white.

The material we use for everything is able to camouflage itself into anything. For example, if our base is infiltrated, we can disguise it to protect our organization. Also, our suits can appear differently to suit our missions. The material is strong enough to be used as walls, and it can be thin and malleable enough to be comfortable to wear. I prefer my room to be white, though. It represents purity and peace to me, and it helps to balance out the stress from my work. Anyway, I sat down on my sofa and turned on the tv. A news program was on, but a more sinister message interrupted it.

“There is a huge bomb in this city. Find it before it’s too late! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!” A masked face said.

Immediately I got a call from my commander.

“Agent, come to the briefing room, immediately!”

I rushed to the teleportation tube and was taken to the elevator. I pressed 13 and began a rapid descent. The door opened with a soft ding, and I rushed into the white room. My commander was at the front of the room, and many other agents sat in front of him. I grabbed a seat in the front and nodded to the commander. He nodded back.

“Agents, we have received word of a criminal who calls himself Boom Boom. As you may know already, he broadcasted a message just a few minutes ago stating that there is a bomb in the city. Each of you will cover a district to maximize efficiency. Find this bomb,” the commander said.

Every agent, already having a preassigned district, left the room except for me.

“What district am I covering?”

“You will cover the district where we think the bomb most likely is since you are our best agent. Go to District 12.”

I nodded and opened a map. District 12 was Times Square, the busiest place in New York, and the easiest place to hide things. I groaned and gathered my bomb materials.

 

Chapter Three  

People pushed past me as I desperately pushed past others. The voices of thousands distracted me as I tried to focus. Times Square was the worst. I needed to search every nook and cranny to find that bomb. I ran to a large statue and poked around. It would be impossible to put a bomb inside the statue, but it could be hidden in the base. I took out a flat, metal prying tool and pried off the metal plate on the base of the statue. I let the plate drop and examined the newly uncovered part of the statue. Nothing out of the ordinary. I bent down to retrieve the metal plate and saw a small crack in one of the tiles beneath me.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the flat, metal prying tool. I inserted it into the groove in the tile and pushed down. The tile begrudgingly pried loose and revealed a deep hole with a rusty ladder leading down into it. I put away the prying tool and gingerly clambered down the ladder. My feet slipped a couple of times, but I managed to make it all the way down. I pulled out a flashlight and turned it on. I was standing in a huge room, filled with wires and mechanical stuff. A huge timer was mounted on the wall, and it read 5:23. I had enough time, hopefully.

I looked around and spotted the main circuit board. I walked up to it and paused. It had ten wires instead of the normal two. This was highly uncommon and very difficult to deal with. I could rule out four wires that weren’t connected to anything, but the other six were difficult. Upon further inspection, I could rule out four wires that weren’t connected to the timer, but the last two completely stumped me.

One of them connected to each circuit board, and the other one connected to all but one. I quickly glanced at the timer, and my heart started to race. I only had one minute left. I ran to the circuit board in question and examined the back. Fake circuit boards would be slightly yellowy on the back, and sure enough, it was. My training prepared me for things like this. I ran back to the main circuit board and cut the correct wire. The timer turned off, and I sighed. I exited the secret room, making sure to replace the tile, and hailed a taxi. My mission was done.

 

Chapter Four

The crazy man frowned. His plan had failed, and that made him upset. It was supposed to go boom, but it didn’t. Someone had messed it up. He didn’t think anyone would actually find the bomb. He only wanted chaos, death, and destruction. Maybe he should have refrained from announcing his plan to the entire world. They will try to find him now to stop him. His base was deep underground, and he thought nobody would be able to find him. But they can find anyone.

A drop of sweat dripped down his forehead and splattered onto his red jumpsuit. They were on to him. He took off his white mask and contemplated his future. He knew that he would die soon, but he accepted that. Ever since he was a child, he was bullied because of his red hair. His real name was Charlie, but he never cared much for that name. It was burned up in the fire that he set in his school. In his rage, he ran away to live underground. He became unstable and violent, craving destruction and anarchy constantly. Boom Boom, enraged by the memory of his bullied self, grabbed a pack of explosives and began his ascent to the surface. His death was imminent, and he wanted to make one last boom before it was all over.

 

***

“Congratulations again, Agent Alpha! You defused the bomb!” My commander said.

I nodded mutely. I was used to compliments by now. I’ve been exemplary my entire life. I had an innate ability to learn and memorize everything since I was born. Just as I was about to leave, the emergency siren went off.

Warning! Boom Boom is in the streets with explosives. Warning! Boom Boom is in the streets with explosives. The siren repeated.

My commander handed a high quality defusal kit to me and gave instructions.

“We have snipers on the rooftop. Try to reason with Boom Boom and defuse the bomb. I have given you tools that can be used to disarm the bomb at a distance. Be careful, lives are on the line! Do NOT kill him, or we will be forced to eliminate you!”

I hurried to the express elevator and rapidly descended. The doors opened, and I ran outside. A man in a red jumpsuit, with a crazed look in his eyes, stood in the middle of the square. I walked towards him slowly, making sure to be at least 10 feet away.

“Boom Boom.” I said as I circled him carefully, trying to get a glimpse of the bomb. “You don’t have to do this. We can let you walk out of here freely if you just disarm the explosives. Nobody here wants to die.”

Boom Boom’s expression turned wild.

“You’re lying! They’ll kill me!”

I peeked over Boom Boom’s shoulder and saw a single wire. It would be hard to cut the wire without injuring Boom Boom. I hate hurting people. I became a bomb defuser to save lives, not take them. It goes against everything I believe in. Human life is sacred to me. I smoothly slid a small throwing knife out of my wrist and carefully aimed at the wire. Sweat pooled on my forehead as I intently watched Boom Boom, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He turned slightly and I threw the knife, cleanly severing the wire and disabling the bomb. Or so I thought.

“HAHAHAHA!” Boom Boom screamed. “YOU CUT THE WRONG WIRE! IT WAS FAKE!”

I blanched. I had never failed in my life. I was never taught to accept failure. I couldn’t deal with it. My vision turned red, and I threw another throwing knife at Boom Boom’s throat. He gurgled on his own blood, his eyes welling up with tears, and collapsed. I stepped back in shock, realizing the horrible thing that I had just done. A shot rang out in the streets, my demise. My body hit the ground, blood already pouring from my head, and everything went black.

 

 

Chapter Five

I woke up with a headache. My entire body felt numb. I was strapped down to a metal table by heavy leather restraints. I was in a white room, some kind of subterranean lab. I could tell by the test tubes and equipment that was scattered around the room. I bent my chin down to my neck and saw a doorway right in front of me. A man in a white lab coat walked into the room with a filled syringe in hand.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The man didn’t reply, but instead, injected me with the syringe. I felt a weird sensation in my feet and passed out.

I woke up in the same room. This time I was not restrained. As I sat up, my body felt weak, and my vision started to go fuzzy. A masked man walked into the room and stood in front of me. He pulled out a syringe filled with a different liquid than before and tried injected me with it. I drunkenly tried to twist out of the way, but the syringe hit its mark anyway. I wished that the man would go away. Suddenly, he went flying across the room and crashed into the wall. A guard stormed into the room and knocked me out before I could do anything.

 

When I woke up, I was restrained to the table again. Another masked man walked into the room and injected me with a needle. I urged myself to escape the restraints, remembering the last syringe I was given, and the restraints magically snapped in half. The man panicked and tried to run out of the room. I urged him to stop, but the powers seemed to fail. The serum must’ve only been temporary. I assumed that they would continue modifying the serum and injecting it with me, so I didn’t resist as the same guard from before ran into the room and knocked me out again.

This time when I woke up, I was in complete darkness, and a machine was attached to my head. My thoughts were fuzzy, and my coordination was messed up. I could hear metallic footsteps coming from somewhere around me, but I couldn’t tell the direction. I braced myself for the pain of an injection, but no pain ensued. Instead, the metal man did something with the machine on my head. It pressed into my head, and the pain of a thousand fires coursed through my body. The man walked away, his footsteps becoming fainter with every step, and a door slammed shut. My body started to float, and I lashed out with my mind, sending a shockwave of energy through the room. The machine shattered into hundreds of pieces, and light flooded the room. My entire body was glowing, and I felt powerful. Those scientists should have restrained me more. Nothing will stop me from destroying them for the pain that they caused. I focused on the door, which I could now see was in the back of the large room I was in. It went flying off its hinges and hit the back of a wall far away. I flew out of the room and into a huge area filled with scientists and computers. They took one look at me and ran away screaming. I grabbed one and lifted him off the floor.

“WHY WAS I BEING EXPERIMENTED ON? WHO IS IN CHARGE HERE? WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?”

The scientist quivered in my hands and started crying.

“The government wanted to cr-create a s-super soldier. This project is run b-by your com-mander. You’ve been given p-powers. Please don’t hurt me!” The scientist said between tears.

I tossed the scientist to the floor and flew out of the room. The next room was filled with vials and syringes of different liquids. I unleashed a shock wave, not wanting anyone else to suffer the same fate, and destroyed every single serum in the room. The liquid poured out onto the floor and flowed out of the open doorway towards the computer room. The sound of computers being destroyed filled my ears as I ran into an elevator. I pressed the top floor and started the ascent to the surface.

 

Chapter Six

The doors opened into a small room. A lone computer sat in the back on a table. I started to walk past it, but a name caught my eye. My name.

Project #22: Super Soldier. Agent Alpha was transferred to the lab after his faked death on Monday. He was given a sleeping serum to allow the doctors to modify him. He was given a prototype serum on Tuesday and reacted positively. He was given a stronger dose on Wednesday and realized that he would be given a stronger dose each day. On Thursday, he was given a serum to activate his modifications. He destroyed the lab and experimented with some of his powers. Then he found the computer that held documents of him. He explored…

The computer continued to type as I moved, but no one was typing on the keys. They moved on their own. I walked up to the computer and started to explore the documents. They said things about my history and the project. I looked back at the Project #22 file. The computer had typed more, foretelling my death somehow. It said that I would leave the room through a trapdoor and get killed by soldiers that were to ambush me.

“How does this computer know what I’m about to do?” I asked, thinking out loud.

The computer typed, “I can predict the future. I know everything about you. You will die today if you leave this room.”

No, that can’t be true! I won’t die today. I can’t. I could easily use my powers to stop the soldiers. But if the computer said it, then it must be true. It has predicted everything else accurately. But what if I don’t exit through the trapdoor? What if I go through the ceiling? I used my powers to blast a hole through the ceiling, and daylight streamed into the room. I flew out of the hole and immediately heard a shot go off. There were soldiers all around me. They must have known that I would go up. My last thoughts were of my life. If I had not killed Boom Boom, maybe I would still be alive. I plummeted through the air and breathed my last breath as I hit the floor. In the corner of my eye, I saw the computer delete the ending and replace it with something else.

 

The Stone of Shadows

 

Chapter One: Elf in a Tent

 

It was the crack of dawn, and the evergreens were standing proud and tall by the small river. The trees stood twenty-seven feet tall, making plant life on the forest floor almost impossible. But these trees were surrounded by roaring hills, standing so tall that they could not be measured. In response to the rising sun, the birds had gone as wild as a tiger in the radius of fire. The bird’s chirping had echoed off the forest with the response being confused as real.

A small, leather tent stood by the fast, running river. Within the tent, a dark elf, by the name of Alexandra, awoke to the sounds of dawn. Poor Alexandra laid sick from the cold, for today was the second day of winter, and she was unprepared. It wasn’t that she lost her winter coat or anything like that. Alexandra intentionally left it. She had escaped her sanctuary during the winter solstice and didn’t bring her coat. But her lack of warmth was not the main issue (her race was known for having a small resistance to the cold), it was the amount of damage done to her body that showed. Scars and bruises went from her face to her ankles, and they were not going anytime soon. Besides that, Alexandra’s appearance had cloaked her true age, for she was a twenty-seven-year-old trapped in the body of a fourteen-year-old. But for a dark elf, she was quite tall, standing five-feet and eleven inches, three inches above the average height.

Alexandra, looking up while lying in the tent, had to figure out what to do. A town had settled not too far away from her location. But her wear had consisted of a completely black shirt with sleeves going to her elbows, pants that went to her knees, and a hooded linen cloak. With damage all over her arms and legs, she could not go to town. Alexandra wanted to avoid questioning and suspicion from the town.

An hour later, Alexandra was squatting outside the tent by a small fire. She stood close by the fire to keep herself warm. Unfortunately, it did not provide much warmth. At a nearby tree, a deer was sniffing the ground for whatever he could find. Although it was the second day of winter, it had not snowed. Therefore, the ground looked like that of a steppe. Alexandra looked at the deer’s fur with envy. The deer looked up and saw Alexandra squatting by a fire. Suddenly, the deer wiggled his ears and galloped away. Alexandra looked confused. She did not move a limb, but the deer ran away. She looked behind herself and saw a man standing high above her. The man had a fur cap and wore a fur coat going down to his knees. The man’s face, in addition to his rough beard, was quite frightening. Slowly, Alexandra stood herself straight in front of the vicious looking man. Although she was tall, the man had stood around a foot taller. Alexandra slouched herself to show the man he was more powerful. The man didn’t seem to care. In a deep voice, he began to speak.

“What are you doing near my tent?”

Alexandra did not know how to respond to the large man. She began to straighten up.

“I use that tent during spring, summer, and autumn,” said the man. “I am a hunter, so you understand why I don’t use it during the winter.”

Alexandra nodded her head.

“Usually, I find runaway slaves and traveling prostitutes staying in my tent. But you’re different.”

The hunter observed Alexandra with his eyes and hands, with no intention of hurting or sleeping with her. She stood frozen in awkwardness. The hunter noticed her long, pointy ears, longish black hair, yellow eyes, and blue skin color. It was not common to find a dark elf running about, but the hunter was unimpressed. He then noticed the damage on her naked arm.

“Well, you have a story,” said the hunter. “But, I know you’re not a slave because you’re not wearing ragged clothes.”

The hunter observed Alexandra again.

“And you’re definitely not a whore. So, if you are neither of those two, what are you?”

Alexandra relaxed herself and spoke in a calm tone. “My story can’t be explained in one word. And I don’t title myself as any sort of class.”

The hunter looked surprised by Alexandra’s voice.

“You are obviously older than you look,” he said. “Follow me, you can tell your story by a warm fire.”

The hunter walked away, beside the river. Alexandra needed warm asylum, but the hunter seemed sketchy. If he did try something on me, she concluded, I can fight back. Alexandra followed.

 

***

The fire crackled loud while Alexandra sat in comfort and warmth. She took a drink from her warm, pine tea. The hunter was in another room, fixing a solution for Alexandra’s scars. Alexandra looked around the fireplace and saw the display of bows and arrows. These bows were not just a simple stick and string. These bows looked very powerful and expensive.

“You are obviously very wealthy,” Alexandra yelled to the hunter.

“Yes. I am the only hunter in town, so I tend to get a lot of customers,” said the hunter, walking towards the fire.

Sitting next to Alexandra, he handed her a bowl of crushed herbs.

“Here,” he said. “This should get rid of those scars.”

Alexandra rubbed the solution on her scars.

“What’s your name?” asked the hunter.

“Alexandra. And yours?”

“Bjor.”

The two stood still while the fire cracked.

“Are you hungry?” asked Bjor.

“I’ll be alright. I don’t want to take any of your product.”

“Well, of course you’ll pay me,” said Bjor.

“Well, I’m sorry, Bjor, but I don’t have any money,” said Alexandra. “And I’m not paying any other way.”

“How about your story?” asked Bjor.

Alexandra felt bad for judging Bjor. He was not the perverted freak she expected.

“Alright,” said Alexandra, putting her tea on the ground. “Now, listen closely, because this is very important.”

 

***

A day before the winter solstice, Alexandra was with her two sisters in a dressing room of her family’s castle. The room had a mirror and a small window looking out to the black, oak forest. It was near the end of the day, and a large glare had entered the room. Fortunately, the mirror and window were right next to each other, so the glare did not hit the mirror.

Alexandra and her older sister, Anna, were in front of the mirror, trying out clothes for tomorrow’s party. For dark elves (and other elves as well), the winter solstice was a very important day, for it signified the end of life. Usually on the first day of winter, Alexandra’s father, Mallekath, would host a large party. The party would consist of other families within the region of Mirewood. It was a very large gathering, over a hundred and seventy people or so.

Anna looked at herself, wearing a white dress, in the mirror with Alexandra standing two inches taller than her.

“Alex, do you think this is an excellent dress?” said Anna, posing to the mirror.

“Why would it not be?” asked Alexandra.

“I feel like it would bring too much attention.”

“But isn’t that good?”

“Yes, but last time, I felt like the main attraction of the party.”

Anna took another glance at the mirror.

“I think I’ll give it a second try,” said Anna. “What are you going wear, Alex?”

“Just the usual black cloak, shirt, and pants,” answered Alexandra.

Anna stuck her tongue out at Alexandra in disgust. Alexandra looked at her little sister, Krosna, sitting in the corner of the room. Krosna was only twelve but was very intelligent. However, she was also shy and tended to hide in her room during the winter solstice parties.

“What are you going to do this year, Krosna?” said Alexandra.

“I think I’ll pass on the party this year,” said Krosna in a soft voice. “I’m worried about father. He’s been acting very strange lately. I think he’s getting too close to the Shadow Stone.”

The Shadow Stone was one of the many ancient artifacts that granted absolute power. Each stone provided a special attribute to the user. The Shadow Stone allowed the user to create an army of shadows, if handled by the right person. However, if the Shadow Stone (or any other stone in general) was handled without caution, it would be catastrophic.

“Krosna, that’s silly,” said Anna in a minorly frightful voice. “Father knows what he’s doing.”

Krosna silently shook her head.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Alexandra.

 

***

At midnight, Alexandra was lying in her bed looking at her toes, which were uncovered by the blanket. She looked up at the ceiling and saw how extremely tall her room was. She then looked at her large window and saw the moonlight streaming into her room. Alexandra got out of her bed and walked towards the window to draw the curtains. Suddenly, she heard a crash. The sound came from the main hallway, the room where the Shadow Stone sat on a large column.

“What could that be?” Alexandra said aloud.

She left her room and quietly ran towards the hall. When she entered, she saw her older brother, Michael, trying to clean up a vase he broke. Michael looked up at his sister with an evil eye. Michael didn’t have a good relationship with Alexandra. He usually tried to take control of things. But Alexandra tended to resist.

“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked.

“None of your concern,” answered Michael in a rude tone.

Suddenly, their mother, Elis, entered the hall.

“What is going on here?” asked Elis in an annoyed tone.

Michael looked at Alexandra, then at his mother.

“It was Alexandra. She intentionally broke the vase and tried to frame me,” cried Michael in an accusing voice.

“That’s a lie!” yelled Alexandra. “I was in my bedroom when…”

“Alright, alright, I don’t want to hear it,” said Elis. “I don’t care. Just let the servants get to it and go back to bed.”

Michael left the room, not looking at anyone or anything. Elis turned around, walking towards the doorway.

“Mother…”

“Go to bed, Alexandra!” yelled Elis.

Then, Alexandra’s mother had left the hall. Alexandra did the same, but she was more frustrated. As Alexandra walked towards her room, she ran into Babastian, the Venorian servant. For those of you who don’t know what a Venorian is, they were basically a cross breed between a lizard and a human. They usually lived in the deserts, wetlands, and mountains, and they originated from the continent of Maltopia.   

“Master Alexandra, why do you walk the halls at midnight?” asked Babastian in a concerned voice.

“Why do you ask?” said Alexandra.

“It is my job to make sure you are well, and lack of sleep can turn a man insane.”

“But I am a woman, am I not?”

“It applies to all,” said Babastian.

Alexandra walked on. She then remembered her father.

“Babastian,” she said turning around. “Has my father been acting strange lately?”

“Oh, my dear,” sobbed Babastian. “Your father has truly gone mad. He always stumbles his way to bed, yells out rude things to your mother, and talks to himself all the time.”

Alexandra looked worried. Her father was usually not like this at all. Maybe Krosna was right.

“Do you think it’s the Shadow Stone?” said Alexandra.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Babastian. “I saw him stare at it for over half an hour. Just the other day, little Krosna suggested destroying the stone itself. Although she presented a solid argument, your father was outraged and ended up throwing a cast iron pot at her.”

Alexandra was shocked by the story. She could not imagine her father doing something like that, especially to his daughter.

“Anyway, I must be on my way,” said Babastian. “I wish you a good night.”

“Goodnight,” said Alexandra as Babastian walked away from her.

 

***

In her bedroom, Krosna was deep asleep with a pillow over her head. Alexandra entered the room and quietly walked towards her sister. She then kneeled beside Krosna and softly shook her.

“Krosna, wake up,” whispered Alexandra.

Krosna opened her eyes and removed the pillow from her head.

“You were right about father.”

Krosna was now wide awake. She rubbed her eyes and took a breath.

“We have to destroy the Shadow Stone,” said Krosna.

“How do we do that?” said Alexandra.

“The stone is pretty easy to destroy. The hardest part is acquiring the stone without anyone noticing. But I have a plan for that, and you would be very useful.”

 

***

On the night of the winter solstice, around twenty families had shown up to the party. Alexandra stood at the edge of the main hall, seeing the Shadow Stone towering over the crowd of people. The stone was a cube shape and medium size. Alexandra wore her usual wear with a necklace hanging from her neck. The necklace held a blue, transparent, diamond-shaped gem. She remembered the exact instructions her sister gave her. If anything goes wrong, break the gem in half.

Alexandra felt nervous. It was almost time to do her part of the plan. She needed to create a distraction while her sister snatched the stone. Suddenly, the time had come. Alexandra found a position where she could see most of the party. She cleared her voice.

“Excuse me, everyone, I have an announcement to make.”

The party paid attention to Alexandra (with all eyes looking away from the Shadow Stone.)    

“I am happy to say that this is the fiftieth winter solstice party that my father has hosted.”

This was not true. It was actually the twenty-first. But the crowd applauded anyway.

“Because of this special event, let us celebrate to our fullest.”

The crowd was in uproar. Their eyes were still pointing away from the Shadow Stone. Mallekath came out of the crowd and walked towards his daughter.

“You usually don’t speak up like that,” he said. “What gave you the motive?”

“I just found a reason to celebrate,” said Alexandra, hesitating.

“Well, you should have probably waited twenty-nine years, but no harm done.”

Mallekath turned around, and his eyes gazed at the balcony above the left doorway.

“What is your sister doing up on the balcony?” he asked.

Alexandra saw little Krosna on the top of the balcony, gripping a rope. Suddenly, she jumped off the balcony and swung across the great hall, grabbing the Shadow Stone on her way. When Krosna got to the other side, she grabbed onto the ledge with her right hand, her left arm wrapping the stone and holding the rope at the same time. “That little bitch!” yelled Mallekath in anger.

Without hesitance, Mallekath pulled out a crossbow from his left belt (which he always carried for safety purposes) and shot it at the little girl with the stone. The bolt sped through air and hit Krosna in the leg. The little girl let go of the ledge and rope, dropping around twenty feet or so. Krosna hit the ground with a thump, the Shadow Stone beside her. The party had completely stopped and looked at the little girl lying on the floor, unconscious and damaged. Elis came out of the crowd, in shock, and cradled her daughter in her arms. Then came Mallekath and Alexandra. Then Michael, Babastian, and Anna. All surrounded Krosna.

Elis looked up at her husband with an evil eye.

“How could you do such a thing to our daughter?!” she yelled.

“She tried to destroy the Shadow Stone!” said Mallekath, picking up the stone.

“She did it to save you,” yelled Alexandra. “She knew the stone was consuming you, so she tried getting rid of it for good.”

Mallekath stared at Alexandra like a wolf staring at its bait.

“And you. You helped her,” he said in a monster-like tone. “You will pay for this!”

Suddenly, Mallekath pointed the stone towards Alexandra and a great beam of light, coming from the stone, blinded the crowd. Without delay, Alexandra ran away from the stone. But a great blast came from behind and pushed her out of the hall. The main hall behind her was consumed by a blinding light of death. The walls cracked and broke while she sped through the air. In a second, she ended up falling off the outside balcony. Alexandra was speeding down with the rough terrain beneath her. With no time to think, she took the gem from her necklace and split it in half. Alexandra disappeared from the scene.    

 

***

The fire crackled as Bjor stood in shock from Alexandra’s story. He gave her a piece of venison.

“You’ve obviously been through a lot,” said Bjor as Alexandra was munching on her venison. “You said you were from Mirewood, right?”

“Yes. I was in the northwest. On the border of Morrisland and Mirewood.”

Bjor let out a strong sigh.

“Well, if you’re planning on heading back, I suggest staying ‘till the end of winter.”

“Why?” asked Alexandra in an anxious voice.

“Well, this is Red Pine.”

Alexandra sighed in frustration. Red Pine was a region in the Orcish kingdom of Red Rock. This mostly human area was more than two-thousand miles away from her home. Why did the gem bring her here? It must have been a mistake from the gem. The destinations were sometimes random.

“You can stay here till the spring solstice,” said Bjor in a kind voice.  

“Thank you. I’ll try not to be a burden.”

 

The Adventures of Melon

Once upon a bork, there were three incredibly stupid characters in a spaceship in between Earth and the moon. They needed a quick way to escape. Their names were Walter Mellon, Olivia the Moon Squirrel, and Richard the Talking Baby.

 

***

“Welp, the ship broke down. We’re screwed,” I said, after checking the ship’s engine and hull in the engine room.

The engine was destroyed because of some guy I’d seen in the past before, but decided not to kill. Bunko Mob or something like that, driving in a strange van made of dirt and random debris. I stole his shotgun once–he seemed very annoyed–but he eventually got it back from me. Maybe he wanted revenge and decided to try to kill me. How he managed to ram into us and completely destroy our ship, I will never know. Heck, I’ll never know how he was driving a van through SPACE, but this wasn’t my biggest concern. But we needed a way off of this ship, now. The hull would collapse on itself soon. I didn’t know how we would get off, I was only with a baby named Richard and a squirrel from the moon named Olivia.

“What do we do?” Richard said, and I yelped.

I had no idea Richard could speak perfect English.

“How are you speaking?!” I asked. “You are barely even two years old!”

“So?” Richard said.

He sort of had a point, so I left him alone.

“Ok, I don’t have time to argue about this. We need a way off this ship now. Can you drive an escape pod or something?”

“I can drive one,” a new voice said.

Richard and I both yelped this time. I turned around and saw a tiny, pale-grey squirrel with a fuzzy tail staring at us. We had no idea a moon squirrel spoke English as well.

“I would ask how this is happening, but in this story, all of this is probably considered logical,” I said. “After all, I’m a freaking human-melon with a gun.”

Richard didn’t seem to care. He was busy trying to snap Olivia the Moon Squirrel’s legs.

“HANDS OFF DA SQUIRREL!” I yelled, picking up my rifle and aiming it at Richard, momentarily forgetting he was just a baby.

“But… it’s squirrel!” Richard whimpered.

I was starting to wonder if Richard was mentally stable.

“A few moments ago, you were a mature talking baby. Now you can’t speak one legitimate sentence. Care to explain?” I accused.

“I have a medical condition called… uh… Superlegitdiseasethatmakesyoukillsquirrelsrightnowitis.”

I believed him, I’ve seen victims of it before. There was one problem, though.

“My good sir,” I said.

“What?”

“A human body should only be weak enough to catch Superlegitdiseasethatmakesyoukillsquirrelsrightnowitis at the age of 50.”

“How would you know? You’re only a watermelon shaped like a human.”

I wondered how he was so educated. I was about to ask, but I decided that I didn’t want to know.

“Okay, everyone, let’s go to the upper deck. Maybe we will find some kind of airlock and escape.

“Fine by me,” Olivia said, trying to get away from the deranged baby.

I found some stairs and began to climb. I eventually made it to the top and pulled a hatch open. Outside the hatch was open space protected by a force field keeping oxygen on the ship. We were on the upper deck. I then began to search for an escape pod, and Richard chased Olivia around, trying to pull her torso in half. Olivia occasionally screamed for help and tried to shoot Richard with my rifle once or twice.

The upper deck had no airlock, so we went back downstairs, into a corridor. There were three doors in the corridor: the engine room, the living quarters, and a door leading to another corridor. I chose the second corridor and found an airlock after what seemed like days (although I tend to exaggerate, so let’s just say it was about 10 minutes.)

“Hey guys, come check this out!” I said and waved the others over.

Olivia ran over to the door, and Richard followed her, still trying to break her legs. I opened the door… and…

Found a hatch. I was about to open the hatch, until I noticed a gigantic sign that said: TOTALLY INCONSPICUOUS GIANT SIGN THAT TOTALLY DOESN’T HAVE A SHOTGUN BEHIND IT OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT.

I got the sign off, looked behind it, and…

There really wasn’t a shotgun there. I hate stupid signs like that. I went back to open the hatch, until I noticed another sign in front of it that said “Airlock.” The airlock it was gesturing to led to nothing but space.

“Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute.” I said.

A minute passed. I finished waiting.

“Who tried to trick me into opening an airlock into space?!” I said.

“Uhhhh, totally not me or anything like that, hahahahahahaha!” Richard said.

“Are you telling the truth?” I said.

“No, I mean yes!!!” Richard replied a bit too quickly. This (of all the absurd things in this story) didn’t seem right.

I squinted. Richard sighed.

“All right, all right, I tried to kill you.” he said.

“Why?!” I asked.

“‘COS I’M UNCKO BAWB HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!” he yelled, before going into a massive coughing fit. “AGH, SWEET SAUSAGE-SLAPPING SANDWICHES SACRIFICING SAD SAILBOATS!!! SMOKING DOG BISCUITS WAS A HORRIBLE IDEA!!!”

At this point, Richard’s head fell off, and a tall, fully grown man with a potbelly and an almost bald head somehow pulled himself out of Richard’s head. The man was wearing a weird gold jacket and jeans (the jeans seemed to be about five sizes too small). I instantly recognized him and reached for my gun.

You!” I yelled. “You tried to kill me!”

“I KNOW!” he yelled. “I DO BELIEVE YOU WERE AWAKE FOR THE LAST THREE MINUTES!”

“STOP IT WITH THE SMART COMEBACKS!”

“GIVE ME THE OTHER HALF OF MY TRACKSUIT FIRST!”

I became a little confused.

“WHAT?!”

“THIS GOLD JACKET IS HALF OF MY TRACKSUIT! GIVE ME MY PANTS! THESE JEANS BELONG TO MY SON! I WANT MINE BACK!!”

“MAYBE LATER! ALSO, WHY ARE WE YELLING? MY THROAT IS STARTING TO HURT!”

“YOU DON’T HAVE A THROAT!”

“I SAID STOP!” I yelled, as I grabbed my rifle, aimed it at his head, and fired. A moon squirrel slammed into his face.

“Olivia, why were you in my rifle?” I asked.

“Hiding from that hideous creature–oh, it’s just a human,” she replied.

“AAAHH! OUT OF THIS HOUSE, VILE DEMON!” Uncko Bawb yelled and threw a piece of melon at her that he was keeping in a jacket pocket that may or may not have had a wormhole inside of it (don’t ask how I know that.) Then realized he how much he just screwed up.

“Aw, shoot.”

“You killed a melon! Die!” I yelled and repeatedly shot at him.

Because of my rage, I missed multiple times.

“SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT, SHOOT!” he yelled, and tried to run to the airlock. Because of his ridiculously small pants, it was more so like waddling than running.

“TIMMY, GET THE VAN!” he yelled.

“Okay!” a voice that sounded like a teenage human (I’m guessing it was Timmy) replied, and a van made of dirt and trash somehow drove in front of the airlock.

“Haha, so long suckers!” Bawb yelled and tried to throw the airlock open.

It wouldn’t budge.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Bawb said. “Since when does an airlock need a key?!” He pointed at a keyhole seemingly made of wind. “I swear, this story gets dumber every second.”

While he was distracted, I aimed my gun at his head. Before I could fire, Olivia got my attention by looking at something past the airlock. It looked like it was made of something frozen.

“Iceberg, dead ahead!” Olivia yelled, as we crashed into it, sending a huge crack through the steel roof of our ship.

“NO, I CAN’T DIE!” Bawb cried. “I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!”

“You can’t be serious,” I muttered. “I think the author of this stupid story is running out of ideas.”

Just then, the roof tore open.

“WE’RE SINKING!” Bawb yelled.

He was right. You could see space pouring into our ship.

“Find the key for that airlock!” I yelled. “Olivia, check the engine room! Bawb, you-”

“Oh heck no, I’m outta here!” Bawb yelled. He then screamed “TIMMY, I’M COMING!” and jumped out of the ship and landed inside his trashy (pun intended) van.

The van started up and flew towards Earth. I could hear a distant “SO LONG, FREAK! WOO!” before the van disappeared from sight.

“Well, this isn’t good,” I muttered, as space kept pouring in, covering the nearest objects in the ship and blocking off the engine room and our living quarters.

“What do we do?!” Olivia yelled, before some of her pale-grey fur was almost engulfed by the incoming space.

She yelped and ran towards me. I didn’t know what to do, and I had to hurry and think of something, fast. I could see the vastness of space outside the ship, and there wasn’t much air left, since we were sinking. That was when I noticed a green object fly through the door to a nearby corridor. I grabbed Olivia, and followed it into a hallway with the door to the engine room in it. I wondered what the object was, but I couldn’t waste time searching for it. We needed to leave. I remembered there was a secret spare escape pod there, but at first, I thought it would be completely wrecked like the engine was. I thought it was worth checking it out now.

We burst into the engine room, and I braced myself for what came next. In order to get to the pod, we would have to move the entire engine, without making it explode. So, naturally, like the genius melon that I am, I picked up my rifle and unloaded an entire magazine of bullets into the fuel tank.

The engine exploded, sending shards of scrap metal into the walls next to me and Olivia. After the explosion cleared up, three things happened:

 

  1. We saw a hatch leading to a fully-functional escape pod, blown open.
  2. We heard an automated voice: “Attention: Lack of fuel. Gravity set to 0%.” We began to float in the air.
  3. A few seconds later, the voice game back: “Emergency: Primary systems offline. Self-Destruct Sequence initiated. All inhabitants evacuate. Self destruct in 30… 29… 28…”

 

At 28, I realized the seriousness of the situation and grabbed Olivia, stuffed her in the empty magazine of my rifle, loaded her in, and shot her into the pod.

 

26… 25… 24…

 

“OLIVIA, START THE ENGINE!” I yelled, as I kicked off the steel wall of the ship. It broke off and flew into oblivion. More space was pouring in. I heard her scream something like, “okay!” But I had no time to focus on her words.

 

23… 22… 21…

 

I missed the pod but managed to throw my rifle inside as I heard the engine charging up in the pod. I then kicked off the other wall, did a 180 degree flip, and flew right through the hatch, landing face first in the pod, 15 feet below me. Thank God for no gravity. I quickly bounced back up and pulled the door on top of the escape pod. I looked around. It was a circular pod with a control panel taking up much of the space. There were windows on all sides of the pod.

 

20… 19… 18…

 

“How long until the engine is fully charged?” I asked Olivia.

“10 seconds, I think,” Olivia replied.

Her fuzzy tail was twitching nervously. Wait, scratch that. Her entire freaking body was twitching nervously.

 

17… 16… 15… 14… 13… 12… 11… 10…

 

The engine stopped charging and made a tiny beep. Another computerized voice turned on saying, “Welcome. All systems online. Preparing thrusters…”

 

It took us exactly 3.57372619539284759372739487482817383482738 seconds to prepare the thrusters. We then took off really quickly. And emphasis on the really. We flew through space so fast, I hit the back wall of the pod and nearly broke through it. I could barely hear a faraway computerized voice say, “3… 2… 1… 0,” before I turned around and saw a massive explosion, with bits of our ship flying everywhere. One massive piece almost hit us, scraping the top of our pod. I turned in a full 360, surveying the scene. On my left, I saw an intercom fly by us, saying, “Thank you for cooperating. This was directed by Michael Bay,” before it got caught in the orbit of the moon.

“To Earth!” I said happily, amazed that we survived that massive ordeal.

“Aye aye!” Olivia said, obviously just as happy.

As we headed to Earth, I saw something amazing and grinned. Uncko Bawb’s van’s engine died, and he was stuck in the middle of space. There also happened to be a pile of sniper ammunition and explosives by the side of the pod. I think you know what I had in mind.

I was about to put him through the hell of his life, but I heard him talking on a radio. “Yeah, Michael Bay, I need some help. Can you get me outta here? ‘Kay, thanks,” he said.

I was filled with rage once I remembered what the intercom said. Michael Bay put Bawb up to this?I hate Michael Bay! He tried to shove a stick of dynamite into one of my sniper rifles once. I unloaded all my explosives by throwing them at the trashy van. They stuck to it for some reason. I then picked up some ammo, took aim, and fired.

The explosion that took place there was unbearable. I could feel the heat from inside the pod. Somehow, the van didn’t explode, just spiraled into the next galaxy with a very angry, fat, baldy yelling, “I WILL AVENGE MY TRACKSUIT!”

We then got caught in Earth’s orbit and flew into a place called New York. We ended up crashing through a building and landing on some guy. His name was Adam or whatever. When we climbed out of the pod, there were three very surprised people sitting on couches with computers, staring at us.

“You saw nothing,” I said and climbed out of the place where I landed, running away through a broken wall and scaling a building.

Getting out of the place where we crashed wasn’t much of a victory. The police would be here soon. But at least we could get back home, to a secret base I owned. There are secret pathways to get there, one of them being in Bitchfield, UK (no lie, that is a real place.) These pathways are portals to another alternate reality, where normal humans don’t exist (yep, this just turned sci-fi.) In order to get there, we would have to find a way from New York to Bitchfield. That would be pretty tough, since we didn’t have any means of transportation, and we just crashed our escape pod on a male human in a weird place named Writopia (I read a sign as we ran from the building.) I thought I heard sirens, so I decided now would be a good time to run faster. I eventually found my way to a nearby museum. I thought it would be a good place to hide, so I was about to go inside, but something stopped me. This “something” was a van made of dirt, falling from the sky with a very angry, bald guy inside wielding a shotgun.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Uncko Bawb crashed into the street, completely demolishing it. A wave of dust flew out from the ground where he landed, blinding me. When the dust cleared up, there he was, standing with a severely pissed off teenager, wielding dual pistols, to his left. To Bawb’s right, there was a man with brown hair in a blue shirt, holding a rocket launcher and wearing a belt of grenades… wait, no. The belt was made of grenades. If these people were who I think they were, I was probably about to get my melon bits burst open.

Michael Bay and Timmy Bawb raised their weapons, aiming them at me. Bawb did the same.

“I told you I would avenge my tracksuit, Melon Boy!” he exclaimed.

“Dude, where are your pants?” I said.

Bawb looked down. He was wearing no pants.

“They got uncomfortable, so I took them off.”

“How did you get back here?” I said.

“Michael Bay,” he replied, motioning at the dude with the rocket launcher.

I forgot he called Michael for help. Speaking of him, why did Bawb put him up to this? Was it because Bay found out that Bawb wanted his tracksuit back and blamed it on me? Huh, that may have been what happened.

While I was thinking about it, Bawb distracted me by yelling, “Michael, shoot him!”

And the sound of a rocket fired towards me. I had no time to run, so I held my arms up in defense and braced myself for the end. I heard the explosion as I flew backwards. After groaning in pain, I looked up and saw my escape pod on the ground where the rocket was.

“Wait, what?” Bawb said, as a kid climbed out of the broken pod.

It was the kid I smashed, somehow not dead. He took a computer out of the pod, typed something in it, looked up, and flicked his hand towards Bawb. Bawb and Timmy flew backwards and crashed into a tree. The boy then typed something else, and Michael Bay froze in time. He then began to glow and dematerialized right in front of us, turning into a pile of dust and explosives, and blew away in the wind. The boy turned to us.
“What’s up, Walter?” he asked as Bawb curled up into a ball, groaning in pain.

I squinted at the boy.

“Who the heck are you, and how do you know my name?” I demanded.

“I’m the writer of this insane story, but I had no idea this story was actually happening in real time,” he said. “I’m guessing the pathway to your home in Bitchfield is real too.” He snickered. “God, I will never say that without laughing.”

“Hold on, hold on,” I said. “You wrote the story we are currently in?”

“Yes, but as I said before, I had no idea this was happening in real time.”

“Can you somehow send us home?” I asked.

“Us?” he wondered.

Then he saw Olivia, who I didn’t notice was trying to hide in my gun. Her bushy tail was stuck in the barrel.

“Oh, right. Absolutely. By the way, here are Bawb’s pants.” He tossed me Uncko Bawb’s pants (I never noticed when he took them out.)

While I was wondering why the author gave me the pants, he took out his computer, typed a few words, and clapped his hands.

Poof. Suddenly, we were above a hidden hatch in Bitchfield (I don’t think I will ever say that without laughing either.) Olivia was still in my rifle, for some reason. There were female dogs on the ground, writhing around (I guess that’s why they call this place Bitchfield.) Anyway, we climbed underground, through the hidden hatch, and stood in front of a five-foot hole which led to a portal.

“So, you live in a portal?” Olivia asked.

“No, this portal leads to my home. You go first,” I said, and after putting up a huge fight (Olivia is apparently trypophobic), she reluctantly leaped headfirst into the portal. I jumped in after her.

After I felt a quick, cold, tingly sensation (I usually do when I go through a portal), I landed on my face, in my underground hideout, in front of my rifle rack. Olivia was staring at my other rifles in wonder and was probably thinking about how I connected a metal weaponry rack to a dirt wall underground. Or how I got it underground in the first place.

I walked over to a hatch in the ground, which I used as an entrance and exit. I opened it and looked outside. The hatch was hidden by trees, since I lived near the edge of a forest.

It was raining out. I could see a field nearby, the wet grass glistening. I looked at a nearby house (which happened to belong to a fat man named Bawb.) I had nothing else to do, so I went up to his house. Hey, maybe I could find the rest of his tracksuit and hold it for ransom.

I peeked through Bawb’s extremely dirty window. No, literally. His house was made of dirt and random debris too. I have no idea where or how he found this place. Bawb was sitting there, watching TV with a scowl on his face. The author must have sent him and Timmy home after me and Olivia were sent back. I guess I’m not going to take his tracksuit right now.

As I turned around to leave, I saw something a little odd. Not like “Justin Bieber is running around naked” odd, but more like “HOLY CROW, THERE’S A TIME VORTEX OPENING IN THE SKY” odd. Which was exactly what happened. Also, Justin Bieber was running around naked. Forgot to mention that earlier.

I watched the weird time vortex open in the sky… no wait, two time vortexes. A second one opened up inside the first one… and another… and another… and another… and inside that one, there was a bottle of Mountain Dew… no wait, that was a time vortex shaped like a bottle of Mountain Dew… oh, inside that one was the Mountain Dew. But inside the Mountain Dew was another time vortex. I’m pretty sure opening infinite time vortexes inside of time vortexes at the same time (vortex) shouldn’t have been possible, but while that was happening, pieces of the ground around me began to get sucked inside. And then I was being thrown inside one time vortex, and then into another one, and another one, and another one and another one, and another one, and hey, there’s the bottle of Mountain Dew. And another vortex, and another one, and another one. This went on for many hours, but I still tend to exaggerate, so let’s say ten minutes again. I saw Bawb pass me, screaming, and landing inside the bottle of Mountain Dew. He made a big swoosh and was whisked back in time. I, on the other hand, wasn’t sure if I should’ve been be scared, utterly terrified, or confused. Suddenly, I heard a big explosion and saw bits of me vaporizing. I thought now was a good time to be utterly terrified.

As bits of me vaporized and flew away, the time vortexes I was passing through rapidly cleared, and I saw the ship that Olivia and “Richard” and I was on a while ago. Far away, I somehow knew Bawb popped out of a bottle of Mountain Dew and threw himself (and Timmy) into his van. He then drove off into space, and I could see him coming from Earth to annihilate our ship. I could see him ramming the wall in the engine room. He then popped into a tiny, fake baby suit, and jumped onto the upper deck (by the way, this is an actual ship, not some crappy spaceship. Why else would there be an upper deck?) A few minutes later, I could hear myself saying, “Welp, the ship broke down. We’re screwed”.

Wait… I could hear myself? Maybe it was because I went through infinite vortexes and Bawb fell into a bottle of Mountain Dew, so Bawb actually went back in time, so he ended up actually going back in time, and I didn’t. I was just watching. Or as an experienced scientist would say, I was stalking them. But this wasn’t my biggest problem: How in the world do I get home? Well, actually, not in the world, I was at least 300,000 and a half miles away. So,how around the world do I get home?!

“What’s up?” said a voice behind me.

I quickly turned around.

“Wha–How?!” I said to the author, who was sitting directly behind me.

“I have a name,” he said.

I forgot he did.

“Anyway, yeah, you’re sorta screwed right now.”

“How do I get out of here?” I asked him. “I sorta wanna go home right now.”

“Oh, to Bitchfield?” Adam completely lost it. “Sorry, I had to. Use Uncko Bawb’s pants.”

“What?” I asked.

He motioned for me to look to my right. I turned and saw Bawb’s pants, glowing.

“Oh.”

“Touch them,” Adam said.

“Can’t. Sorta got vaporized in a freaking time vortex.”

“Oh, right.”

Adam took out a computer (where is he keeping that thing?) and typed something in it. Suddenly, I had an arm.

“Okay, now touch it.”

“Adam?”

“Yes?”

“You put Michael Jackson’s face on my shoulder. There’s no arm.”

Adam smirked.

“Oh.”

He typed something else, and bam, I had arms. I was about to touch the pants but thought of something.

“How come you didn’t just tell me about the time vortex to begin with?”

“Didn’t think of that,” Adam said, clearly trying to lie.
The little jerk.

“Why was there a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex shaped like a bottle of Mountain Dew inside of an actual bottle of Mountain Dew inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex inside of a time vortex?”

“Justin Bieber running around naked caused the universe to cringe and try to kill him,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” I said.

I could agree with that answer. It sounded believable. With all this in mind, I touched Uncko Bawb’s pants and heard a loud beeping sound. Suddenly, I was back at the portal in Bitchfield. I jumped through, and the first thing I saw when I climbed out of my home was Justin Bieber in a field, dancing around naked. I shot him in the head. I could swear the universe was yelling thank you at me. As I was going back into my home, I could then swear I heard the universe yelling “I WANTED TO DO THAT!” at me. I turned around and there was Uncko Bawb, with his shotgun. Nope, that was him yelling that.

“WHY ARE YOU WEARING MY PANTS!?” he yelled.

I looked down and realized I was wearing Bawb’s tracksuit.

“Um… do I need a reason?” I asked, a bit awkwardly.

“TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES!” he replied, a bit angrily.

“I’m not taking them off right here,” I said, a bit weirded out that I was wearing these clothes.

“THEN GO TO WHEREVER THE HECK YOU LIVE AND CHANGE, MELON BOY!” he yelled, a bit antagonistically.

“WILL YOU PLEASE STOP YELLING! I’M RIGHT HERE!” I yelled, also a bit antagonistically.

“NO!” he yelled, also a bit antagonistically.

I was beginning to get antagonized to my limit. I was about to antagonistically antagonize his antagonistically antagonizing antagonization because it was so antagonistically antagonizing, but I decided not to antagonistically antagonize his antagonistically antagonizing antagonization for some antagonistically antagonistic reason. I just went back home.

When I crawled through my hatch, I was greeted with a moon squirrel and a paper to the face. After Olivia’s greeting, she explained how she found the hatch after I left, and she ventured out to a nearby town and found out that Uncko Bawb had a reward for whoever found his pants. I began reading the paper Olivia threw at me:

 

WANTED:

MEH PANTEHZ

THER IZ REWAARD!

REWAARD IZ TWUNTY FIEV MILION DOLLAHS!

-Love, UNCKO BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWB <3 <3 <3

 

Once I finished reading, I looked to the right,and saw a grinning moon squirrel (can moon squirrels grin?) staring me in the face. Instantly understanding the grin, I quickly changed into my old clothes, which consisted of an old leather jacket, black shirt, and black jeans (no, I am not emo. Or goth. Or anything of the type. Go away.) Anyway, I changed out of my clothes and prepared to go give Bawb the clothes and take his money. I opened the hatch to get outside, and…

Wait.

Wait, what?

Why was there another melon person staring at me? While I was trying to find out who this melon person was, and why he was stalking me from about 15 meters, he called out to me.

“Walter, is that you?” he yelled.

“Who the heck are you?” was my reply.

I climbed out of my home and came closer to inspect him. He did the same.

“Walter, do you really not recognize me?” he said, sounding a bit hurt.

“Um…b no,” I replied.

“Does the name Salter Mellon remind you of someone?” he asked.

I tried to think of who he might be, but didn’t come up with anything except a small amount of recognition.

“Wait, are you…” I tried to say.

“Yes, Walter, it’s me, your brother.”

Dun Dun Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun.

 

To be continued… maybe… eh, forget it. (Nah, there’s going to be a sequel.)

 

An Old Friend

The castle had remnants of grandeur, of beauty long forgotten, now hanging in rubble and ruins over the cliff of the violently churning sea. Perhaps once it had been glorious, but now it lay in tatters, much like the man who claimed residency there. Torn and ripped apart at the edges, his gloom hung heavy upon the castle, echoing in every cracked mirror and shattered window, hauntingly beautiful in its demise.

His shouts were etched in every stone, carved into the very fabric of the castle, for to separate one from the other was surely impossible. Years of mindless madness had ruined him, now only a shadow of what he once was, a mere flicker of humanity trapped inside an empty, bloodied shell.

Stumbling blindly over the cracked, ancient marble, chasing the figures that tormented him so, the nameless man ran ragged through the ballroom, following those who had broken his mind, crumbling it down until it had turned to dust. Breath flowed harshly from his parted, cracked lips, hands scrabbled for grip upon the cold, unforgiving walls. Yet those he hunted so perversely were never caught, steps echoing upon the floor painted with tales of centuries past, the scream falling from his tongue before he had a chance to catch it, to stop the sound of pure, unforgivable hell filling the room like a chorus of demons, their faces savage as they ravaged his mind, their hands upon his shoulders, forcing him down upon the ground, and yet he could not feel them. Only his eyes could find their grotesque forms, the sunken orbs frantically searching from beast to beast, fingers scrabbling at the moonlit shadows that cast paintings upon his pallid, translucent skin, the unforgiving years hallowing his frame until only a small, pale ghost of a man remained.

He could hear the laughter ringing around him, their mockery agonizing him until his palms bled, the ugly crescent marks staining the whiteness of his hand vivid red, blood pooling under the fragile surface. Blood was not new to him, in fact, he welcomed it with familial affection, glorifying the way it spilled from every vein his demons ruptured, venerating each drop as if it was life itself, and in a way, it was. Yet as the blood spilt upon the floor, it proved a painful reminder of his greatest tragedy: the feeble beating of his wretched, forsaken heart. Each beat thrust against his ribcage as he was brought abruptly to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck prickling as he felt the undeniable feeling of being watched, of being hunted, the figures that had eluded him so suddenly gone in a moment of terrible clarity, vanishing into smoke and ice as he was left alone in the banishment of his solitude.

Staggering to ripped, aged curtains of ravished velvet, the unwelcome solace of the horrendous truth slowly building in his decaying mind, swelling like the great rise of a revolution destined to fall. The hunter had nothing, now stripped away until only the prey remained, weak and trembling, gripping those curtains as if they could save him from the ending of his story, the last inkblots staining the crumbling page. But even as the air filled his lungs, as the pain of life fell so heavily upon his weakening shoulders, he felt a gloved hand upon his neck, belonging so clearly to a being more than merely smoke and shadow, finding the chilling comfort of an old friend as his hurried whispers dissolved in one last moment of finality.

 

Blood Stains

Pierre Gusteau was a different child. Not in a bad way. He always wanted a legacy. Everyone wants a legacy. Everyone wants to be remembered. But Pierre. Pierre lived for a legacy.

In school projects, while others collaborated, Pierre would work alone. He wasn’t antisocial. He could make friends very easily if he tried. He just didn’t want to have such burdens. He just wanted a legacy. He wanted to be remembered. And he wanted to get full credit for his work. So in the late hours of the night, when no one was up, he would turn on the candles and hunch over his desk like a vulture. And he would furiously dab his pen into the ink pot. His face was inches away from the paper, and every so often, he smiled. He was playing a game with himself. He was trying to squeeze as many words as he could into one line. As a child, he had always stayed at school later, helping around the classroom. After about an hour of slow-paced organization of school supplies, Pierre would decide to walk home. As he entered, there would be silence, and if you listened closely, you could hear the suppressed sobs of his grandmother. Sobs that wanted to be released but were held inside. And there, on the creaking bed, lay Pierre’s mother. She had died of the disease known as Tegrofy. She looked like a scared infant who hung coldly and loosely in a fetal position. Pierre, who was crumbling with disappointment and sorrow, didn’t know how to show it. As he lay down next to his mom, and as he wrapped the grey strands of her hair around his finger one last time, he made a vow.

He promised himself that he would find a cure to the disease that unjustly stole his mother. He only studied the sciences from that point forward and treated it as the only thing of importance in his life. It was the only thing he lived for. His grandma was always asking questions about his relationships. She tried to be sneaky about them, but it was apparent that she wanted him to marry a nice girl. At the mention of marriage, however, Pierre would merely roll his eyes and softly grunt, which was a sign that he couldn’t be bothered.

Grandma finally found “the perfect girl,” and they were married in a humble ceremony at the local  church. For the first time in many years, Pierre smiled. He smiled as the sun beat down on his face. He smiled as he saw his wife-to-be. He smiled as his wife-to-be became his wife. He smiled at his uncle’s repetitives jokes. And at the end of the night, he smiled one last time, remembering how great the day had been. But the smile quickly faded as he remembered his mother. How he wished she were here. And then, again, his urge for making something of himself overtook his life, and he started wondering about what he would do tomorrow in the lab.

He explained to his wife, Amelie, that he was working on this cure for a disease. And he explained how this meant everything in the world to him — to help the lives of people similar to his mother.

And so, every day after the marriage, Pierre locked himself in his study, which had become his lab. As he closed the tall brown doors to his lab, he felt a sense of pride, and he stood a little straighter. He worked alone, by himself. He always daydreamed peacefully about unveiling his cure before a crowd of people. He dreamed of being surrounded by wealth, and by glory. He dreamed of winning awards, and he wished for people to clap as he waved to them. He wanted fathers to bring their children up to him and, with a kind smile, say, “Son, this man is a hero!” He worked alone so that he wouldn’t have to share the glory. He didn’t want to have to share the award. He wouldn’t consider himself selfish, though. He would argue with passion that it was human nature to want the best for yourself, and that it is only natural that some people were better than others.

Meanwhile, his wife had nothing to do. Amelie had come from a modestly rich family, so her father provided enough money for the two of them. Amelie had nothing to do when she wasn’t meeting with the ladies of her club. And so, she made it her duty to clean every inch of the house in the morning hours. So, after a breakfast of oats and eggs, Pierre would lock himself in his study, and she would clean the house. She especially enjoyed cleaning the smooth marble tiles of the kitchen floor. She would crouch on the floor, with rags, and would wipe the floor. Every few minutes, her knees would start aching, and she would have to switch positions. She took each piece of dirt by vigorously wiping the crevices in the tiles. One day, her husband decided to go on their honeymoon, even though it had been two years since they had married. They both took a break from their work and enjoyed it. Pierre was laughing again. But often, he thought about how the break would soon end — and he was for the first time scared of the work that lay ahead. He decided that relaxing breaks were not for him.

However, in that time, his wife became pregnant, and nine months later, she bore a pair of twins. They were two baby boys, with wide smiles that stretched across their faces, and they had such dense patches of freckles that seen from afar, darkened the entire pigmentation of their face. And so the children grew up, their freckles disappeared, and they no longer shook when they sneezed. Amelie, now much older, still cleaned with all her strength.

And Pierre was on the verge of the cure — though he didn’t know it yet. The work had taken a toll on him. Deep wrinkles were now engraved in his forehead, thanks to all the reading and writing he had done hunched over a candlelight. And his skin was sickly pale. Often, late at night, when his family was asleep, he would take midnight walks, where he shivered in the cold, and where he kicked trees to take his anger out. If only my mom hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be obsessed with this stupid disease, he would think to himself. He beat himself up for the time he had wasted. He beat himself up because he could no longer remember where his uncles lived. Or whether “the uncle with the repetitive jokes” was still alive. But he hoped he was.

Amelie now had a purpose to clean every morning, because by nightfall, thanks to the boys, the kitchen was in careless ruin. With all of this work on her plate, you could find Amelie on her knees, wiping with her dirty white rag from morning ‘till sundown. The boys had no supervision, and the family was not wealthy enough to afford a nanny. So after school, the boys would do whatever they pleased. They didn’t become bad kids, but they became more daring. Every few days, they would both get a mischievous look. Their eyes would stare off into the distance, and a sly grin would slowly appear on their faces. With no words spoken between the two of them, they would run off on their next adventure. They would not return until nightfall sometimes, and if Pierre noticed, he would get quite angry. That is what kept the boys in line — the fear that their father might catch them. Even though, most of the time, Pierre was so consumed by his work that he forgot the faces of his children. At night, he would look at their sweet, innocent faces in bed. And he would smile, and try to make a picture of his children in his head that he could remember. He would kiss their cheeks five times each before leaving, but by the next morning, his work made him forget his kids’ faces once again. And so, the cycle repeated.

One day, when Amelie was meeting with friends, the boys brought a friend of theirs over to play. They decided to use knives to replicate the sword fights they had read about in fantasies. They used the kitchen knives, and started slashing the blades in the air. They started fighting each other slowly, and then the fighting became faster. The sound of the metal knives clashing in the air was like a gong, and with each hit, their senses awakened even more. Pierre heard the fighting from downstairs, but decided not to be bothered, as he had found something interesting in his test results. And as he examined the test results, one of his son’s knives was thrown off course and plunged into the chest of his other son. The other son froze for a moment, and in that split-second, the knife of their friend plunged into his stomach. The boy joined his brother on the floor, and they limply lay in the puddle of blood. Their friend, angry and distraught by what he had just done, balled up his fists and ran away, sobbing.

And as the last breaths escaped the clutches of the two boys, upstairs, in the study, there was a joyous scream of, “Eureka, finally, finally.” He ran down to show the test results to his family, but only found a streaming flow of blood coming from the kitchen. And as he saw the two boys on the floor, he dropped his papers and ran to them. He picked their flaccid bodies up into his arms and whispered, “I should have been there for you…”

He let the bodies slide back onto the floor, and he kissed each of the boys’ foreheads one hundred times, to make up for the times he wasn’t there for them.

As Amelie returned, she, too, was filled with sadness and wished she could have been there for her children. She stopped her cleaning for a few days as they prepared for the funeral. Pierre looked to see if he could find the address of his uncle to inform him of the loss. He found it, but was informed that his whole family had died from Tegrofy, like his mother. If only he had worked in a lab with more people, instead of just himself. Maybe he could have saved them earlier.

Days passed. Pierre became famous, but once again, he felt empty. He didn’t know what he needed. But he lived every day with regret. He was regretful that he saved everyone’s lives — but he let his own children die.

And Amelie, after falling into a deep depression for months, once again picked up her cleaning rags and continued her unfulfilling life. She would clean every single inch of the house — except for one part. She let the blood stains dry onto her beautiful marble tiles. And from that point on, she no longer enjoyed cleaning the kitchen. She cleaned around the bloodstains. As a reminder that both of them paid for a legacy.

 

Commute

I walk through Times Square at 7:16 A.M., and a lady dressed in an MTA uniform stops me.

“We’re interviewing people about their experiences on the subway.”

“Uh… I’m in a hurry. I have to get to school.”

“This will only take a second. We need some information.”

“Why?”

“Just a survey.”

“Okay.”

“How would you describe your experience on the subway?”

“Each day, I commute to school. The subway, in my case, is the fastest way to get around the city.”

“Interesting, I’m glad that’s working out for you. Continue.”

“Every weekday, I commute to Astoria to go to school. People think, ‘Woah! Astoria. It must take you hours to get there.’ And, if I feel like educating them, I usually say, ‘Well, it’s not as bad as it seems. It’s only 35-40 minutes from the Upper West Side.’ My trip begins at 100th and Broadway, where I walk down to the 96th Street station. From there, I take the 2 train down to Times Square so that I can transfer to the N, W, or R trains. These trains take me to only a short walk away from school. Frequently, I get questions such as, ‘Is it weird being on your own for so long?’ Inside my head, I roll my eyes and wish I could ask, ‘Isn’t your commute to work the same?’ What I say is, ‘Oh, it’s alright. You get used to it after a while.’ Anyway, I’m not really alone. After having done the same commute for more than half a year, you start to see some patterns. There are certain people I see every Tuesday going to the shuttle at Times Square, or that man who walks really slowly on the stairs at 36 Avenue on Wednesdays. Of course I don’t know any of these people’s names, but I can guess.”

“That’s great, sweetie. I just need to know more about YOUR exper-”

“Of course, but I’ll just say a little bit more about this. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find it amusing.”

 

***

The Lady In The Pea Green Coat

One of my favorite everyday people is the lady in the pea green coat. No matter how hot or cold, she wears a heavy, green coat with fluff around the head. I’m not too sure but I think she lives on 97th and Amsterdam. I always see her turning the corner onto Broadway at 97th. She wears shoes with big, loud heels that send the message, “move or I’ll stomp on you.” She always has her metrocard ready at the station and swipes it flawlessly so that she can run down the stairs. Her frown is always apparent, and she’s always grumpy. We both know exactly where to stand so that the train car opens right in front of us. If I’m standing where she wants to stand and I was there first, she rolls her eyes and shoves me over. When the train comes, the lady always mutters rude remarks under her breath toward anyone who enters before her. At this point, I always wonder what her job is. What kind of person would want to work with a grump like this one? I bet she works in an office all day, slouched by a computer, muttering comments about her coworkers, and complaining about her life.

Once, when we got onto the 2 train, there were two seats next to each other. One of the seats was half-occupied by a man, who was spreading out his legs so much more than he needed to. This day I got onto the train before the lady, and I got the whole seat. I didn’t think that she would decide to sit next to me, but she did. She sat right down on my leg and pushed down until I was forced to squeeze over. Then she stuck her elbows out into me. I had to sit like this until Times Square.

At Times Square, the lady in the pea green coat MAKES SURE she is out of the train car first. When the train driver starts to make the announcement, “This is Times Square, 42nd street. Transfer is available to the… ” the lady stands up and positions herself in front of the door. On her way to the door, people roll their eyes at her and say things like, “You’re not the only one getting off.” She ignores these comments and pretends she is. I wonder if she wears earplugs to block out all the people who are commenting about how rude she is. As the doors open, the lady stomps out, elbowing anyone in her way. Her heels make loud clacking sounds as she stomps up the stairs. I follow behind her with sneakers, not making that much noise. Once she reaches the main part of Times Square, she holds her purse tight and sprints through crowds of people and into the downtown N, Q, R, and W. As I walk by to the uptown N, Q, R, and W, I see her train leaving the station and wonder how it gets there right as she walks in every day.

 

The Lady Who Paints Her Nails

When I’m at the N, Q, R, and W station, there are multiple people I see every day. There’s one lady who wears so much makeup and has her hair dyed a different color each week. She gets on the train at Times Square and stands near me. I’m not too sure where she comes from, but I know it isn’t the 1, 2, or 3 trains. I think she comes from the opposite direction, meaning that she takes the A, C, or E trains to Times Square and comes to transfer. She could live in Far Rockaway or as close to my house on 96th and Central Park West. She stands, gossiping to her friend in Spanish, a language she thinks no one understands. She would be surprised how many people can understand her. Or, maybe, she doesn’t care and just wants to pass time by talking to her friend. You never know with these people.

When the trains come, she only gets onto the N or W. This means she needs to go to somewhere into Astoria. She gets off the train after me. Similar to mine, her time on the N or W is longer than most people. To me, this is a good time to study vocabulary from English class or listen to music. To her, it’s a good time to put on more makeup and paint her nails. Once, I made the mistake of sitting next to her. She smelled so strongly of makeup that I had to hold my nose and breathe through my mouth. Only two stops in, she took out a bottle of bright red nail polish. The smell was so strong that as she opened the bottle, people slowly began pinching their noses. Then she sat there, intensely concentrating on her nails and elbowing the person to her right every time she stroked her nail with the paint. After this day, I never made the mistake of getting into the same train car as her.

 

Miss Bao

If I’m early, and I leave my house at exactly 7:00 A.M. like I’m supposed to (instead of the usual 7:05), I sometimes see Miss Bao. She knows exactly where to stand so that the N or W train leaves her right in front of the 36 Avenue train stop exit. I wouldn’t really mind Miss Bao, except for the fact that she’s my Mandarin teacher and advisor. She lives in the Bronx and takes the D or B trains, then transfers to the A train to get to Times Square. Miss Bao doesn’t speak English particularly well, but she does tell us that she grades our tests and does work on her long subway ride to school. Is that so? I see her reading Chinese newspapers and watching television programs on her phone.

She wears a large coat, and I suspect it might be helpful to cover up what she’s doing. I’m not sure how much warmer it was where she lived in China than here, but it doesn’t seem she’s quite adjusted to the cold weather. She wears this grayish coat and when she sees me walking down the platform, she discreetly pulls her hood up and zips the coat all the way. The first time I ever saw her, I was really happy to see someone I knew. I waved at her and said hi. This was a mistake because she just waved her hand back and when the train came, she walked away from me so that we wouldn’t be near each other for the subway ride. Now, when I see her, I just ignore her just like she ignores me. My mom says I should walk up to her and say something in Mandarin. If I walk up to her and say 你好吗?, she’ll probably just say 我很好,谢谢 and walk away quickly. I don’t think Miss Bao likes to mix her commuting life with her teaching life. Another suggestion from my mom is to start singing one of the catchy Mandarin songs from the internet. My argument against this is that then the other people on the subway will think I’m crazy. The Miss Bao, who I see on the subway, is completely different from the woman who teaches me Mandarin.

 

The Guy Who Wears A Suit

Although there are so many different people on the subway, the average man in the morning will have a briefcase and will be wearing a suit. I don’t think the specific man I’m going to write about is any different from any of the other Wall Street guys you see randomly on the street. He gets on the express 2 train at 96th Street and is super tall. This height has some advantages because he can push past people–even the lady in the pea green coat–to get onto the subway car. If he’s running late, he can skip two or three steps at a time to get on the train. I envy this greatly because I absolutely hate the feeling of missing the train. The one time the man almost missed a train, he stuck his arm into the train car and made the conductor open the door for him. Although it must be cool to be really tall, I can tell it also has its disadvantages. Once, the man tried to get onto the train and hit the top of his forehead on the door of the subway car. Now, I notice that he always seems to bend down while getting onto the train.

This man’s lifestyle is really easy to predict: he wakes up in the morning, drinks coffee, and gets ready. Then he packs his briefcase with some important papers and his computer. He gets on the express train and transfers at Times Square. From there, he takes the R or W down to Rectors street so that he can walk to his job on Wall Street. Once he gets to work, he probably sells bonds all day and has fancy work meetings with clients. His commute home is just like his commute to work. He gets home at promptly 10:00 P.M. and sleeps, just so he can wake up at 6:00 for another day full of work.

 

***

I’ve finished my story, and the MTA officer is just staring at me. Then she laughs and stands up.

“Thank you for your feedback. I enjoyed it.”

I laugh to myself, knowing I didn’t really answer her question. I see her walking away, turning her head back and forth. Honestly, I bet she’s searching for the people I told stories about. I start walking to N, R, W, and Q, but then, to my amusement, I see her stopping the four people I just told her about. I decide that I could be a little late to school.

The MTA officer sits them all down. She turns to the lady in the pea green coat first.

“Tell me about your experience on the subway. Why do you use the subway? Where do you work?”

***

Margaret

I’m a teacher at a French school Downtown. Class begins at 8:20 A.M., but I like to get there early to help my students. I teach English and some of these students need all the help they can get. French is a beautiful language, but let’s face it–English is more helpful in New York City. Most of my students are already proficient in English, so I teach them one curriculum, while the children who are from the foreign exchange program get another.

I live on 97th and Columbus and dislike germs. Some people call me a germaphobe, but I disagree. I take the train to school every day, and any germaphobe wouldn’t stand for that. They would probably spend a fortune on taxis or buy a car, which is a pain in the city. My commute to school is a 35 minute subway ride, but I can do it in 30. I’m an exceptionally fast walker, and I know my way around the subway better than almost everyone. After having been teaching at my school for four years, I’ve mapped out the perfect places to stand so the subway doors open right in front of me. I don’t think anyone–even those who have done the commute with me– has realized what I’ve been doing in previous years. Usually, I’m the only one standing in the perfect place. The 2 and 3 trains are extremely crowded at seven in the morning, and I take pride in myself for getting a seat. When taking the subway, there are two very important things I do to keep as many germs off of me as possible. The first one is to always get a seat. By doing this, I don’t have to handle the polls, which are one of the dirtiest parts of the train. Second, I usually wear my big and heavy green coat. It’s not particularly stylish, but it makes due. No one can touch my skin directly, even on a crowded subway car.

This year, someone’s giving me a run for my money. There’s a girl, who can’t be more than 13, who always wears a straight face. At the beginning of the year, I didn’t notice her, but recently, she’s been standing where I stand. Sometimes she even beats me into the subway car. I wouldn’t consider her rude, because she apologizes to the people she bumps into, but she isn’t easily pushed. Most kids her age will move out of the way if a grown up shoves them. This girl stands her ground and sometimes uses that push to angle herself closer to the subway door. She apologizes like she means it, but I doubt she does because she doesn’t let the person she hurt beat her into the car.

At Times Square, I need to be the first one out of that train car. If I don’t run across Times Square, I’ll miss the W train and then have to wait who knows how long. When I get off the train, usually people shoot me dirty looks–unhappy that I beat them off. The girl contributes to those looks, although I bet she also understands my dilemma. I wonder what train she transfers to at Times Square. I wouldn’t know because I’m always the first one up those stairs at Times Square.

“Thank you, Margaret. You may go.”

She turns to the lady with the nail polish and asks the same questions.

 

***

Lucia

I’m Lucia, owner of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Astoria. It’s on 34th and Broadway. We cook mainly Mexican food, and we cook it all fresh. If we have the ingredients for something a customer wants and if it doesn’t take too long, we’ll make it. The restaurant opens at 8:30 because we serve breakfast, so I leave my house at about 7:10. I live on 50th and 8th in Manhattan. When people ask me why I chose a location it Queens, my answer is usually because I don’t love all the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. At my restaurant, I have my usual daily customers who I look forward to seeing each day, but I also have new people who I can always greet happily with a smile. In the city, my restaurant might be too busy or my customers might be in a larger hurry. I wouldn’t be able to greet them personally.

My commute to the restaurant consists of only one stop on the C train, and then I walk through Times Square to the N and W. I get off on Broadway and walk two blocks. It isn’t too difficult, although I like to make the best time I can because I’m NOT a morning person. The later I leave my house, the better. I know I have to get ready for my job and show people that I care about this work, but I can’t get up any earlier than 6:30 in the morning. This means that I’m not completely ready when I rush out my door at 7:10. I have found a way to fix this problem by just doing my nails and hair in the subway car–it isn’t really crowded. The problem is, I feel a pang of guilt each time I do it in one of the subway cars that has the poster that says “The subway car is not a dressing room.” But I have to do what I can to look and feel my best for my customers.

Once, the girl who usually stands a little farther down the train station didn’t make it to where she usually stands. Maybe it’s because she’s younger, but I would have assumed someone would have taught her that it’s common etiquette not to show someone you don’t like the smell of their nail polish. She had her nose pinched the whole trip, but now that I think about it, so did everyone else in the train car. Usually this doesn’t happen, so I assumed it must have been the nail polish. After this experience, I always make sure to buy more natural nail polish so that the whole train car doesn’t smell like chemicals.

 

***

After she’s done, the MTA officer shoos Lucia away. Lucia hurries to the train–she doesn’t want to be late to work.

The MTA officer turns on Miss Bao, who looks a little impatient. “And you?”

***

Huilang

I’m a Mandarin teacher. I moved to New York from China when I was 27. Throughout my childhood, I studied English and thought I was pretty good. I was so wrong–people actually speak very differently from what the textbook says. When I first moved, I practiced English even more and then started teaching in Astoria. I enjoy teaching, but I suspect my teaching style is extremely different from the other teachers. The other teachers joke with the students, but I get straight to the point and don’t push to make them comfortable with me. I guess this distances me from my students, but shouldn’t it always be this way? In China, my teachers taught this way, and my friends had fun with me. Here, you can also have fun with your teachers. Weird.

Another thing that is very different from where I lived in China is the subway. I lived in a smaller town, and we drove or walked everywhere. I’ve adjusted to the NYC subways because it’s been part of my commute to work/school for a while now. People always seem to be in a hurry. I try to blend into the crowd, and I think I’m getting pretty good at it. Recently, a friend told me that the reason people don’t talk to anyone on the subway is because if you show weakness, someone will try to mug you. Also, a couple years back, one of my students had his iPhone out, and someone just grabbed it and ran out of the train car. He never got it back. These events have made me wary of people on the subway. My commute to school is not an easy, short one, but it isn’t as terrible as it seems. I take the A train down to Times Square and then the N or W from there. Certain days, the A trains are delayed and I get to Times Square slower than expected. When this happens, I have to wait for two trains to pass before the one I need to take comes.

On these days, I see one of my students. This makes me relatively uncomfortable because I have my “commuting life” and my “teaching life.” I prefer to keep them separate. I act similarly in both modes because at school, I talk to those I’m teaching and meeting with, but not anyone else. During my commute, it’s the same as at school except there’s no one that I’m teaching or meeting with, so I can just act like a person who doesn’t care about the rest of the world. No one will know what type of life I have–except for my student.

 

***

After she finishes speaking, she gets up from her seat and hurries down to the platform, where she just barely makes her train. I consider getting up, but I have one more story to hear.

The MTA officer looks at the guy in the suit. He’s sitting in a chair much too small for him.

“You know the drill,” says the MTA officer.

The man begins to speak.

***

James

My life is work. But that’s not a bad thing–I don’t say it negatively. I don’t know where I would be without work. I went to college at the Wharton School of Business, and stocks have just interested me all my life. The only thing I’m mildly interested in is basketball. I’m always up for a good game of basketball. Once a month, our office holds a tournament, and I’m the 8-time champion. My officemates say it’s only because I’m so tall, but I think it’s because of the lack of competition. When I was younger, I lived in Pennsylvania, where we had a basketball hoop in our garage. I have practice shooting. The people I work with now sit in front of a screen or make business calls all day. Most of my officemates grew up in New York City, where you would have to walk to the park to play. I bet most of them thought this was too much work and just stayed inside learning about business or doing schoolwork.

Among others in the city, specifically males, I fit in perfectly with the crowd. In the mornings, the only people up that early work at schools or on Wall Street. Why would anyone else need to be on the subway that early? I think I’ve almost mastered using my height to my advantage. I can walk faster, and I’m stronger than others on the subway. People perceive me as some guy who’s important and shouldn’t be messed with. This detracts some of the usual paranoia that someone may feel about the subway. To work, I wear my striped shirt which is always neatly tucked into my dress pants. I wear a tie of varying colors and my usual black shoes. I leave my house at 7 A.M., but always make sure to wake up at 6:00 so that I can look suitable for the day. My commute consists of two simple transfers, but all the trains I take are crowded. I walk from my house to 96th Street, where I take the 2 or 3 trains to Times Square. From there, I take the shuttle to Grand Central and the 4 or 5 trains down to Wall Street. While taking the train, I can tell that I behave very differently than when I am at the office. Although there isn’t a large chance I get robbed, I still walk surely and keep me head held high. My arms swing by my side, and I make sure they look completely natural. I barely notice anyone on the subway and pretend to be a stuck up businessman. After all, am I ever going to see any of these people again?

 

***

The MTA officer stands up. She’s amazed for a couple seconds, and then her face returns to its normal expression. She proceeds to interview other people.

I start down to the platform. I check my phone. Only 7:28. I can still make it to school on time.

I rush into the train and get a seat.

People are so different on the subway. Some of us realize it, and some of us don’t. We can choose to completely ignore others, like James, or we can think about others, but put our best interests first. Most people think that no one remembers anyone they see on the subway. This is true, unless you see them more than once. I didn’t realize that some of the people I noticed have noticed me too and know as little about me as I know about them. People are so different when they think no one notices them. They can turn into their worst selves. Because of this, the relationships between people who take the subway together is not good–but it does make for an interesting story.

 

Geneta-landia (Part Two)

16 April 5042

Central Breeding Center

New Johannesburg, UNoA (United Nations of Africa)

A doctor in white scrubs progressed among the tanks. He took a look at the cardiographs for each patient and saw that they were running steadily. Beep, beep, beep, beep. He saw a nurse and said, “Are the new ones ready for inspection?”

“Yes, doc,” was the reply.

A cart full of screaming babies, suspended in a fluid, rolled on its own accord, and a robot hoisted a baby up to the light, staring at it intently with one electronic eye. The robot then said, “Not suitable.” It killed the baby with a laser and threw it down a garbage chute. It then picked up another and said, “Suitable for second-stage testing.” Another robot, whose arms ended in a giant bassinet, rolled by and the robot dropped the baby into it. He then went back to surveying the rest of the babies.

The robot with the bassinet rolled down hall after sterile hall. Eventually, it came to a door. The door slid open with a chuff and the bassinet robot was admitted to a room containing hundreds of thousands of individual cribs. The robot with the bassinet dropped each baby into an individual crib, which was then sealed by a glass top. Another robot pressed a button and a cool computerized voice said, “Pain test, level one.” Electrical volts shot out of the side of the crib and the baby began to scream and cry. After five seconds, the computer said, “Results are being sent to doctors for analysis.” Then, “Endurance test, level one.” A wheel shot out of a crib and an arm pushed the baby into it. The baby began to crawl faster and faster. Then, the baby stopped. A cool computer voice said, “Overwhelmingly negative results. Disposal process initiated.” A needle punctured the baby’s thigh, and a clear fluid shot down the needle. The baby’s face seized, it began to shake, and, suddenly, there was no movement.

Three rows over, a baby had completed that task and was moving onto the next test. A cool computer voice said, “Cardio resistance test, level one.” A lamp came over the crib, and the crib began to heat up. A screen next to the crib read the temperature. The temperature jumped from a comfortable 70 degrees, to 90 degrees, to 112 degrees, to 190 degrees, and the baby began to pant. The cardio monitor beside the bed began to go crazy: beepbeepbeepbeepbeeeeeepbeepbeepbeeeeeeeep. The beeping was no longer steady; it was getting higher and higher. It climbed to incredible levels before being replaced by a flat monotone: booooooom. The line on the screen was flat. Again, “Disposal process initiated.” There was a flash of light and the baby was gone. Simply disintegrated.

Meanwhile, upon completing these tests, those who had passed them successfully were sent in for actual testing by a human being. In this new room, babies were subjected to visual inspections of all areas. They were tested for genetic compatibility and, if the results were unfavorable or average, the next procedure was the sterilization of the genitals, which was done by simple x-rays. If the genetic combinations were extraordinary, then that particular human being would be allowed to reproduce sexually, which was a long-lost luxury for much of the world’s population. Upon the completion of this simple procedure, the babies were subjected to yet another visual inspection. When this was completed, the babies were transferred to a holding pen, while genetic makeup was analyzed. This was done by a combination of a computer and a human reviewer. The computer would perform initial analysis and then the human would finalize. Upon the human finalization, the babies were transported to an adoption center.

 

17 April 5042

Central Adoption Area

The completion of the genetic tests took a day, but, when that day was completed, the babies were transported to the adoption center in the morning. In the adoption area, babies were kept in rooms according to one of four races, each of which was carefully curated by those who combined the genes to make the babies in the first place. The only four races which were allowed to live on were Caucasian, Asian, Middle Eastern, and Black. All other races and their minorities were exterminated by simply not including genes to produce them anymore. At precisely 9:00 AM on the 17th of April each year, the public was admitted to the viewing rooms. If a couple or single spotted a baby they were interested in, they would take the baby into a playroom to have a trial. If the baby had the desired genetic characteristics of that particular family, the baby would be taken home. If not, the baby would be returned to the main adoption center. The adoption center would be open for twenty-four hours, seven days a week from the 17th of April until the 24th of April. Any babies who were not picked by that time would either be exterminated or called to complete early army training.

 

18 April 5042

Sana’a, Yemen

People bustled in the streets. It was sunny, and above all lay the symbol of the Genetic Covenant. The supreme leader/Dontar of the Genetic Covenant was the leader of the world. This began years earlier, when ISIS was vanquished in 2025. In order to prevent the entrance of any more extremists, it was decided that they would simply stop breeding extremists. From then on, all reproduction was tightly controlled by the Genetic Covenant to ensure that no more terrorists were bred into the world ever again. People were still allowed to worship as they would, but their loyalty was above all to the Genetic Covenant, by genes. The Genetic Covenant was created with the Genetic Accords in Yemen in 2011. They would come into effect when Al Qaeda/ISIS/other Islamic extremist groups were vanquished from the world. The Genetic Accords were signed in secret by all of the great powers, spearheaded at the time by President Obama. Then, the Minuteman strike paralyzed most of the terrorists. This meant that the Genetic Accords could now go into effect. The first Breeding Center was opened on June 5, 2025 in New York City. To the creators of the Genetic Accords, it was important that one of the world’s most powerful cities would be the first to adopt the program. President Trump did not agree with the Genetic Accords entirely, believing that there should be a limit on Muslim genetics as well, basically eliminating Muslim genes from the world. However, Secretary of State Rex W. Tillerson stopped the measure behind the President’s back. This saved a race. The United Nations set about directing nations that were not on the Security Council to begin using the program.

 

19 April 5042

122 Freedom Street, New Johannesburg, UNoA

Jane and John Petersburg played with little baby Yohan without knowing what her true purpose was. Yohan was one of the New Ones — a race of superhumans under genetic modification at the United States Genetic Labs in Washington D.C. in the United States of America. The superhumans not only combined the perfect genes of humanity, but also the strongest. There was a plot.

 

23 April 5042

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C. 20500

White House, Oval Office

President Alex Sarappo LXX stared up at the portrait of President Washington, which sat right alongside the portrait of President Obama. He could have sworn that President Obama winked at him. He stared down at the briefing once again and sighed. There were anti-geneticists. But how could there be? The human race was so perfect with the genetic modifications. How could anyone be opposed to such a perfect society? He left the office, shaking his head.

 

700 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C. 20408

National Archives, Rotunda

President Sarappo LXX walked into the Rotunda, accompanied by seventy guards who all wore suits with earpieces and dark glasses. He stepped up to the Declaration of Independence and the guards stepped aside. The doors parted and the Declaration of Independence was exposed. The President read for an hour and then he ripped the Declaration down.

“But, sir!” yelled one of his guards. But it was too late. The president took out a cigar lighter and set fire to the Declaration of Independence.

“Let it be known that I am the top. In the name of the people, I choose that I should dictate to the people. I order the destruction forthwith of the Constitution and the undoing of all its principles. Now, I briefly declare martial law to have you do one thing: knees, now.” And everyone kneeled.

The president stamped a foot and said, “Now, hail me.”

 

24 April 5042

New Johannesburg

The CNN broadcaster finished his report with, “This report has been approved by the new IPG and Sarappo the Great. I will not be executed for broadcasting this material.”

Jane put a hand to her head and said, “So this is how freedom dies. This is how the world’s greatest democracy falls. They told us it would be perfect. They told us the world would remain a democracy. They told us that we were beyond all of this. They told us that genetics would make our world perfect, but purity in genetics leads to dictatorship. The Dontar remains democratic so that the entire world is not a dictatorship, but absolute power always corrupts absolutely. It never goes as it does in the movies. It never goes completely. It begins with the slightest rot in one organ of the machine.”

Her husband sighed.

 

25 April 5042

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington D.C. 20500

White House, Oval Office

The Speaker of the House entered the room, thumping his fist on his chest before extending his arm and bowing deeply. “Mr. President, sir.”

“No one call me President. Execute this man immediately.” A secret service guard in suit and tie and dark glasses ran in. He had a needle at the ready and the man was executed on the spot, his last expression one of bewilderment and his last words, “Why?” It was in this way that the United States was “cleansed.” The developments in the United States were reported to the Dontar, and he attempted to make a change in the United States. He ordered the President executed by the United Nations immediately. It was set to occur on the occasion of the President’s first address to the people. The President would then be replaced by an interim leader, until fully democratic elections could occur with the only person prohibited from running being Alex Sarappo LXXI, because it was considered that Alex Sarappo LXX would be dead.

 

27 June 5043

1600 Me Avenue, Sarappo City D.M., 20500

Imperial Palace Lawn

Alex Sarappo LXX emerged from the palace gates. He was in a black car, which was surrounded by motorcycles, on which rode guards in military fatigues bearing assault rifles and other automatic weapons, including even a tactical nuclear missile launcher. He stepped down from the car to an ornately decorated podium where two men and two women bowed to him. He waved his hand and, all of a sudden, a silent maid gave him a bowl of fruits. He tossed one into the pyre beside his throne and took a bite out of another, feeding the rest to a monkey perched on his right shoulder. He said, “Citizens of the Empire of Sarappo. 3,000 years ago, when this country was still a democracy known as the United States of America, my great ancestor Alex Sarappo worked at an organization called Writopia Lab. This organization was a think tank which provided quiet, uncensored writing spaces for free speech. This is what I have eliminated for you. Things are better when I make decisions for you. My great ancestor would never have wanted what I have done, but I have done what I have done, and I have risen this family to a position of power unoccupied by any other.”

As he began his speech, citing references such as “budget,” he said, “Why do you need budget when you can work for me and only have a pay of honor?”

In the rear of the lawn, two soldiers stood guard. One of them fell forward. The other, startled, said, “Jacobs!?” He too fell to the ground as three people in black military bodysuits rushed across the lawn. Darting between the revellers, who stood in fear and happiness before the emperor, they attempted to move unseen. They soon reached, however, a line of imperial guardians, which they darted past, but the guardians began to fire at them. One of the men fell, blood spurting from a hole in the back of his balaclava. The other two attempted to continue, as people around them yelled wildly, “For the empire!” and tried to grab them for the soldiers to shoot.

Emperor Sarappo grabbed a pistol and shot one of the remaining two through the skull so that blood and pieces of brain splattered through the hole in his head. Meanwhile, the remaining person attempted to shoot Emperor Sarappo, but failed as he was shot three times in the back and three times in the head simultaneously by Emperor Sarappo and an imperial guardian. The Emperor said, “Send the Dontar my withdrawal notice. We are coming after them. We can defeat them!”

 

20 July 5043

Central Breeding Center

New Johannesburg

Yet more babies were undergoing tests as the robots brought them through the Central Breeding Center. One of these babies was a baby named Jonathan. To be more specific, Jonathan Bletchley Smith II. He was just an innocent babe in those times, but he would grow to pass the tests and save the world from the tyranny of the United States. A buzzing robot came to take him to the Central Adoption Center, and this was the beginning of a new life.

 

21 July 5043

The Mansion, Sherwood Dr, Bletchley Milton Keynes MK3 6EB, UK

Bletchley Park

Jonathan Bletchley Smith II sat in a sitting room at Bletchley Mansion. This was his mansion now. He had a staff of over 1,700 people to take care of his every need. But this was truly his base of operations to focus on something larger: the maintenance of the genetic system and the rescue of his Yemeni relatives.

Sun filtered through a gap in the velvet curtains. He stared at a computer screen as though willing all the work he had to do to go away. But it wasn’t budging. If you got in this business, you had to do the work that came with it.

Yemen had fallen to the anti-Geneticist rebels, but, again, why would anyone rebel against such a perfect system? In most situations that are dystopic, there’s a restriction of personal freedom, but there was no such thing in this system. Everyone was allowed to live as they would, with undesirables executed at birth, with nothing more being heard.

Suddenly, as he pondered this deep question, an air raid siren sounded. At the same time, his computer began to go crazy, popping up with an alert that there was a nuclear bomb attack inbound. Jonathan was curious: had the rebels really gotten this far already? If they had gotten this far, he himself would have lost confidence in them long ago. He got up from the chair and strolled leisurely to a massive door with seven wheels on it. The door swung open as he stepped inside of it. He retreated down a stairway as the alarms followed him, watching flashing sirens on the walls. A voice came through the alarms: “Under attack. Warning. Under attack. Please seek shelter immediately. You will be alerted with a blue alert tone when everything is all clear.” The voice repeated this over and over again as he hurried down dark stairway after dark stairway. Upon reaching a dark concrete room, he assumed the proper hunkered-down position. He watched what was going on above on a television screen and wondered exactly why they sounded the alarm.

Suddenly, the voice came through again, “Drill. Drill. Personal message: ha ha, I’ve got you thinking you almost died!”

Jonathan asked, “Who are you?”

The voice replied reverberatingly, “You shall never know exactly who I am, but you may refer to me as the Harvester, the Protector, the Seeder. But you can call me Joe. I have come to your planet to play practical jokes because I’ve got nothing better to do after the first war three millennia ago. I can control all of your systems and humans and animals like they are rag dolls. So you are basically a giant, I believe you call it a ‘Lego,’ set. I shall be playing more jokes on you later. Goodbye.”

 

22 July 5043

Sarappo City D.M., 20392

1 One Guy/Girl (depending upon the gender of the Presidential Regent) Less Powerful than Me Circle (formerly 1 Observatory Circle)

Presidential Regent Joan Alchmire looked out the window. She wondered, “What is my place in all of this? What is my place in Emperor Sarappo’s regime? Am I supposed to be his secretary, something for him to parade around and put on display? But he has given me the power to do this.” The Regent suddenly called a number of the Imperial Marine Corps officers to stand. A number of officers arrived. “Now, officers,” she said, “Do jumping jacks!” They did jumping jacks. When they were finished, she said, “Grab a random person from the street, arrest them, and bring them to me now.”

When a poor looking man in a jacket who smelled strongly of cocaine and heroin arrived, she said, “Knock him in the head.” One of the officers obediently grabbed his pistol and slammed it into the side of the poor man’s head. “Now, shoot him.”

“Of course,” said a Marine. There was a silenced shot that sounded like a polite cough, and then there was a sickening crunch as his shoulder bone shattered and his arm hung limp. The man screamed.

“Shoot him in the mouth,” screamed the Presidential Regent. There was another polite cough and blood poured from the man’s mouth as he fell to the floor. He was unable to make any sounds, but his eyes conveyed a world of pain. “Now shoot him through the top of the head.”

“Of course,” said the Marine sergeant. He pressed the gun against the small of the man’s head, and there was the sound of an even more muffled polite cough, as the man adopted an expression of shock and fell forward like a stone. She turned away, feeling satisfied.

 

12 December 5043

Sana’a, Yemen

Unknown location  

On a street corner in clear, cool Sana’a a stone building sat abandoned. A dilapidated, illuminated sign said, “مقهى سياحي! نحن نعرف اللغة الإنجليزية جيدة! رخيص! رخيص!”

Another sign next to it read, “Tourist Cafe! We Know English Good! Cheap! Cheap!” It buzzed on and off with the frequent power outages. The last occupants of the building had forgotten to turn it off, but the power failed so often in Sana’a that it was like it was off permanently. Inside, there was a 3092 year old layer of dust covering everything. Since the building had gone unoccupied, there were rumors that it was haunted or occupied by hermits. As these rumors were proven to be untrue, squatters had moved in and out again. However, there were some lasting fixtures, such as metal tables and chairs. Impaled in one of the metal tables was a fragment of paper yellowed and degrading with age. It read:

?اقتلني

A man sat and stared at the paper. A light briefly flashed as he took a picture with his phone.

 

8 November 5044

Sarappo City D.M., 20392

1 One Guy/Girl Less Powerful than Me Circle

“Do you know what this is?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Emperor Sarappo.

“This reads: ‘Will you kill me?’ Forensic analysis has confirmed our suspicions. It’s from over 3,000 years ago, in 1951. We believe that this is our trail to the elusive Jonathan, and that Jonathan is, in fact, the great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great great grandson of Jonathan Bletchley, founder of Bletchley manor in Milton Keynes in the state of England. Jonathan Bletchley II is one of the greatest supporters of the Dontar, but if we turn him to our side, I believe he will be amenable to assisting us, because he thinks that the Genetic Program will lead to great things. Now we know the last name of this early instigator, and we can look through civil records from that time to determine his personal details.”

“Then go ahead and do it,” screamed the emperor. “What are you talking to me for? In fact,” he yelled, “someone get in here and shoot her!”

A sergeant ran into the room and read as fast as the fine print in a car commercial, “You have been charged with direct treason against the state. Under penal codes 5420 & 541204422, you are sentenced to death.” There was another polite cough as though someone had a question, and the Presidential Regent fell to the ground, her eyes glassy.

 

9 November 5044

Libreville, Gabon

Gabon was one of the few countries in the world poor enough to not have a long-range spaceport, which catered to destinations such as New Congo on Ganymede V. The only transportation fixture was an airport, dubbed Libreville International Airport, or “the place of the steel birds” by native people. Jackson Dueter got off of a flight on a supersonic Concord XVII from Bangkok. It reached cruising speeds of around 17,000 mph, which was escape velocity for chemical rockets back in the 2000s. This meant that the flight took 22 minutes. Upon arrival, he was waved through Customs and Immigration, because even in those days, authorities were easily bribed to ignore the fact that there were 100 assault rifles and a small number of tactical nuclear missile launchers in his suitcase. He stepped out into the heat and briefly contemplated holding a taxi driver at gunpoint before deciding it would be more productive to pay. He jumped into a dilapidated GCM (General Communist Motors) Eagle, which was made in the Soviet Union in 1998. He practically screamed at the driver, “Get me to the city center! Now!” The driver was tanned and wore old camouflage fatigues. The car stank of urine and years of having just enough care to keep it working for thousands of years.

When he arrived in the city center, he jumped out of the car and bounded toward a door. He pounded on it with a brass knuckleduster three times, rap rap rap. He then did two quick taps: taptap. A voice came through the door, saying, “Kodi inu bwenzi kapena mdani?”

To this he replied, “Palibe ndine wosakwatiwa.”

The voice came through the door again, barely audible over hysterical laughter, “No, you idiot. You just said you weren’t married! You were supposed to say, ‘I am not a foe!’ or ‘Sindine mdani!’”

“Fine, fine. Just open the door and don’t make a big scene for the police,” whispered Jackson. The door silently swung inward, as someone within stepped aside to allow Jackson in.

“Now comes escalation!” said Jackson as he slammed his fist on the table at which they were sitting by the fire.

 

14 November 5044

Sarappo City D.M., 20001

148 Lack of Freedom St.

A black hover vehicle touched down on the tarmac. Its windows were tinted, and inside it was lusciously appointed. But its luxurious appearance hid a far more sinister purpose. This was a car which was converted into a tank with assault rifles and grenades. A police officer walked by and got a faceful of acid paint that started to melt his skin and skull, as he screamed ever so briefly before falling silent because his mouth had melted away. Soon, the car drove away, as the heap of police uniforms and bubbling acid fizz sat on the ground. Beside it was a post-it note: “We are coming.”

 

Geneta-landia (Part One)

12 April 1959

Sana’a, Yemen

Unknown Location

Jonathan stepped into a doorway– above which a sign read, “مقهى سياحي! نحن نعرف اللغة الإنجليزية جيدة! رخيص! رخيص!”– murmuring, “Hello?” He was quickly met with a sheet of paper reading, “ من أنت؟ ما أنت” هل ستقتلني؟”. He responded by writing a single line of text on the paper: “انا صديق”

 

2 May 2011

Washington, D.C. 2202

The Pentagon Situation Room

President Obama put a hand over his head and sighed. “It is done.” He repeated this over and over in a whisper, “It is done. It is done. It is done. My God. It’s done.” He ran out of the room, taking the stairs at a run. The Marine sentries nodded as he ran out of the West Wing lobby, toward Marine One. The stairs of the helicopter were down and he jumped inside, followed closely by his two daughters. A car would be arranged for Michelle, he knew. He yelled at the Marine sergeant at the door, which was totally outside his usual custom, “Get me to Andrews now!”

“But sir,” a Marine sergeant, whose nametag read “Johnson,” exclaimed, “you are not scheduled to go anywhere, and you have a meeting with Queen Elizabeth tomorrow!”

“I don’t care,” yelled Obama. “Get me to Andrews now. That’s an order. A direct order!”

The Marine sergeant snapped to attention and closed the door, yelling, “All clear!”

Obama sat in his chair. “Thank you Johnson,” he said, before sighing. “This is a matter of utmost importance that only a few know. Only Secretary Clinton knows the true intent of my visit, and I’m afraid that a sergeant’s security clearance does not warrant my telling you anything. Just please get me a bottle of water, and alert Air Force One to fuel up. We’re going to Yemen.”

 

Five hours later…

President Obama sat aloft on Air Force One, sipping his coffee. He looked at a folder, which lay on the desk. It said, “TOP SECRET: OPERATION ULTRA (Uni Lateral Tactical Robust Attack).” This document is protected with a radio seal that is monitored by the Pentagon’s Central Document Recording Office. If the fingerprints left on this folder do not match those of the president, the folder will immediately self destruct. President Obama pressed his thumb to the folder and pulled it open. The top document was labeled, “Vacation.” The document under that was labeled, “Possible Trajectories for a Nuclear Missile Strike of 30 Minuteman III missiles on Syria and Northern Saudi Arabia: A Study by the Global Strike Command.” He looked at the map. In 21 days, pending Congress approval, the entirety of the Libya/Syria area of Africa, Yemen included, would be a radioactive wasteland. This was part of a mission, a mission to save the human race.

 

A Town with Nowhere to Cry

I woke up with a deep, solemn feeling. Opening the drapes to see the gray sky didn’t help my spirit, nor did it help that it was a Sunday. I put on my slippers with a slow creak of the floorboards, each screech giving off a sound of desperation. As if someone were calling for help on a depressing day. If only I could make that sound.

I decided to go downstairs to have breakfast. I tampered with the word “breakfast” in my mind. Breakfast. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Three times a day, every day. Sow the needle, weave the thread. Why waste all that food on a depressed person? Why? I got out of my mind zone, disturbed by the sounds of my two adolescent children coming downstairs and starting their daily complaints. For now, I’d have to leave my question unanswered. They sat down, confused about whether they wanted to eat cereal or eggs, and I just stared at them. I watched them move their mouths in silence. I looked at them and felt something that was a long time overdue. But it seemed as if I couldn’t quite get a hold of that feeling, as if I couldn’t hold on. The feeling so many people yearned for. Love.

 All of a sudden, they turned to me, as if asking me a question I hadn’t heard. Then the interrogation began. They asked me if I had signed their school papers, gone to the store to buy them what they needed, and washed their clothes, but I just simply shook my head and said no. Then they just stood up and threw themselves like a bunch of parasitical people on the couch.

I got angry and frustrated but not because of them, mostly because of my depression. Thoughts raced through my mind, voices telling me wrong and right, making me feel like a crazed lady. I was having a war between mind and feelings inside my head while my children argued with the least of care. I was overwhelmed. I screamed inside my head for everything to stop. And just as suddenly, everything did. Everything was silent, even my children. I had screamed out loud. My children looked at me with stunned faces. I excused myself, got my coat and purse, and walked towards the door. I got up because I didn’t want my children to see me cry, and I didn’t want to seem like the sensitive mom who always needed attention. I didn’t want to make them feel bad. I kept on walking towards the door while my kids asked what was wrong. I denied their care and said I had forgotten something at a friend’s house.

I went to the car and drove. Then I burst. I just started crying. I asked myself, was it because of me? Did I do anything wrong? If not, then why’d he leave me? Alone. I was crying so hard, taking quick hiccuping breaths to at least manage a constant flow of air. But my throat was just so clogged up with a feeling, that my stomach had a bunch of tears just waiting to flow through my eyes. My stinging, burning eyes. My throat stung, but I kept on driving. I drove and I drove until it was too unsafe to drive with such emotion. I parked myself randomly. I didn’t know where I was, norr did I care.

After time had passed, a policeman came up to me. At first, it was with hard emotions, which then softened after seeing my tear-stained face. He said that he had been called by the house’s owner saying that there was a suspicious woman parked at their house. People during this time period were dangerous and cautious in my country. He asked me what had happened, and I told him I wanted to be alone and cry. He continued to ask why, but I just shook my head. And I just kept replying that I wanted to be alone. The policeman got tired of me and got straight to the point. He said I could do anything I wanted, just not here. I would have gone to a park, but the policeman advised not to. He said to go to a church.

I looked at the time with a slow bob of my head, noticing that all churches were closed at this hour. Was there no place to cry? Was there no place to feel sorrow? Already embarrassed and with no more options, I went home. My children were at the table playing an old card game that I had shown them. Beuda. That’s when I decided that I wanted to show my children more than just a card game. I asked if they just wanted to have a nice Sunday. They smiled, grinning ear to ear. Then I felt that feeling again. But this time, I held on.

 

Garrett Tropical

Finally, I was shipped to a store, a deli in Brooklyn. The first day there was boring. I was stuck in a pack with my cousins, and they were really big pains. I watched customers come in and out, grabbing the Cinnamon family and the Strawberries, where my best friend Joey was. Then came those from the richer parts of Gumville, where the Spearmints and all the other mints lived. From the town next to us, more shipments came in to the same deli. This went on for a week until a boy came in and picked my pack up.

“How much for this?” He asked.

“$1.75,” the owner said. The boy handed him the money and left.

I was carried uncomfortably for a while into a loud area. Then a train, which I have seen in Gumville before, came roaring in. On the train, he opened up the pack and grabbed my parents. I screamed, “No!” but of course only my cousins could hear me. The whole day, I was worrying about what happened to my parents. Later in the day, going back the same way we came, I remembered my last moments with my parents. My cousins, all of them at the same time, were picked up next. I was horrified that I was the last remaining member of the Tropicals. That night, I was put in the boy’s mouth and chewed for two hours before he spat me out of his window. It was very uncomfortable.

I was on the ground for about twelve hours. I could not sleep thinking about what had happened to me. I got stuck on somebody’s foot, and I couldn’t believe my luck. His shoes seemed brand new because of the smell. Then I saw the logo. They were Jordans. They were my first pair of shoes. In Gumville, I had won them in a contest. They gave me a forever-colored ability, too, so I wouldn’t look like tar in a couple months. I enjoyed my new life for a couple of days until he found me while he was showing off his new shoes. Horrified, I started to scream. It turned out he was big on not littering. He put me in a tissue and carried me into a school. There, he put me in a urinal. This experience was terrible for me. I had yellow liquid sprayed all over me for what felt like years, even though it was only a couple of hours.

A janitor, whom I knew from my studies at school, had come. He scrubbed and scrubbed until I was unstuck. Then he threw me in the trash. Right then, the garbage truck came and tossed the trash, including me, into a giant open space. A gatorade bottle started talking to me about how a really famous basketball player named Carmelo Anthony drank his insides.

We exchanged our stories, and soon we were best friends. We traveled for about thirty minutes until we were all picked up in our bags and carried to an unknown destination. I was sick of being handled like this. I said goodbye to Gator and slipped out of a little hole I was sitting next to. I used my telepathic powers to ask my old friend Wendy to blow me to a truck. Once there, I relaxed until the truck started moving. It stopped by the water and I inhaled the fresh air. Suddenly, I wasn’t stuck anymore. I felt around and, in moments, I was already stuck again–this time to Skechers.

“Crap, Skechers!” I said in an exasperated voice. The person sat down on the grass, but then noticed me and started to pick me off. Thank god, I thought.

This thing came bounding towards me. It was actually extremely cute. I think it was either called a Don or a Dog. It licked me, which kind of tickled and I laughed, but then I realized that it was trying to swallow me. I struggled with all my strength and put a hole through myself. Relieved, I started to relax. Having a hole through you isn’t as bad as you would think. My rest was soon interrupted when Skechers man picked me off with a plastic bag. He carried me over to another trash can, which wasn’t too bad. The plastic bag introduced himself as Plas Ticbag. I told him my name was Garrett, and we soon started talking about our journeys to the trash. We made our journey to the sanitation department. As we got close, I peeked out of the truck and spotted my friend Gator. I felt overwhelmed with joy. He looked like he was in pretty bad shape. We hopped out and made our way over to him.

We asked if he was okay and he responded, “I just haven’t slept in a couple of days.”

The next day, when we were all rested, I explained my plan to them. Then, I texted a garbage alert to the rest of the garbage in the US. Gator, Plas, and I saw our first target. It was a young worker at the department. I went towards him with my friends. Plas quickly jumped onto his back and enclosed his head. He started shouting. Gator hopped in and crammed his mouth. Then, I stretched myself across his nose. He quickly couldn’t breathe. Two minutes later, we had killed him.

“Good job boys, we can take these humans,” I said. “Here is where we go next. There is a garbage convention in Nepal. We can get onto the flight in someone’s luggage and stay with them until we are in the place they are staying. There are cardboard boxes over there. We will hijack them and roll to the airport. This particular airport is about ten minutes away.”

At the airport, we looked at the screen and saw that there was a flight for Kathmandu leaving in twenty minutes. I saw a man heading towards security. We could get in his open briefcase and get to gate G5. We made our way over to it and climbed in. I glanced at the papers inside and realized they were nuclear codes.

“We have to steal these,” I told them.

This would cause national devastation. Five minutes later, we were through security. We hopped out of the briefcase with Gator hiding the codes inside of him. We walked to the gate and spotted a kid with an orange suitcase.

“This looks good,” I said to them. We snuck in and made ourselves comfortable. About thirteen hours later, we arrived. We stayed inside until we approached what sounded like a hotel.  Then the suitcase got opened up and we were spotted.

“Back to the trash for us,” I said. We were put in a trash can, but almost as soon as we got in we were out in a dump truck headed to the convention. Perfect, I thought, already on our way.

At the convention, I recognized a lot of my former friends. I then took an old mic and yelled my plan out passionately.

“We have to stand up to these humans! They treat us terribly and murder our families. GARBAGE FIRST!” I screamed.

Then I got the biggest round of applause I had ever gotten. A couple days later, we owned Nepal. Next stop Beijing. In Beijing, the humans put up much more resistance, since they had heard what happened in Nepal. They were armed with garbage spray. This was a deadly weapon used in the first garbage war back 371 years ago. We will succeed where our ancestors failed, I thought to myself. My great-great-grandfather was the leader back then. Then I thought, This is for GG Grandpa. Suddenly, I snapped back to reality just as a human was spraying Gator with garbage spray.

“No!” I screamed as everything went into slow motion. Gator was dead. “Revenge, revenge!” I screamed, rallying the new recruits. I jumped up on the man who had killed Gator, almost instantly stretching myself out to wrap around his neck and choke him to death.

This was a turning point in our victory in Beijing. We lost thousands of soldiers but defeated Beijing. Our quest to take over Asia had just begun. We paraded through the city, the streets now filled with our superior kind showing off human heads. Humans feared us. We came to new cities and villages sparing some human lives so we could test out new weapons in death camps. I did have a soft side in me. I spared all kids.The kids worked for us in return, spying on the humans, relaying to us vital information about the humans’ weaknesses. Every place we came to we destroyed, leaving devastation everywhere.

The one place I decided we would leave wholly normal was the USA. We would settle in across the country. When we finally arrived back in NYC a couple months later, I started to settle in Brooklyn. The humans had already evacuated the city upon hearing that we were coming. I then thought to myself that we had done it; we had conquered the world.  I started to pass time by joyriding around in Lamborghinis. Eventually, this got boring and I started taking employees. We were starting to recreate the world.

 

Art is Dead

“Oh, and in this cool anime, I watch… ” Jessica droned on.

Simon had stopped listening a while ago, but there was no point in ruining Jessica’s perfect Valentine’s Day. Simon was less interested in the painfully boring play-by-play commentary on his girlfriend’s day and more interested in a pink sock lying in the middle of a patch of grass.

The crisp green was glazed over with residue from the morning chill, looking comparable to a skinnier Guy Fieri with more personality. Unlike the grass, the sock was neither ice-tipped nor crisp; it was soggy and dull, like Guy Fieri’s god-awful hor d’oeuvres.

It was out of place, like bacon covered in various lukewarm food items. “Bacon covered in various lukewarm food items” also happened to be the hors d’oeuvre that Jessica had ordered for Simon without his consent.

Jessica stared keenly into Simon’s soul as he took his first glance at the atrocity. She scanned for any sign of dislike that she could capitalize on to release the tropical storm of the century — her overall view of their relationship onto the barren tundra that was Simon’s innocent perception of their seven-month adventure.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what, exactly?” Simon replied, a pinch of fear in his voice.

“All of it. You hate me. You despise me. When you look at me, you can’t hold back your gag reflex. I’m the worst! This relationship is over!” Jessica stormed out of the small, cozy cafe, knocking over the wooden stool she was sitting on.

As per usual, Simon wasn’t listening. He had now cast his gaze on a wilted rose that was sprawled on the sidewalk, a seemingly meticulously placed metaphor that concludes a fictional, contrived story.

 

The Heroic Person Who Survived a Plane Falling on Him

Tuesday, 9th of August, 2016.

At 13:33 PM, a plane falls out of the sky at high speeds, causing severe injuries.  

United States – New York – Queens – JFK

13:22 PM – Delta Airlines Flight 19 is almost finished boarding 324 people. 287 of those are passengers on a flight en route from New York, JFK Airport, to Honolulu, Hawaii. The estimated flight time is about 13 hours and 32 minutes. The first officer-in-command is 72-year-old John Smith. He has accumulated 43,272 flight hours under his belt, including 25,000 flight hours in the 747. He has been flying with the airline for about 63 years, making him the youngest pilot on Delta Airlines. 67-year-old co-pilot Frederick Ahmad, who has been with the airlines for more than 50 years, will be flying this leg of the journey, until they reach mid-way to their destination. Then, Smith will take control. Ahmad has about 30,000 flight hours under his belt, including 7,000 flight hours in the jumbo jet.

The two old men check the exterior and find nothing wrong with the outside of the plane. As people board the flight, they start the ignition process and the takeoff procedure to get the plane off the ground. The flight engineer, Jacob David Mink, has been a flight attendant on Delta Airlines for about 54 years and used to be a pilot. He loves his job. The relief officers are Zane Hamdan and Milo Hamdan. They are brothers that are both interested on airplanes. On the fourth hour of the flight, they will take over the controls of the massive jumbo jet and let the two senior pilots take a rest in their bunks.

But, none of this will happen. The flight will last less than 45 seconds.

Pilot Smith: Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen; this is your captain speaking. We’re running on schedule, so we’ll get you up in the air in about five to ten minutes.

13:27pm: Delta Airlines Flight 19 lines up for position on Runway 22R for departure. They request takeoff clearance.

Delta Airlines Flight 19: Control center JFK, this is Delta Flight 19 requesting takeoff clearance 22R.

Control center JFK: Delta Airlines Flight 19 cleared for takeoff 22R.

Delta Airlines Flight 19: Control center JFK, thank you. Is the runway long enough for our departure?

Control center JFK: Yes, it is. It’s about 20,556 feet long. You have plenty of room for your takeoff roll. Fly a heading of 350, turn left over the Atlantic Ocean, and make a final right turn to your destination.

Delta Airlines Flight 19: Have a good day. Thank you.

This is the last transmission heard from Delta Airlines Flight 19.

Captain Smith: Flight attendants, prepare the cabin for departure.

The cabin dims, so the pilots have better radio contact with the control center.

Finally, Captain Smith pushes the four engine throttles all the way up. In ten seconds, the aircraft reaches the maximum takeoff and Captain Smith pulls back on the controls. The nose of the plane points up at an angle of 20 degrees.

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 0…

Captain Ahmad: V1, Rotate.

With Captain Smith in control, the passengers and the crew members have no idea what trouble they will run into. At about 13:32 PM, with 17 seconds, Delta Airlines Flight 19 powers into the sky with four big engines, about 71,000 pounds of takeoff engine thrust and a speed of 250 knots. Flight 19 leaves right on schedule from New York’s JFK airport. The temperature outside is 29 degrees Celsius (84F).

The takeoff roll is completely normal and no one has the slightest clue that something will go wrong. Among the passengers, Massachusetts native Rachel Platten is on board today’s flight to perform for the beach festival that happens every August.

As the flight climbs to 39,000 through the clear skies, suddenly, something catastrophic occurs. The pilots are startled from a loud bang throughout the cabin and cockpit. It shakes the plane so violently; the pilots cannot get control of their aircraft. The state of the art Boeing 747-400 is in a deadly troubling situation.

Captain Smith: What the hell happened? I have no control of the aircraft. Do you have the controls?

Captain Ahmad: No!!! We are going to crash. We are going to crash!!!

Autopilot off!

Captain Smith: At least we are flying.

Flight Attendant: BRACE! BRACE! BRACE! BRACE! STAY CALM! EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY!

In the cockpit, the pilots are knocked out because the cabin becomes depressurized, and they are completely unaware of the oxygen masks that came out.

The lives of 324 passengers depend on the experienced pilots. The pilots are powerless; the plane erroneously flips over into a 270- degree bank and the aircraft’s speed increases 50 mph per second. The steep bank puts so much stress on the frame of the plane that it completely flips into a full, 360 degree bank and tears all four of the engines off the enormous jet’s wings. The captains face a myriad of problems. Secondly, the plane’s wings fall off and burst into flames. The ailerons are stuck 15 degrees and the right, and left, part of the rudder won’t move.

The plane is dropping 685 feet per second and will soon slam to the ground. The jet is crippled. Thirty-five meters below the crippled jet, people on the ground have no idea what they are about to witness. About five seconds after the death dive and a 360 degree flip, the plane rips apart. Seats eject from the aircraft, and the cockpit’s controls fly out the glass cockpit window, breaking the glass.

Automated System in the cockpit: Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up!

Finally, the plane suffers a massive, explosive decompression and finally slams to the ground of Astoria Park at a speed 1,052 mph. The passengers onboard survive the plane crash but will face serious injuries that will take years to recover.

Samuel Sklar is the first victim to be hit from the burning, crippling jet that falls from the sky.

 

Twenty-Four Hours Later – Madison, WI

Bill Nye: So, Samuel, you were on the news yesterday, and I want to interview you on what happened in the Astoria Park Crash.

Samuel: Well Bill Nye, I was in a traumatic state when the aircraft hit me. I was riding down the hill when, suddenly, I felt something very massive hit me, and I fell off the scooter. I tried stopping myself with my feet, but I hit my head on the ground, twisted both my wrists, sprained my ankles, and fractured all 10 of my fingers. Before the aircraft struck me, I heard a loud bang in the sky, but I didn’t have the slightest idea that an airplane was going to crash. When the debris fell on me, my body went into shock. It was completely out of nowhere, and I did not expect what would happen to me on that fateful afternoon of Tuesday, August 9th, 2016. When I fell and injured myself badly, I was sad because it was the day before I went on my trip to Madison. I was also petrified and frightened because I wasn’t with my mom. I was only with my friend’s mom.

Bill Nye: Would you sue Delta Airlines for crashing onto you?

Samuel: I would not sue Delta Airlines for the accident because it would not resolve anything and, second of all, that would be taking things way too far. Third of all, that would be a waste of money for the airline.

Bill Nye: What would be the next step?

Samuel: I think the next step is to have a serious conference with the airline and file a complaint against the Boeing company because the Delta plane that crashed was a Boeing 747-400 and Boeing made the series.

Bill Nye: Well, Samuel, this was a great meeting with you. Get some rest.

 

THE END

                                                                                                       

Green Grass

         

47

The elk stood together. The forest around them was covered in a thick blanket of snow. One doe stood away from the rest of the herd. Her coat was wet from the snow collecting on her back. The breath of the elk gave the area the illusion of smoke rising. The crack of a branch sent all ears facing the old oak that had given up one of its limbs. Its branch lay. The oldest doe turned her head and walked out towards the river.

The rest of the herd followed the eldest does, then their fawns, then the young bulls. Most of the elk were starved, only the fawns of the matriarchs had full stomachs. The elk trudged through the three foot snow banks. The elk were two miles from the river. At the river, the snow was not as deep, and the herd could easily get to the grass that laid in waiting. For thirty minutes, the elk moved in the powder snow, moving their heads at the smallest sound of a bird singing or a chipmunk running up the tree.

When the herd had finally reached the river, they rushed to the bank, drinking. The cold  wind blew across the water, creating ripples that splashed the thirsty, till they could no more. Most of the elk had slipped away, into the dense brush surrounding the river bank. Three of the herd members stood, watching over the thicket that the group laid in. It was late November, and many packs of wolves were prowling the area to feed pregnant females.

The sun had set on the cold land, and the elk huddled together in the snow. As the snow storm got stronger, and the night got darker, the sound of the forest, breaking, scared the animals. In the morning, the forest was quiet. Nothing moved. The elk herd made their way back to the area where they had bedded down the night before. The elk sniffed around the area for anything interesting. The scent of death hung in the air. The group looked to see one of their own, dead, lying on the ground. Frozen in place. The blank eyes stared towards the river. A young fawn, only about five months old. The herd, unable to understand what had happened, moved on. All moved on, except the elks’ mother who  hung back. She would later die too, most likely from wolves.  

 

44

The cold wind kept blowing, and the elk were forced to move to a warmer area. The town of Bozeman seemed the only place. As the herd moved on, the wind and snow picked up. They  walked toward the town, but stopped at the edge of a cul-de-sac. The people, who lived there, went out of their warm houses to view the beautiful creatures. As the sun set on the town, the lights of the shops came on, and people started to move about. The elk, scared from the movement, moved farther out of town. The herd stopped, at the edge of a golf course, and settled in for the night.

The herd woke, with a start, as gunshots fired. They turned and ran as a man, in a golf cart, came at them, holding a rifle. He yelled at them, and they pounded the ground, sprinting to the town. They ran, oblivious to the the highway in front of them. The sound of metal on fur stopped the animals dead in their tracks. They looked at the road to see a young bull, lying on the side of the road. They continued to move to the plains.  

 

43

The snow kept coming, and the winter was long and hard. Death was always an enemy, hanging there, waiting for the weak or the sick to come to its gates. As the white turned to green, the mood of the forest and plains grew happier. The Spring and Summer was the best time for the elk. Babies were being born, and the air was sweet with the singing of birds. As the months moved on by, the herd grew with every passing day.

 

52

As the sun set on the beautiful day, the elk settled in for the night. They sat under the brush and saw the light fade away. The old cow stood alone in the green grass.

 

The Golden Book

All I knew was that it was a job and that I was looking for a job.  

When I saw the ad in the newspaper, all it said was: “Tutor needed for the son of Mr. and Mrs Ordake.” They were paying a lot of money. Well, I was a teacher, so I applied for the job and somehow got it!

So the next day, I caught the bus uptown. I arrived in the fanciest neighborhood I had ever seen; even the squirrels had bushier tails and walked like they owned the world. I even thought I saw one with a necklace. I followed the directions, from the letter they sent, and walked the few blocks to get there. Number 23 was just as big and grand as the other houses on the block, trim and elegant. I nervously walked up to the door, picked up the stone knocker, and tentatively tapped it against the tall, oak door. No one answered. I knocked again, this time louder, then a little louder. Finally, I heard footsteps. Smoothly, the door opened, and a man in a dark suit stood in the doorway.

“Are you the new tutor?” he asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“This way.” He gestured me inside.

I walked in. I tried not to stare at the crystal chandelier and the plush red carpet. I knew they were rich, but this was unbelievable. The man led me up five flights of stairs and into a small room with a bed and a desk.

“This is where you will sleep. You can put your bag in here.”

I did so and followed him, down three more floors, into a humongous room strewn with toys and video games, and shelves filled with more toys and games, and on one wall, a gigantic T.V. with millions of remotes and DVDs. And there, lying on the bed, was a skinny little boy with mousy brown hair and dull green eyes.

“Give me cake now!” he ordered.

“And this,” said the man, “is your pupil, Allen.”

Later, I learned that his mother and father were always too busy with their work to pay any attention to him. Mrs. Ordake was an extremely successful businesswoman, and Mr. Ordake was a famous actor. I’m not saying they were bad people; it’s just, if they had paid more attention to their son, he might have not been, well, such a brat. Allen was very spoiled; his parents gave him ridiculously high amounts of money and hired servants that would do whatever he wanted. But, since his parents neglected him so much, I was sure he was a poor, misunderstood child.

“So, how far have you gotten in math?” I asked Allen the next day.

“None of your beeswax,” he muttered.

“Yes it is. I am your teacher.”

“So.”

“So, you need to learn, and I need to teach you.”

“So.”

“Please, stop saying ‘so’!”

“You’re saying it too.”

“No, I’m not.”

And that is how it went, over and over again. It was very, very exasperating. I missed my grandmother. I took out her last gift to me, her (now my) book. When my entire family perished in a bizarre accident, my grandmother passed the book on to me. I was alone in the world now, with no money–that’s why I had to take this blasted job. The moment before she died, in the hospital, she told me to be careful and heed any warnings the book said. The book’s cover was made out of solid gold. There were two pages torn out in the very beginning. I could have sold the gold and gotten out of there. Instead, I had opened the book. Inside the front cover, there was a short message:

Be careful what you write, for it will become your reality.

That’s strange, I thought, but I didn’t really worry about it. It was probably just a quote. I placed the book on my bed and hurried downstairs to supper. I was down there longer than usual because Allen would not eat anything, except for candy, and when I asked him to please, eat some real food, he stormed upstairs. After I finished my meal, I went up after him. He was in his room writing! I couldn’t believe it! After all these weeks, he was finally putting pen to paper and forming words; it was a miracle! Allen looked thoroughly absorbed in his work, so I left the room, not wanting to disturb him.

The next morning looked to be a promising one. The sun was bright, and there were just enough clouds in the sky. Allen did not whine once during breakfast. After breakfast, for once he seemed eager to start his lessons. In fact, he asked if it was okay if he worked on his writing. It was amazing. He was abnormally focused.

“Can I see what you are writing?” I asked.

“No,” Allen said.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because, I don’t have to.”

“It seems to me that you don’t want to show me it. So, why don’t you want to?”

“Well, why should I?”

“So I can help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

I sighed; this kid was very stubborn. I glanced at the book he was writing in; the cover was solid gold.

“Allen,” I said, “where did you get that book?”

“I found it.”

“Where?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because that is my book, and you need to give it back right now!”

I stood up and extended my hand. Instead of giving it to me, he took off, running down the corridor. He was faster than me, so he beat me to the door and ran outside.

“It’s too late!” he yelled. “When I am done, you will never order me around again!”

This did not sound good. I wanted to run after him, but he was already too far away. I searched for the rest of the afternoon. Then I told Allen’s parents, (they hadn’t even noticed) who then called the police. I think they felt guilty. But, who could be sure? They never said anything to me, so I stayed at their mansion without their knowledge. After a week went by, without news of Allen, I started to look for him again. I needed to stop him, and I needed the book back. I didn’t know what it did, but I knew it had fallen into the wrong hands. I searched for about a week. I read the newspaper every day, trying to find news of him. Eight days after Allen ran off, it was reported that leaders from all over the world started to go missing. I never thought Allen would be behind it.

One night, when the air was particularly crisp, I came back to my room to find the door open. Through the door, I could see the window also wide open, with the curtains blowing in an unmistakably creepy way. I rushed inside. I have heard that the simplest mistakes are the worst ones, and I definitely saw that. The person who had opened the window was still in the room. I had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Allen was behind the door. I turned around to face him. He was holding the golden book, my golden book.

“Allen,” I said with all the calmness I could muster, “what are you doing here?”    

“You’re the only one who can stop me. For this, you will die. My parents never noticed me; I spent my whole childhood trying to get their attention. But this, ruling the world, will get their attention.”

As he went on and on, about what he would do once he ruled the world, I started to think. There was no way to stop him, unless the ripped out pages. . . I wondered . . . suddenly I understood how it all happened. I had seen Allen writing in the book. What if what he wrote somehow came true? Or, maybe the book had taken over his mind. Back to the ripped pages, if I could somehow tear the pages out, maybe… maybe everything would go back to normal. But, how would I get the book out of Allen’s hands? I decided to go with instinct. While he was distracted, (yes he was still talking) I lunged at the book. I grabbed and, as quickly as I could, opened the book and ripped out the pages. The world was spinning round and round; it was over.

 

The next week (after I had guilted Allen’s parents into paying more attention to him):

“So, Allen where have you gotten so far in math?”

“Not so far.”

“Okay, let me help you with that then.”

 

THE END

 

Bewitched

Maya energetically scrubbed down the counter of Witchcraft Bakery, limbs sore from a long, tedious day of work.

Only six more months working at this hell-hole, then I’ll have enough money… And people won’t suspect what I am as much一I mean, who names a shop Witchcraft Bakery when witches are treated the way they are?

Maya would know, she was one herself. Her fingertips itched to cast a spell that would make the counter shine in a matter of seconds, but she knew it was too risky.

With that in mind, Maya continued her task, spraying a few more drops of bleach on the unclean, metal surface. There were still a few more hours before closing time, but Maya’s eyelids felt as heavy as lead.

She swiped a hand across her sweaty forehead, trying to ignore the ache in her arms. All of her coworkers were either on break or simply ditching, so Maya was alone in the shop. It was up to her to clean, serve customers, and man the cash register. Fortunately, there were no customers in line at the moment, so she had taken this moment of respite to tidy the area.

The bells over the front door chimed, signaling someone had opened it and entered the bakery. Maya glanced up from the counter, her eyes meeting those of the stranger who stood in the doorway.

He was tall, dark-haired, probably around sixteen, with fair skin. His cheekbones were high, and his nose was angular, perfect for looking down at people.  Beneath dark, bushy eyebrows were cold, brown eyes, which penetrated Maya to the core. She shivered, face blazing.

She searched the boy’s face for any trace of revulsion at the sight of her, but his face remained impassive, thin lips drawn in a straight line.

Well, he sure was good at hiding his emotions, Maya bitterly thought. Her reflection shone in the bright metal of the counter. Her long, black hair, her tan skin, green eyes. Her freckled nose, and her red lips. But, her features were often ignored, obscured by the scars, sores, and red, angry burns on the right side of her face.

Maya tensed as the beautiful boy walked toward her. She subconsciously brushed her hair in front of the scars and bowed her head.

“Welcome to Witchcraft Bakery,” she began neutrally as he reached the counter. “What can I get you today?”

“A chocolate chip cookie and… A date with you,” was the answer.

Maya’s head snapped up in astonishment, meeting the boy’s eyes. Something told her he was used to getting what he wanted.

“I-I’m sorry?” she stuttered, sure she had heard incorrectly.

Her cheeks heated up even more than they already had.

“You heard me,” smirked the boy, raising an eyebrow. “A date with you.”

“A…What?” gaped Maya.

The boy laughed softly.

“You know what? We can forget about the cookie. How does the date sound?”

Maya hesitated, examining him from head to toe. When she said yes, it was for all the wrong reasons.

* * *

As Maya scavenged through her nearly empty pantry for food, the events at the bakery, a few hours ago, really began to hit her.

She had been asked out on a date.

Her first date.

And it had been by a complete stranger. And she had said yes.

Maya still remembered the boy’s satisfied smile as she agreed. She knew his type. He was the kind of boy who always got girls on the first try, and then dumped them after the first date. She had seen him scan the place, lips curling in an expression of disdain for a second, before turning neutral again.

“Then, it’s a deal,” he had said.

He had dropped a business card on the counter. As he passed the cash register, he had dropped a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar, winking at Maya one last time, before exiting the bakery.

Maya stopped her search for dinner to go to her purse, taking out a crisp twenty, and a now-rumpled business card. She unfolded the card, rereading its content, and debated whether to laugh or cry at it.

Call me, it said. Underneath it was a number, and the name Gregory Oktresson.

And twenty dollars could probably keep Maya going for three days, but he had dropped that amount in a tip jar as if it were nothing. In fact, that was the main reason Maya had agreed to the date with Gregory in the first place. Yes, his charming smile (and adorable dimple) had played no part in convincing her.

Well, almost no part. But, that was beside the point.

You see, going on the date with Gregory could very well bring Maya’s plan to an early end. He was rich. Maya, or just about anyone for that matter, could tell. Perhaps it was because of his silky, beige coat, and the way he was always flicking invisible specks of dust off it. Or, maybe it was because of the way his black dress shoes were so shiny, you could have seen your reflection in them. Of course, it could simply have been the way he stood tall and straight, and looked at everyone condescendingly with his hooded eyes. The way he had just seemed out of place in the small, mundane bakery. He was like a jewel in a pile of cheap, plastic beads.

Maya was going to get close to him. She would make him fall in love with her, she decided. She would be the very first girl he brought on a second date.

And when their relationship was serious enough, Gregory would begin to give her money. And Maya would begin to ask for more, subtly, of course, until he eventually gave her enough to hire a private detective. Then she would dump him, and he would never see her again.

In this way, Maya would finally find out who had killed her parents.

With that, she continued preparing her dinner.

* * *

Maya swore. She was certain she still had a loaf of bread in one of the cabinets, but apparently, she was wrong. All Maya had left now were three apples and half a bag of Fritos. She quickly devoured one of the fruits and a handful of the chips.

Her stomach grumbled in protest at the incomplete meal, but Maya ignored it. She was used to it anyway. When she was fourteen, Maya had escaped her foster home and come to the city. She had saved up enough money to make all of the fake papers and IDs she needed to survive alone as a minor. Maya had rented the apartment she was currently staying in from a family who owned it. They hadn’t glanced twice at her false papers, and had barely asked any questions. Since Maya could cover the rent with her paychecks from Witchcraft Bakery, the current setup worked for the family as well. She knew this couldn’t last forever, but she tried not to think about it, pushing the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her head.

For now, all Maya could do was live by her motto, never let your guard down. If she trusted the wrong people and was found out, they would do things to her…

Like they had done to her mom and dad.

***

It was a normal December evening, and the little girl and her parents were eating dinner in the kitchen. The atmosphere shifted in a matter of seconds. One moment, the three of them were chatting and laughing around the table; the next, the little girl’s mother was grabbing her arm and turning deathly pale.

“Maya,” she whispered urgently, “There are some bad people coming to the house. I need you to pretend you’re playing hide and seek with us, only this time, it’ll be a little different, okay? You can only come out when you don’t hear anything anymore.”

The little girl wordlessly stared up at her parents with wide eyes, sensing something was wrong, but unable to understand what it was. Her father squatted down in front of her, and for the first time, the little girl saw fear in his eyes.

“Honey, you have to do what Mom told you. These people coming are bad guys. If they find you, they will do bad things to you; they hurt people like us. You need to hide, okay? Do you understand, Maya?”

The girl nodded.

“But, will Mommy hide with me?” she whispered. “Will you, Daddy?”

Her father was silent. The little girl looked up toward her mother. She was looking out the window, hands clenched around the windowsill and muttering words under her breath. The air seemed to be shimmering around her mouth. She looked toward her daughter, eyes filling up with tears, but never stopping her chant.

The little girl tottered toward the window in uncertain, meandering steps. She saw the bad people. There must have been around seven. They were all dressed in black, facial features completely concealed. The two leaders of the group carried maroon staffs topped with strange, silver symbols, in their hands. They were trudging up the path to their house.

“Maya!” half-whispered her father, “Come with me, now!”

He forcefully grabbed her arm and led her to the living room.

“Daddy?” asked the little girl, tears spilling over her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing, Maya, nothing,” he replied.

He pushed away the rug covering the floor of the living room, revealing a small trap door the little girl had never known was there. It was not very deep, but relatively wide.

“You need to stay in here until it’s silent outside,” ordered her father, hiding his desperation behind a calm facade. “Remember, Mommy and I both love you very, very much.”

The little girl felt her father’s lips on her forehead one last time, before he wrapped her up in his arms and lowered her into the little alcove. She met her father’s eyes one last time before he slid the trapdoor closed over her, engulfing the girl in darkness.

It was almost pitch black in the shelter. The little girl was scared, but she knew she couldn’t cry. She had to be quiet, or the bad guys would find her. She curled up into a ball, shivering with cold, and fighting against the tears. Where were Mommy and Daddy? When were they coming back?

The shelter was almost completely soundproof. The little girl could feel the vibrations of heavy footsteps thundering over where she was hidden. She shrunk into the shadows even more. If she strained her ear, muffled shouts and crashes could be heard.

The relative silence in the shelter was broken by two screams. Two inhuman shrieks of agony. They pierced the air, resonating through the entire house, their echoes following them long after they had died down.

The little girl wrapped her head in her arms, rocking her body back and forth, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, everything was silent. The little girl was thirsty, hungry, and sore. She could see a small crack in the trap door, so she reached for it, and pushed it open, some light filtering through, despite the carpet that still covered the entrance.

It was strange, she thought as she hoisted herself out, how hot it was all of a sudden. Then the little girl saw why. The living room was slowly being devoured by little flickers of orange light. She knew what they were—Mommy and Daddy had told her. They were flames. Fire.

At the thought of her parents, the little girl’s eyes anxiously darted across the space, ears straining to catch sounds around the house, other than the crackling of the fire, but to no avail. Her tiny hands balled into fists as sweat trickled down her forehead and tears dripped from her eyes.

“Mommy! Daddy!” She cried, sobs shaking her tiny frame. “Where are you?”

The little girl tottered to the entrance of the kitchen, precariously avoiding flames that still licked the floor and blackened, fallen furniture scattered around the space. As the girl pushed open the kitchen door, a horrid smell assaulted her nostrils and she recoiled. There was still a fire burning in the kitchen as well. It was burning something, but it wasn’t furniture. A horrid feeling in the little girl’s gut told her what, or who, it was.

“Mommy! Daddy!” She yelled, the smoke burning her throat and eyes.

She stumbled toward the charred, unrecognizable masses that lay on the ground. The little girl didn’t realize that she was growing dangerously close to the fire, until it was too late. Her cheek grazed the flames, and that was all it took to send excruciating pain through every fiber of her being. She fell backward, clawing at her face, tortured howls escaping her mouth.

And then, she saw it. Half-melted, lying on the floor, feet away from her. Made of silver, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. She knew it belonged to the bad guys. Somewhere from within her pain-induced delirium, the girl’s fingers curled around the little crest as she committed the image of it to her memory forever.

The flame inside the seven-pointed star. Then everything went black.

 

A tear slid down Maya’s scarred, rough cheek as her hand closed over that same crest, and the cold metal dug into her palm.

* * *

Maya took a deep breath as the two uniform-clad men, standing at the mansion’s entrance, pulled open the shining double doors, bowing as she daintily stepped over the threshold. She carefully arranged her mane of hair so that it fell over the scarred side of her face. Hiding her trembling hands within the folds of her midnight blue gown, she attempted to calm her beating heart.

The gown, as well as her heels and matching clutch, had been gifts from Gregory. Maya remembered her phone call with him from a few days earlier. It had been short and sweet, with Gregory simply asking her dress size and then her address. Maya had answered him mechanically, any common sense she may have had before had flown out the window at the sound of his husky voice. All she knew was that the package containing her outfit had arrived in the morning, and a man driving a shiny limousine had stopped in front of her building, at a quarter past eight, precisely to drive her here.

Maya’s heels clicked on the wood floor as she joined a throng of glittering guests chatting underneath a magnificent crystal chandelier, that hung from the high ceiling and illuminated their faces with its warm, golden light. Her eyes darted around the large room, and her stomach sank as she realized that most of the guests were adults. Maya’s sweaty hands feverishly gripped the clutch as she walked around the room, inconspicuously trying to locate Gregory. Her gaze finally landed on him, and she hurried towards the corner he was standing in.

As if sensing her presence behind him, Gregory slowly turned around and offered Maya one of his signature smirks as she stopped by his side. Despite the warm air, a shiver snaked down Maya’s bare back as he appraised her from head to toe.

“I have to say, you do clean up well,” he stated, finally meeting her eyes.

“I-I wish I could say the same about you,” Maya managed to blurt, trying to maintain her stony facade despite her mind screaming quite the opposite—Gregory looked absolutely dashing in his black suit.

Remember why you’re doing this, she schooled herself. But Gregory frowned slightly and hurt flashed across his face at Maya’s sharp words. Her gut twisted inside her, and she nervously bit her lip. Had she gone too far? Would everything she had worked so hard for come crashing down because of a single rude comment? If something went wrong, Maya would never forgive herself. Neither would her parents.

A husky laugh with an undercurrent of disdain broke through her thoughts. Gregory stared down at her with mirth in his eyes.

“Gotcha,” he grinned, and Maya’s guilt was quickly replaced with anger, which only fueled her determination to bring her plan to a successful end. Now, not only would she use Gregory to avenge her parents, she would take pleasure in doing it.

The words Maya grumbled to Gregory next made a rather portly woman, standing near them, throw the pair a scandalized glance, before waddling away.

“You wound me, Maya!” replied the boy, sarcastically bringing a hand to his heart. His bicep flexed under the fabric of his suit, and Maya grudgingly decided that maybe the heat blossoming on her cheeks wasn’t completely due to the warm lights overhead. She was about to jab him with another sharp reply, when she saw Gregory stiffen slightly, and the expression slowly faded from his face as he looked at something behind her. Maya turned, and realized that a couple was advancing toward them, a man in a dark suit and a woman in a maroon cocktail dress, who looked so much like Gregory; they could only be his parents. Maya’s face grew hot as she looked inquisitively at him. Gregory threw her a quick glance before turning back to the couple and gesturing towards Maya, who suddenly became very focused on a patch of carpeting at her feet. Her heartbeat seemed to have tripled its pace.

“Mother, Father, this is Maya,” he quickly introduced her. “And, Maya, these are my parents.”

Maya peeked up at them from beneath her eyelashes, muttering an incoherent greeting.

If the couple had any thoughts on Maya’s disfiguration, they hid them well, faces remaining studiously unreadable as Gregory’s mother held out a hand for her to shake first. Maya nervously gripped it and let go almost immediately, a shiver snaking down her back. Something was wrong; a cloud of something dark and ominous surrounded these people, she was sure of it. And as Gregory’s mother retracted her hand, Maya saw it glittering on her finger.

Silver. A ring.

The flame inside the seven-pointed star.

 

Frozen

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ti–

That was his watch’s final breath.

Later…

Charlie froze. Something was off. Everything around him was slowing down. The other people on the sidewalk — they abruptly stopped. It was windy out just a second ago, yet, now it was dry. The wind — it just vanished. He was weirded out, although he assumed it was some kind of a prank. He looked at one of the people who was walking next to him. His face was expressionless. Charlie put his hand to the man’s mouth. He wasn’t breathing. Charlie walked to the person behind him. The person had the same expressionless face and wasn’t breathing either. Yet, both of them were somehow mid-walk.

“What is going on?” Charlie said out loud.

“Hello? Anyone there?!” Charlie screamed.

Charlie heard crying from up the next block. It sounded like a child’s cry. Charlie rushed to the street, seeing the cars all frozen in place. He ran between the cars as he saw a child running to him from up the avenue. He had a small, round face with a sad frown. He had dark brown skin and had a twinkle in his eyes. The child was holding a small action figure in his hand. He looked to be about eight years old. As the minor got closer, Charlie noticed his expensive watch. It was almost identical to Charlie’s watch. It had the same gold rim and leather strap. Charlie looked at his own watch. He found it wasn’t moving. The child saw Charlie looking at his watch and looked at his own.

Suddenly the world was full of life again, except for two humans. Two people–one man and one child– were now frozen in place, stuck on a busy street.

 

Please Stand By (Part One)

An audible click floated from the front doorknob; Julius grunted as he heaved a large bicycle, with fading yellow paint, through an inconveniently sized open doorway. After tossing the hunk of transportation to the side — making a crashing noise against the nearby wall; then it landed on top of his shoes — he carelessly shuffled through a pile of envelopes he had found in the lobby’s mailbox. He slapped the bills on the kitchen counter, moved aside the three-month late birthday card from a family member, and came across the last one.

It was an envelope of the lightest, faded brown. One could fit two of them on their forearm; the paper was wrinkled and whatever folded contents in there might not have been money, but nonetheless, it was thicker than any average handwritten letter. Of course, it had all the necessities of any letter: his name, Julius Coleman, his apartment number and address, 24 Quove St, Apt. 3-A, and everything else, except a return address. At least, a legible one. There was definitely something written on the top left corner of the envelope; it was written quite clearly and in the neatest handwriting, and Julius was sure he could read it, if he had recognized the language it was in to translate it. It looked much like Latin, with elements of other languages such as Hindi, Swedish, and even Japanese. Whatever this was, there was no turning back. Not a very good way to start reading an unknown letter, was it?

Julius stared at the envelope. His eyes were growing heavy, he had faced a tedious day at the office from God o’clock to six p.m. Honestly, he wanted to do nothing other than eat something from the fridge and sleep.

So, while logic screamed to stop, Julius ripped open the envelope. A folded piece of parchment was now in his hands, the same color as the envelope. Curly handwriting, a single sentence, lay on this first fold and face. Thankfully, this was in English.

Please take your time to have a good look at your surroundings, and remember them.

This had no point at all, it couldn’t have, but Julius had the urge to obey against all logical odds. He blinked, yawned, and moved his glance around the room he was in and the rooms that surrounded. Julius’s apartment was a palette of dull beige and canary yellow light, mixes of white, black, and an excess of gray. The rooms were simple, there weren’t many to begin with, and descriptions of any inch could not go far. In front of him was a black, dirty counter. Near that was the small refrigerator, containing not much but enough.

A table covered in magazines. A cabinet full of hair dye. A mirror near the jackets. Julius himself. Short, bright red hair, short and skinny body; that body wearing a plain gray T-shirt and khaki shorts with all kinds of pockets, completely matching the palette of his home.

It was nothing special. Why was this needed? Why was this important? Why did Julius need to look at some of the most boring things on the face of this Earth; why his home, his sources of enjoyment, himself?

He knew why when he opened the folded letter further.

Once you are done with remembering your surroundings and the world you once knew, please stay calm and know that you are safe, no matter the circumstance.

Something seemed to be stuffed inside his lungs; he was no longer able to breathe, and no longer able to see as all went black seconds afterward.

 

The True Tale (Part One)

Loud coughing filled the train car. Kat sighed, leaning her head against the advertisement for Samson’s Sandwiches. “New double-bacon combo available for only $3.99!” She looked up at the resting bitch face of the woman standing above her, who was scrolling through her phone. Kat unzipped her backpack and took out a bag of chips. She opened them loudly, shrinking under glares from phone-woman and a guy who forgot to plug his headphones into his phone.

Really, how could you miss that? And Beats weren’t particularly quiet either. Kat swallowed a Pringle and checked the red letters above her head. Sixteen more stops until Atlantic Av.

That was the sucky thing about going to a school for Gifted and Talented Young Scholars. You know, other than the mounds of homework and that one persistent nerd who always asked if he could have harder tests. (It wasn’t nurturing the brain or whatever other bullshit he had in his head.) GTS, the high school that Katherine Webb, “genius” sophomore, attended was approximately twenty-five subway stops from the obscure area of Queens, where she lived.

The good part about that? Extra homework time, you know, for all the crap that she was too lazy to finish the night before. The bad part? She had to wake up at 5:30 a.m. so she could leave at 6:15. I mean, let’s get real here. She didn’t really leave at 6:15. More like 6:30. That’s why her attendance record was going down the drain. But still.

Also, the whole subway thing in general was a bit tiring after you’d done it five days a week for a year. I mean sure, to tourists, riding on the Subway (to Times Square wearing an “I <3 NYC” shirt) was cool and exotic, but to Kat, it was annoying as hell.

And you shouldn’t get her started on the people. God. From the homeless people who yelled at you when you didn’t give money, to the woman who screamed at her kids on the train, to the man who took up four seats, it was too much to handle some days. Just the other day, a boy her own age had yelled to her, “Hey, sweetheart, drop the frown. What’s wrong?” Kat had thought that kind of behavior was reserved for creepy, old men, but now, future pedophiles were starting early. Kat had grimace-smiled and walked away, too afraid of the guy a full foot shorter than her to do anything.

The phone lady had dropped her phone into Kat’s lap. Kat handed it to her with a grimaceit was wet with her sweatand the lady snatched it up from her with a glare. Maybe it wasn’t just a resting bitch face.

Kat shifted her little purse to sit on her lap and shut her eyes. With probably an hour or so left of her subway ride, she might as well get a few minutes of rest.

As soon as she shut her eyes, however, she was awoken by a startling jolt of the train. Her eyes flew open, hands protectively flying in front of her bag of chips. But, once she saw what was in front of her, she released her chips, and the bag fell to the floor;  her mouth hung open.

Kat was staring at a blue wall, decorated with awkward family portraits and posters of random bands and TV shows. A Salvador Dali-style clock hung above a bulletin board with a calendar on it. A black beanbag sagged lazily against the wall; a light-oak wardrobe hung slightly open.

Kat’s stomach lurched as she stood up and turned around. The second wall held a long window with draping curtains against it, a closet door, and a cage which used to hold a parrot, but it was empty now. A dangerously full clothes hamper hung from the ceiling.

Kat slowly rotated around the room. In the wallright next to a bookcase and side tablewas a bed.

 

The same bed that she slept in every night.

 

Kat took a step backward and wondered how in holy hell had she ended up in her bedroom.

She looked down at herself. She was fully clothed, and she was sure she had put on her monkey PJs last night. She didn’t have much of a history of sleepwalking, and anyway, who got up in the middle of the night, let their chickadee out of its cage, put their clothes on, and woke up?

And seriously, who dreamed about subways? I mean, it was one thing to dream about killer robots, (her recurring nightmare when she was six) but the subway? Only the most mundane person in the world would have that dream. And she wasn’t mundane. At least, that’s what she liked to think.

(She briefly ran over the other options in her hand. Time travel, teleportation. Both not probable.)

Then, of course, there was the option that this was a dream. Again, pretty mundane. And this seemed pretty real to her. She gave herself a pinch, just to be sure, but all that happened was a throbbing in her forearm and a bruise in the same place. She blinked a few times, but nothing changed. Only the empty birdcage was in front of her, gently lit by the early morning light.

Or was it early morning? The light streaming through the curtains was unnatural, uncanny, too bright. Kind of like the lightbulbs that gave her migranes at school. The morning light was soft, gentle, and incredibly annoying when she was trying to get an extra two minutes of sleep.

She looked over at the clock on her bedside table. It was off. She kneeled down to put the plug into the wall, but the plug was still there. She fiddled with it for a moment. Nothing happened. Dad was always buying faulty plugs.

Kat crossed the room to the window and pulled aside the curtains.

The light outside wasn’t coming from the sun. It was bright, but not so much that it hurt her eyes. Instead of the warm yellowish color, it was milky white. She didn’t know what the light was, but it definitely wasn’t the boring brick wall of Mr. Morrison’s apartment building that she looked out to each morning. This definitely wasn’t the view from her window.

A door quietly closed behind her.

“Have you figured it out yet?” a voice from behind her said smugly.

Kat spun around and sputtered.

“Whatwherewho the hell are you?”

A girl stood in front of her, short and black-haired, leaning against the wall as if she owned the place, wearing a self-satisfied smirk along with her jeans and a T-shirt. She casually surveyed her nails, picking the nail polish off one. She folded her arms.

“That doesn’t matter,” the girl sighed. “Anyway, have you figured it out? You were being extremely slow. I can’t just wait around for you, you know.”

“Figured what out?”

Surprisingly, Kat was doing a good job at stopping her hands from shaking. The girl rolled her eyes.

“The door,” she said.  “You’re supposed to go through the door. It’s been, what, ten minutes, and you haven’t taken a step toward it. What kind of idiot opens the curtains before the door? I gotta say, I’m disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Kat asked, then shook her head. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Well, at least you have your priorities straight,” the girl said sarcastically, in the same voice Kat used when she argued with people, which was pretty rarewhen you looked past her startling hair, her height, and her death glares, she was pretty awkward.

Except, apparently, when strangers broke into her room. Then she was in tip-top shape.

“What am I doing in your room? I’ll tell you what I’m doing in your room. I’m here to make you go through the door. You were being slow. I don’t have forever. Happy?”
“N-no,” Kat said, fiercely trying to keep her voice steady.

She pressed her hands together behind her back. Her entire body was shivering a little bit, but it wasn’t cold in the room, which was a rarityher parents both liked the house at below-sixty temperatures. It was the only thing the two actually had in common.

“Tell me what’s going on. What’s behind that door?”
The girl smiled mysteriously.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?”

She turned on her heel and opened the door, showing Kat a glimpse of the same brightness outside her window.

Squinting her eyes, Kat yelled, “Wait!”

The mysterious black-haired girl turned around.

“I told you, I don’t have forever-”

“This isn’t my room, is it?” Kat asked.

The girl rolled her eyes again.

“Genius,” she said, and then she was gone, disappearing into the white light that swallowed up her body.

The door clicked shut behind her.

 

Kat had said that she wasn’t in her room to the mysterious intruder, and she was certain she wasn’t.  Aside from what was outside her window not being what was outside her window, her chickadee, Oscar was gone, and her clock wasn’t working. Besides, the whole room was quiettoo quietnot full of the usual yells from her mom for her to get up, clean her room, do the dishes, or the insistent meows of her cat Lulu to get into her room. Obviously Kat never let Lulu in because she would eat Oscar, but it was mostly just because Lulu was annoying.

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t her room, and it definitely wasn’t her house.

Kat closed her eyes for a second, 99% convinced that this was just a dream, and she would wake up any second on the subway, holding her bag of chips. But, all that greeted her was the same room, lit by the same eerie, white light crawling through the curtains. Kat stared at the door, then back at the window. Kat wasn’t stupid. There was only one way out of there, and it wasn’t the window.

Kat grabbed the door handle. She had lost count of all the times she had yelled at characters in horror movies.

Don’t answer the phone! Don’t go into the basement! Don’t yell “who’s there?” Don’t split up! Don’t trust the mysterious black-haired girl who broke into your not-room and is telling you to go through a door!

But, Kat’s heart was pounding in her chest and something made her walk toward the door. It had gray marks on it from when her parents used to measure her height. When she was three feet tall, four feet, even five feet. Until they stopped caring.

Kat put her hand on the doorknob that was still warm from the girl’s hand. The door clicked as it opened, and Kat shut her eyes against the light that was so bright that she could see it behind her eyelids, but it was barely warm.

With her eyes almost shut, she reached out a hand into the light. Not to go through the door, just to test the waters. It was, indeed, warmkind of like a welcoming hotel pool, but thicker, more foggy than just air. Kat could feel wisps of fog curling around her hand, and then farther up her arm. She watched a thin tendril crawl up her upper arm with fascination, not even thinking to panic, until it reached her neck. She jerked away, startled, but the fog was stronger than it looked. Kat grabbed the doorframe as the fog tendrils that had crept up her arm reached across her torso, and other wisps reached out from the doorframe to latch onto her feet and slither up her legs.

Kat pulled her free arm away from the fog to grab onto her bedpost, but the rest of her body was being dragged forward. It had enveloped her chest, arms, and legs, and was inching up her neck. If she had wanted to go through the door before, she definitely didn’t now. In her chest, along with constricting panic, she felt- no, she knew, that what was pulling her away from her not-room was evil, something dark that made her heart skip a beat; Kat finally understood when characters in horror stories said they were paralyzed from fear.  

Her bed slid a few inches with the weight of her body being pulled away from it. Her hands, sweaty with panic, scrabbled at the post, trying desperately to hold on and drag her body out of the fog, but she had, after all, avoided gym class for six years. Her feeble arm muscles gave way and her fingernails scrabbled at the bed, leaving a long scratch, before fog engulfed her arm.

Her legs and torso had far passed the edge of the doorframe, her body wriggled aimlessly, devoured by the mist. It was uncomfortably squeezing her legs, but that was the least of Kat’s worries as she struggled to take a breath, her throat constricting with fear of the fog slowly covering her face.

Kat’s hand, now grasping at the doorframe, was nothing but the tips of fingers emerging out of a white cloud. Her vision was getting hazy, the outline of her bedroom getting fainter and fainter.

She felt as if there should have been some dramatic, suspenseful background music to play behind her as she felt her fingers get sweaty and her hold loosen from the doorframe. Striking chords echoed from the empty CD player. A chorus of violins grew louder and louder. She thought that, at least, the white mist should have made a sound, preferably a loud hissing or rumbling. But, Kat’s not-room was filled with only her ragged breath.

She knew that she could only hold on for so longat best, another minute. There was no chance of pulling herself out of the white cloud now, and even if she did, what would she do, bust through the ceiling? (Her not-room was unfortunately devoid of chainsaws and jackhammers.) The door was the only way out, even if the barely warm mist filled her with an undefinable chill.

So, Kat took one last look at her not-room and let go.

Instantly, a gust of white wind pulled her backwards and away from the door that she could barely see. It was more than free fallingit seemed a strong force was pulling her fiercely in one direction, faster and faster and faster and, whoa, she was getting carsick. Or mist-sick. Whatever.

Kat vaguely felt herself falling faster and faster. Her stomach was in her throatnot because she was nervous, just because she felt incredibly sick. (I mean, she was nervous too. Let’s get real.) She felt her chest constricting, not only from panic, but also from an invisible force that was making her head pound and throat squeeze.

And suddenly, it went from discomfort and dizziness, to each bone in her body being torn apart, smashed; her chest was being ripped open by a flock of mist-white birds with vapor claws. More pain than she had felt her entire life, each scrape and fall and twisted ankle, combined into something much worse.

And then it was over, and Kat was blisteringly aware of grass pressing through her shirt and sun shining behind her closed eyelids.

 

A Study in Self Titled (Part One)

She waits for a taxi. In that specific moment, or rather on that night itself, the world is drained of color. Or, maybe it’s filled with too much color. She can’t tell. No one can.

It’s not that big of a deal for some people. You see where I’m coming from, right?

In that moment, only little details matter. Her phone is dead. She ought to know why, but her friends have those answers. Her sneakers feel soggy, and water is seeping in through her socks, despite the fact that there is no rain. She could’ve stepped in something wet, but she really can’t remember. It’s as if she has just been born. Or reborn.

Across the street, a group of people are loading a coffin into the back of a hearse. She doesn’t know the man, or woman, but all of a sudden, she’s sad, and the morning sun comes out, nearly blinding her. Her hands are in the pockets of her hoodie, one clutching a folded up piece of paper and the other balled into a fist.

She has wanted to give Anita her letter, but Anita hasn’t been in town for two weeks. The thing about Anita is that she fills up the space of about twenty people. When she isn’t there, it’s as if the town is deserted, as if Constance is the only one alive and the only one roaming the streets.

When she had tried to explain the concept, of how wild it is to feel like the only person alive, to her friend, Harold, he had told her that that was “complete bullshit.” The only problem is that Harold says that about everything, so it kind of lost its meaning after a while, and it becomes harder and harder to tell if he really means it, or if he’s just drunk.

She’s so lost in thought that she forgets she has been gripping the letter with a force that she didn’t even know she possessed. She lets go. The apartment door behind her has been left ajar ever since she left, and she has been standing on the sidewalk ever since, mesmerized by the sunrise and the mourners across the street, who are now arguing in low voices about who should ride in the front of the hearse and who should be forced to sit in the back with the dead man.

The tallest man in the group, who looks like he’s somewhere in his 50’s, stares blankly at the ground, clearly in deep thought. The others are either sniffling into crumpled tissues or hugging each other, but this man seems to feel indifferent about whoever is in the coffin. Maybe it’s his worst enemy who is in that coffin, or maybe she’s thinking too much. However, she isn’t the only one who has a bad habit of doing that; everyone she knows is like that.

Whether it be by coincidence, or because she just happens to be living in one of the most run down places on Earth, it is true. The one who seems to overthink things the most is Anita. Constance would always get missed calls and frantic voicemails early in the morning from her, where she would ramble about how she didn’t understand the assignment, that had been given to her in her English class, and how her dad was mad at her. The voicemails usually only lasted around 30 seconds, and they always cut off towards the end, which Constance assumed was because Anita was still figuring out how to get her new phone to work properly. When Constance would call her back, she’d always answer in the same frantic voice, although she always sounded a bit calmer than she did before. Anita has a nice voice; everyone liked that about her. That is one of the things that Constance misses the most about her after she left, or rather disappeared.

No one can explain it, really.

But, we’re not here to talk about Anita.

The mourners across the street still haven’t moved from their spot, their feet still planted firmly on the concrete, surrounding the hearse. The trunk is open. Now it’s getting ridiculous. Are they just going to have a funeral out in the rain? It could be some sort of tradition, but no one wants to deal with a corpse left out in the rain, not even spiritual people.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh wow, I expected better from Constance. She really shouldn’t be making assumptions about strangers.” However, Constance knows what she’s talking about. Constance’s mother was a spiritual woman. She would preach ancient legends and light incense in the living room every other month and pull her daughter close, whispering phrases that no one could really comprehend. She didn’t think twice about it.

You don’t know Constance like I do.

The woman closest to the trunk slams it shut quickly, making a few of the other mourners flinch. She is wearing a long, black coat. There’s no fur on the coat, no fancy jewelry draped on her, just the sleek coat. A tote bag hangs by her wrist. Constance wonders if she bought the coat and the rest of her outfit specifically for this occasion, or if she had it before. Fashion is an abstract concept. The woman is rich. How do I know this? I don’t. But she looks like she is, and that’s all you need to know.

The rain is gone; the streets are still scattered with puddles here and there. There was no rain in the first place, but we, here in Mountain Oak, don’t like to assume. Our weather has been so unusual, lately, that anything is possible.

Constance sighs, stepping forward and looking both ways to cross the street. There are two cars parked on the street, none passing by at that moment, neither of them moving. Right foot, left foot. Before she can speak, or even think, she’s on the other side of the street. No cars whiz past behind her, and the absence of warmth is unsettling. She isn’t exactly face to face with the mourners, but is still pretty close. One by one, they begin to turn their heads, their gaze drifting from the coffin to Constance.

“Why are you here?” the rich woman asks, squinting her eyes with disapproval.

Constance does something, kind of like a shrug, in response to the rich woman. There’s a pause, not an awkward one, but one filled with deep thought. As if the rich woman is trying to figure out what to say next.

“Lydia, I can feel you glaring from here. Be nice. She probably just needs directions, ain’t that right?” a voice from inside the car booms as a man pokes his head out of the window, flashing a smile at Constance.

He has a thick, booming voice. A chill travels throughout her body. Not because of the way he talks, but because she’s never met someone so straightforward before.

“Not necessarily.”

There’s a thoughtful pause, and suddenly, he tilts his head to the side a bit, as if he’s about to ask a question. She steps closer, hesitantly putting her hand out. The driver probably thinks she’s going to shake his hand. That would be insane; they’re just two strangers on a sidewalk. He squints a bit, as if he’s trying to read her expression like you would read a book for English class. He raises his eyebrows for a second, and then nods.

“Do you need a ride?”

She looks back at the mourners, wondering why he’s so casual about giving a stranger a ride and abandoning the mourners that clearly need to get somewhere.

“The mourners do,” she whispers, and he smiles a bit.

“They’re family. I can send one of my other guys to help them. They’ll understand,” he chuckles, and Constance wonders if he can see the rich woman, who is crossing her arms and glaring in his direction.

They don’t seem that shocked; a few of them are being a bit too nonchalant about it. A few of them are staring at the sky, spaced out and suddenly far away from the small town. The rich woman turns her head. The engine revs up, and all of a sudden, Constance’s mind goes blank. She can’t remember what she was going to do before, or why she even walked up to the car. All she knows is that she’s getting into the back seat of the car, behind the man. Why does she do it? She has places to go. She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear as she looks up at the driver, or the back of his head at least.

“Your family must be really understanding if they’re okay with you just abandoning them to drop a random stranger off.”

She cocks her head towards the back, the people behind fading as the car drives on. No response, but there’s probably a good reason why he doesn’t answer. Something lingers within her, like she’s forgetting something, but that might just be her suspicions rising. As they’re driving down neverending avenues, it’s as if time doesn’t exist. Everyone feels like that at some point, and if you say you haven’t, you’re probably lying. Local shops fly past her, and in the back of her mind, memories are there. If she concentrates really hard, maybe she’ll be able to access them again. Pizza places, apartments, and bookstores all whiz past, a sea of color in a colorless town.

“So, lil’ lady, where are you headed? Most people tell me that I’m a pretty flexible guy, and these blocks are a lot longer than I remembered, so feel free to speak up and tell me when,” the driver booms, turning his head to flash a toothy smile at Constance, and then continuing to watch the road.

The world is becoming fuzzier by the second, and all of a sudden, she’s slumping down further into the back seat, trying not to fall asleep as she’s overwhelmed by fatigue.

“Tell you when what?” she mumbles, her words becoming more and more jumbled together by the second.

“You know, when to stop, when to go, when we get to where you’re going,” he responds, his tone of voice suggesting that he thinks this is obvious.

The streets are becoming less and less complex, the driver’s voice is fading bit by bit. The story goes on.

“Where are you going, anyway? Hey, are you still there?” his voice booms from the front of the car, disguising the hesitation he possesses.

Constance blinks, and the voices and places fade in and out. The streets don’t seem so crowded anymore. She takes a deep breath in, and she falls into a deep sleep, muttering something that sounds like, “I’m going to find my friend.” Or maybe she said something else, like, “I’ve finally lost my head.” We don’t know.

Maybe we never will.

 

Island: Horror

I wake up. The island is empty, and yet a low rumbling begins.  It startles me, waking me up from my deep sleep. Everyone else is gone, vanished into the winds. Chills run down my spine, and I tense, my instincts warning me that something is not right on this island.

I ignore my gut feeling. Logic, not emotion, is what will get me out of this nightmare. This horrible nightmare that left me here, alone, stranded. I have to stand up, go for help. I need to get off this horrible island.

This horrible island. I had read and watched so many movies and books about this type of situation. I will not end up like Chris McCandless, so seduced by the wild that he forgot common sense. I will not end up like the Andes crash survivors, who fed off human flesh and forgot their morals. I will not, cannot, end up like those pitiful human beings. I have to live.

I get up shakily, my legs weak. My mind flashes back to yesterday, was it just yesterday? It was just yesterday. I was with Nicole. Just yesterday I was going to see my child. I was going to live again, to be who I needed to be.

I banish those thoughts. I will get back to civilization. I have to. Not only for myself, but for the rest of the world as well. I’m going to be able to help people with my work. I’m going to be a star. I have to get back.

I look around me, my hands clenched into fists, my breathing unsteady. I’m mad that I’m here, outraged at the island, at fate that I’m here. I should not have been here, not when the world was going to be my oyster. I scream, a scream full of anger and outrage.

I scream for a bit, letting my frustration pour out of me till nothing’s left. I take a breath once I am done with my temper tantrum, and I scan my surroundings.

The beach we landed on is just one sliver of the island. A lush forest, only so far inland, awaits me, tempting me to go in. I take a deep breath. I could wait for the others to come back… or I could go into the wild.

I shouldn’t wait for the others. For all I could know, they’re in the forest. But what if they’re here? What if Nicole is there?

I should not wait. I have to get back as soon as possible.

I take my first step towards the forest. The sand is red, I notice dimly. As concerned as I was with making it to the forest, was it that color when I arrived? I take another step, and another. Then my foot hits flesh.

I scream, my fists clench, my mouth drops open. I step back and see the body I had stepped on.

It is Nicole. Her body is covered in blood, the insides ripped out, her heart next to her, half eaten. The look on her pretty, pale, face is one of horror.

I scream again. As I look up, other bodies line the beach. I did not notice them as I was warped in my thoughts, but now… now I can smell the stink of rotting flesh, hear the buzzing of flies.

How had I not noticed? This was something that I should have seen, should have been aware of. I look around slowly, really looking at the island. Who are all the rest of the bodies? I gasp as the answer comes to me.

Everyone who had been on the lifeboat is dead, all of them looking like Nicole, their bodies mangled, their hearts chewed up and spitted out. My stomach churns at the sight. I want to throw up.

What could have done this to them? I wipe my mouth, trying to cover my scream. Whoever had killed them would surely come back to kill me as well. My hand comes away with blood that is not my own.  

I stare at it, not comprehending, at the blood, and the black fur that is growing on my hands. An epiphany makes my eyes go wide.

My scream echoes throughout the island.

 

Channel Flipping

The first thing I register in the morning is my head. It’s pounding like the bass line of an AC/DC song. My throat is parched. The next thing I realize is that I’m not alone. My arm is wrapped around a female, her hair spreading over the pillow case. I jolt, my eyes flying open, my head banging the metal railing. Ouch.

The girl’s eyes don’t open, but she turns, seeking body heat. She nestles into me, and I curse the world.  She isn’t any girl. She’s my arch enemy, the one drives me insane, basically, the bane of my existence. Why is she here?

***

Dull.

***

The girl is crying. Tears are slipping down her cheeks, her eyes are red. She falls to the ground, her knees hitting the dirt with a thump. Her hands are covering her eyes. She is a pretty, young thing, but she looks awful, like she is half-mad. She screams, her keening sharp with pain.

A black casket is being buried, its mahogany lid closed and sealed. Dirt is being thrown onto it. The sky is grey and stormy, and it looks like it’s going to rain.

***

Roll Eyes.

***

“You want me to what?!” Maria yells at the Speter.

“Yeppers.”

“You. Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

Maria starts, then stops to take off her armor.

“Do I have to?”

***

So. Last. Year.

***

“That Bunny wants to kill us?” she whispers, but her voice cracks at the end, going higher.

The bunny flicks its ears at the sound.

“Keep your voice down!” he whispers angry. “The Rabbit of Dall has amazing hearing!”

“Really?” She rolls her eyes as she says this, but her voice is noticeably quieter.

“Yes, really.” The third person speaks up.

Her eyes flash under the black hood she wears.

“And are we going to kill the thing or what?!” The hooded figure stands up, her cape whirling around her, the sword that she wore at her side raised…

***

Boring.

***

The woman is lying on the couch, her blond hair lying on the arm of the couch as she flips channels. Everything is old, everything she has seen before. She’s watched every action movie, seen every tragedy, heard every variation of boy meets girl. She’s so tired. This was supposed to be her escape, but it’s too much like work. No, it is work. She’s been doing this for ages. She sighs, the noise echoing in the still living room.

Viktora comes in from the second room, her limp audible. Viktora throws the soft drink at her, which she catches without looking.

“So, your reflexes have come back?”

“Yeah.”

“My limp is still…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave. ”

“I know, I know.”

***

O-kay.

***

The Television is a work of art in the technological world. It is a masterpiece of looking into worlds without disturbing them, a keyhole into what-could-have-been.

It’s perfect, except in one respect.

Whoever watches it would see only what their world could have been.

And sometimes, see their own.

 

Not So Perfect

Chapter 1

On May 18th, 1999, Julie’s life changed forever. She moved. It was the most horrible, rotten day ever, according to her. But for her parents, it was great! They were finally going to get rid of Julie! The puffy, blonde-haired brat would be out of their lives forever. They had been forced to take care of this horrible girl for twelve years.

“Come on Julie! We are going to miss your train!” her mom, Thelma, shouted.

“That’s the point,” Julie grumbled, scuffling her feet as she dragged her suitcase into the foyer.

“Oh sweetie, you don’t mean that!” her dad perkily said. “We know you want to move just as much as we want you to!”

Her father lugged the suitcase into the car.

At this very moment, she hated her parents more than she thought was humanly possible. She looked up from her bright pink hightops. The corners of her mouth pricked up a little when she saw what her dad was lugging into the trunk of the car.

“Ugh, Julie, what did you put in this bag?! Bricks?”

“Yes,” she said under her breath.

“Well whatever you packed is not our problem anymore,” Thelma chuckled. “Let’s just get in the car.”

“Okay, Mummy.” Julie smirked. She was trying so hard to contain her laughter.  If her parents were going to get rid of her, they would have to deal with extreme pranks all the way to the train station. And when they ate dinner. And when they went to walk their dog Fido. Her parents named him that. Julie hated it. It matched the neighborhood she lived in. Or used to live in.

Boring, happy, and perfect. Everything was the same. The neighbors were always nice. The houses all matched. All the lawns were cut 1½ inches off the ground. Julie had measured them on one of those perfect days.

Julie thought aloud to herself, “Would you be surprised if I told you that half of the dogs there were named Fido? No? Well, to add to that, the other half were called Skipper.”

She thought her life was like The Truman Show. Ever since that movie was released last year, she had watched it eighty-seven times. It was her favorite movie ever! It was because she related to Truman so much. He was stuck in a boring town that wouldn’t let him leave. Except she was being kicked out.

By the time Julie snapped out of her daydream, they were pulling into the train station. She saw all the cars in perfect rows. She was glad to be going.

“Bye mom! Bye dad!” she shouted gleefully. When she got out of the car, she closed the door really slowly. Just as she was boarding the train, which arrived at 10:45 on the dot, she heard it. BOOM!

Yes! The firecrackers had gone off at the perfect time! After the joy rush wore off, she realized the fun was over. She leisurely sauntered onto the train. A few minutes later, right on schedule of course, the train pulled away from the small town she used to live in. The beautiful trees turned to shrubs, the houses became more and more scarce, and the sky lost its baby blue color.

 

Chapter 2

As much as she tried to hide it, she was going to miss her perfect town. She was undeniably sad. She knew why her parents sent her away, but they would never admit it. Julie tried, she really did, but she could never be like them. It was too… well, perfect! Nothing ever went wrong.

A couple hours later, the train slowed to a stop. She stepped on the the rickety platform. She saw a sign that said, WELCOME TO MANIFEST. FOUNDED IN 1804. The “F” in “MANIFEST” had fallen off, and the “T” looked like it was trying really hard to hold on. You could tell that the paint on it was at least twenty years old.

Julie grimaced as she looked around. There were women wearing big hats, men wearing suits and overcoats, little girls with puffy dresses, and little boys wearing sailor outfits. Even the little caps!

She heard footsteps running up from behind her.

“Abilene!” someone shouted. “You’re back!”

Julie looked around. There was no one else on the platform. The same person who was just calling Abilene, whoever that was, ran up to Julie and hugged her. She had auburn hair and bright green eyes. She looked familiar to Julie, she just couldn’t place her. As a matter of fact, the whole village looked familiar!

“I’m so happy you’re home! I missed having my best friend around!”

“What?” Julie said, confused about what this strange girl was saying.

“You were only supposed to go on vacation for one month!” the girl who was apparently her best friend giggled. “You were gone for an entire year!”

“What?!” Julie repeated. She decided she would call this girl Barbie, until she found out her real name. She seemed like the kind of person who would always be happy, and would fit right in with her parents. Julie was tempted to just ask her what her name was, and why she thought that they know each other, but she didn’t want to hurt Barbie’s feelings.

She might be crazy. Julie thought. I better pretend like I know her.

“I’m so sorry!” Julie exclaimed with mock sympathy.

“Let’s go to the river!” Her new friend babbled on about the new benches near the river for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about five to ten minutes.

They headed away from the train platform and into the town.

 

Chapter 3

As they walked through the town, it seemed as though everybody thought she was Abilene. Julie still didn’t know who that was, but she was determined to find out. Everything in this place looked like it was from the 1800’s! They passed a small shop called Ms. May’s Flower Boutique. Julie caught a glimpse of herself in the window, and she had to try really hard not to scream.

She was wearing exactly what every other girl in this weird town was! A big puffy dress, white gloves(which she probably should have noticed before right?), and black flats.

“Susie Johnson! Is that Abilene I see walking with you?” She heard a faraway voice say. Julie was elated! She finally knew Barbie’s name!

“Yes mama!” Susie called back.

“Well bring her in here so I can give her a proper greeting!”

The two girls walked up the squeaky porch. There was a porch swing, chairs, and even a table. There was a pile of newspapers on the table that looked dangerously close to falling. She loved it. They weren’t in a perfect pile like they would be at home, and no one seemed to care. Just as they were about to go in the screen door flung open with a loud SWOOSH.

“Come here, Abilene!” Susie’s mom cooed. She looked just like Susie. It was kind of eerie. Julie took a step forward and was enveloped in a bear hug. She was having a hard time breathing, but she did enjoy it.

“Did you guys go to the river yet? Did you see the new benches?” Mrs. Johnson squealed.

“Geez,” Julie muttered. “What’s so special about some benches?”

“What sweetie?” Mrs. Johnson said alarmed. “You know that it’s the first thing they added to this town since it was founded 48 years ago!”

There was an awkward pause while Julie did the math. Math was the only subject she was failing in school. Julie snorted. “You’re kidding right? That would make it 1852!”

“It is.” Susie retorted obviously confused. “Just look at the local paper!”

Julie didn’t understand what they  were talking about. Were they playing a prank on her? And why was the whole town wearing clothes that seemed like they would be from the time these strange people were claiming they were in?! Was the whole town in on the joke? She didn’t even know them. What if they were all going to try and kidnap her? Why had she followed Susie, if that was even her name?! She had known something was going on from the start since they were all calling her Abilene, but then again, they had sounded pretty sincere. She stood in silence for a few more seconds. She heard someone say Abilene, which she ignored for another few seconds, until she realized they were talking to her.

“What?” Julie said abruptly.

“I said, do you want to go over to the school and tell everyone that you’re back?” Susie replied. “The class will think that it’s awful that you’re back.”

Julie snickered. This Abilene girl must be really mean. But then, she remembered what they had learned about the 1800’s in school. Words meant different things than they did in modern times. Awful didn’t mean horrible, it meant awe-inspiring! And the word backwards meant shy, not the opposite of forwards! She would have to get used to this. If these people were playing a prank, they were very good actors.

The two girls ran into town, Julie trying to act like everything was normal, and Susie just being normal. They ran past the butcher’s store with pig legs hanging in the windows, they ran past the cemetery, past the bookstore, and then, Julie saw somewhere she wanted to go. The sweet shop. She didn’t go for the candy, although she did buy some; she was more interested in the newspaper. She scanned the the articles for a date. There was a man behind her who was telling her all about the new printing press, and how they could now have updated news everyday.

“Not that anything important is ever going to happen here,” he sourly remarked.

Julie didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying. She felt like she was going to faint. The date at the top of the paper said “May 18th, 1852.”

She didn’t know what to think. If this was a prank, not only were they great actors, they went to great lengths to pull it off. Julie decided that if they were going to prank her, she might as well play along. She would be Abilene, and pretend like she was part of this strange joke. She would wear the itchy clothes, she would try to talk like them, and she would continue this until they gave in and confirmed her suspicions. If that took forever, so be it.

 

Chapter 4

The next day was the same. It was a lot harder for Julie to act like she had lived there than she thought it would be. Everyone was surprised to see her, and she got a tour of the town. Julie felt that she had to act bored and pretend that she already knew where everything was, but she was actually fascinated. There were butchers, fishmongers, grocers, greengrocers, bakers, dressmakers, tailors, shoemakers, jewellers, ironmongers, a stationer’s shop, drapers, and chemists.  Julie didn’t know what a fourth of these things were.

She was amazed at the signs, the people, and basically everything else. She wanted to remember this prank, or whatever it was, forever. She reached into her backpack, which everybody was pretending that they hadn’t seen before, and pulled out her camera. She had a Casio QV-10 Digital Camera that her parents got her for her birthday when they still loved her. She was so proud of it. She took it out of the case and pressed on the power button. She counted to three slowly in her head. One…Two…THREE! The screen lit up and made the starting sound. On the last ping, everyone that was in hearing range heads whipped around.

“Abilene.” Susie whispered. “How did you make that shiny, little box light up!?”

“Whoops.” Julie murmured. She had forgotten that she had to be careful about what she did now, they might think she had powers or something. As it turned out, Julie was right.

Susie pulled her aside. “Abilene,” she said, “tell the truth. Where did you really go? Did you go to witch school? You know that if the town finds out, they’ll put you on trial.”

“No!” Julie retorted, confused. “What are you talking about?!”

“You made that wood slab light up!!! Stop that, Abilene!”

“Stop calling me Abilene! Why is everybody calling me that?! And I have no idea who you are and who the rest of these people are! Why are you pranking me like this?! It’s 1999! Not 1852!”

In the midst of her screaming, she hadn’t noticed that the town psychic had pulled her into the fish mongers.

“Okay,” the town psychic whisper-screamed. “Are you done ranting?! I know that you’re not Abilene, but they don’t!”

Just then, Susie walked into the store, and the lady stopped talking.

“Oh hi, Ms. Romanowski! My mom told me to make sure you would still do her appointment later! I had forgotten, but I must have told Abilene! You’re such a good friend that you remembered! Mama would have been so upset!”

Now it was Susie’s turn to pull Julie away. The further into the fish shop they got, the worse it smelled. There were fish heads sitting in buckets of ice, with the heads chopped off. The beady, little eyes were staring at random points in the room, and it was making her really uncomfortable. Susie said something, but Julie was too lost in thinking about how she was going to escape the murderous fish.

“Abilene!” Susie slapped her.
“Ouch! What was that for?!” Julie screamed.

“What’s going on back there girls?!” Ms. Romanowski yelled from two doors over. “Are you okay!”

“Abilene, we need to get out of here! Some of the townspeople decided to look through your backpack after someone reported the glowing, little box, which you still need to explain. They are all outside chanting!”

“What are they chanting?” Julie asked, puzzled.

“Burn the witch!!! Burn the witch!!!” Susie started running around chanting. “Burn the witch!!! Burn the Witch!!! Burn th –”

“Stop! Just tell me how we are going to get out of this!”

“Okay, so we are going go outside, and start chanting with them, and hope they don’t notice that it’s you.”

“But what if it doesn’t work!?!”

“Then you die.” Susie said.

“Wow, thanks.”

They ran outside and shoved their way through the crowd. Nobody noticed them until the got to the sign.

“Hey! isn’t that the witch!” Some kid screamed.

Julie heard a bombardment of “Get her” and “ We found the witch!!!”

She ran as fast as she could, but the town athlete caught her. Soon, the rest of the town caught up, and they all dragged her to the burning stake. Julie blacked out. When she woke up, she could smell smoke, and there was an intense pain in her legs. She looked down and saw the flames lapping at her feet. She blacked out again. This time, when she woke up, the flames were up to her neck, and a few seconds later, it all went black.

 

Monday Is

Monday is the lowest of the low. It’s at the bottom of my trash can of hate, along with fake smiles and the objectification of women. I picture it like this: we have a perfectly good weekend, right? And on Friday and Saturday, we’re ever so happy.

But then on Sunday, we start prickling, just a bit, with dread, and the hairs on the backs of our necks stand up straight. “Whatever,” we think, and we brush it away and enjoy the last of our glorious weekend, like the last bits of an ice cream cone, the melty drips that slide down our throats, and it’s just as sweet and cold as the rest.

Except that then, you’re left with an empty cone in your hands and sticky drips on your fingers and a too-sweet taste in your mouth, and all you want is a nice, cool glass of water. All the magic and sweetness of that big, old ice cream cone is gone, and all that’s left is sticky fingers and an empty cone.

And that’s what Monday is: that empty cone. Because on Monday, there’s nothing to look forward to at the end of the day, nothing to push through for. No. All you’ve got is a school day stretching out in front of you, and after that, a school week, and you’ll have to wait until Friday for that big, old ice cream cone feeling to come back to you.

 

The Tall Grasses Return

Chapter 1: Apocalypse

Merlin’s eyes opened. As usual, a white ceiling was above him. It was the weekend; he should have stayed in bed. For some reason, he didn’t. He wanted to get up and eat breakfast. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was hunger, Merlin would never know. So Merlin rubbed his small eyes, scratched his light brown, overgrown hair, and walked downstairs to the kitchen table.

He first noticed the smells that were floating up the stairs. It didn’t smell like pancakes or fresh-out-of-the-box cereal, or anything like that. It smelled fresh and full of nutrients, but not the kind of nutrients that were that appetizing.

Merlin’s foot brushed over something growing on the step. It wouldn’t hold. He slipped and bonked all the way downstairs to the kitchen. That’s where he saw it.

The kitchen and dining room were barely recognizable as those things at all. It was more of a garden. That’s right, a garden. An overgrown garden.

The table wasn’t the rusty, wooden brown anymore. Some kind of flowering moss was there instead, acting as a tablecloth. That moss was all over the floor, along with dandelions and some golden wildflower that Merlin didn’t recognize. Giant, curling roots broke the window and molded around the cabinets, counter, and faucet. The sink was full of water, not to mention the lily pads and lotus flowers.

Outside didn’t look anything like a city. That one branch was curling through everything it could see. There were other trees, leaves that were growing and falling, moss, grass, wildflowers, bird baths with algae, and telephone poles covered in ivy.

The walk that Merlin began outside was anything but easy. The grass almost reached his torso. He shivered, not used to the feeling of mud and water, and even some bugs on his bare toes. He didn’t think to get his shoes. He was just wondering what the heck happened to his so normal town.

As Merlin walked, his feet grew numb, and it just felt like sneakers on the concrete again. He knew that it was still concrete, and that his sneakers were still inside his house, but to be truthful, he never walked anywhere without somebody who had a good sense of direction. He had no idea where he was, but he did know that he went straight for a while and then took a left, then straight, then another left, and then, a right. That’s what he knew, apart from knowledge of the strange attributes the city got. Things that he would recognize well.

The strong soil smell was still there. The spring day was breezeless. Merlin felt the exact thing that he was: alone. That didn’t make sense to Merlin. His city was densely populated, or at least it was. Now, nobody was in sight. So Merlin kept walking the endless streets of this overgrown place and kept taking notes of the interesting things he saw. Such as: a one-story house that had flowers of intense purple covering its roof, a fence that was covered in loose grasses and what looked like animal waste, a small patch of sidewalk that was covered in darker grass, rather than lighter grass, and many other things. The sky was painted a brilliant blue, which was new to Merlin. Before, almost every day had a gray, nimbus sky. That’s what Merlin was used to: a gray, nimbus sky.

Merlin stopped. A small breeze rustled his hair, and then stilled. The leaves were facing the sun. A squirrel scurried down a nearby tree, nut in mouth. Why wasn’t the sky gray or nimbus? Why did it alternate from breezeless to breeze? Why were there roofs covered in flowers, and branches curling around telephone poles and faucets? Why was Merlin alone? Why were his feet numb?

I’m not used to this, Merlin thought, I’ve never seen or felt anything like this. Was that a squirrel? I never usually see squirrels… but there’s another one running in the grass, and another one, and another one! What’s going on? I’ve never experienced this before. I’ve never walked this far, I’ve never been alone. Then why do I like the numb feeling in my toes?

“Why?” Merlin asked out loud and stared at the sun.

The sun did not answer him. It instead converted his vision to a burning white. Merlin’s head flew back down, and he shook it.

“Why?” Merlin asked again. “I used to be around so many people. Why am I alone?”

He started to look around. Then, he stopped.

“The funny thing is, you aren’t,” replied the person standing in front of him.

Her arms were thin, and her hands large. She wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short either. Her hair was black and matted. She had the largest ears Merlin had ever seen. She wore loose, black shorts, a brilliant orange, plaid, long-sleeve tunic, and a wide-brimmed hat. Her feet were completely bare. She smiled.

“Who might you be?”

Merlin let out a breath. He was beginning to think that all this was a dream because it was so surreal, and because dreams only had faces the dreamer has seen before. Dreams never have ears that big.

“I’m Merlin,” Merlin said, with some difficulty. It seemed that for a fraction of a second, Merlin couldn’t remember how to speak.

“That’s a cool name,” the girl said with interest in her voice. “My name’s Cecilia.” Cecilia smiled some more, and then her face suddenly became quizzical.

“I don’t recognize you. Do you live around here?”

Then, she started to look worried. Her arms started to raise, and her hands clasped together. They started massaging each other.

“Maybe you don’t… I shouldn’t have told you my name.”

Cecilia took one last look at Merlin and ran. All he did about that was stare. And stare. And stare. Stare at the grass, and at the moss. At the little stream coming from the sewers, ironically, with healthy and clean water.

Cecilia, Merlin thought. Cecilia. Why was Cecilia scared of me? Cecilia. Cecilia.

A habit of Merlin’s was, when he met a new person, to repeat their name over and over again in his head, so he might remember it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. You won’t ever know, will you? But then the thought, that question, came back.

Why was Cecilia nervous?  

Merlin then noticed that Cecilia wasn’t nervous at first, and then suddenly she was.

How peculiar…

Peculiar. “Peculiar” was a word that Merlin used often. When he first heard the word, said by his father, or maybe it was a kid on the street, Merlin didn’t remember. But when he had first heard it, he repeated it over and over again. Peculiar, peculiar, peculiar. At that time, Merlin did not know what peculiar meant, but he used it anyway. That system got many laughs from the surrounding adults. Something that came across as peculiar to Merlin was that when you’re a kid, you were always surrounded by adults. Merlin noticed another thing: there were no adults in sight. Merlin was alone again. A bird chirped in the distance. Another one joined in. More squirrels. More flowers. Merlin sighed, and finally decided that he should go after Cecilia.

He bounded across the streets, dodging trees, trying not to step on animal waste. Soon, Cecilia was in sight. She was with another woman. That woman was the tallest woman Merlin had ever seen. She was wearing an extremely dirty and faded, blue, floral dress. Her hair was black, like Cecilia’s, but less matted and longer. The woman wasn’t wearing any shoes either. Her toenails were long, and painted blue. So blue that Merlin could see it, even from where he was now.

Merlin called out “Cecilia!”

Cecilia’s head whipped around, and her face met his. At first, her face matched the expression of how Merlin saw her last, a little confused and scared, but then, her face twisted into a wide grin.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. She hopped over to Merlin and then said, “I’m sorry for that little outburst. My mother says I can get emotionally weird sometimes. Oh!”

Cecilia turned to the other woman, then grabbed Merlin’s arm and abruptly dragged him over to her.

“This is my mother. Mom, this is…” She looked back at him for a second. “Merlin! That’s your name.”

Cecilia’s mother smiled sweetly.

“Why, hello there, Merlin. This is new. Cecilia has never had a friend before.”

“That’s not true,” Cecilia complained, “What about Henry, and the others?”

Her mother looked at her and then looked back at Merlin.

“That is true, she does have friends,” Cecilia’s mom continued. “But you are her first human friend.”

Merlin paused. First human friend? Wasn’t Cecilia human? She looked like it, and so did her mother. They were nice people, though Cecilia was a little childish. Merlin looked around, then looked back. He smiled.

“That’s cool.”

“How old are you?” Cecilia’s mother asked.

“Thirteen”

“I’m almost eleven!” exclaimed Cecilia.

“That is true,” Cecilia’s mother said. “You are a little older than my daughter.”

She sighed. A sharp wind started to blow around the area, and the wind shaped her skirt beautifully. Merlin noticed her legs. They were dirty, and even a little hairy. Cecilia’s mother looked around just like Merlin did a moment before. She seemed to mirror his every move. She turned back to Cecilia.

“Did you tell Merlin our last name yet?”

“No, ma’am,” Cecilia proudly announced.

“Good girl,” her mother said

“How about we go back to the house then? I’m sure Merlin has some places to go.”

Cecilia’s eyes became as large as clementines. She rushed over to Merlin and grabbed his arm again.

“Can he come over?” she pleaded. “Please? I don’t think he knows where he is,”

“Well, if that’s the case,” her mother pondered.

A couple of seconds passed. Cecilia looked eagerly from her mother to Merlin, back and forth.

“I guess he can stay for a little while.”

Cecilia grinned her crooked grin again, and suddenly screamed, “Race you to the house!” and took off. Merlin shortly followed.

His bare feet pounded the ground, splashing water everywhere, hitting textured moss, and even cold, wet concrete. He slowly caught up to Cecilia, who was darting back and forth taking zigzags along the streets. She jumped over a stream, where Merlin had to jump across some rocks. She swung across some vines and branches and still had the energy. Pound, pound, pound went Merlin’s feet. Prot, prot, prot, went Cecilia’s feet and arms.

More zigzagging, and then, Cecilia abruptly stopped. She held her chest, bent over, and then flipped right up again.

“Whew,” she exhaled. “Won again.”

Then, she turned around to Merlin.

“You’re pretty fast, you know that?”

Merlin slowly nodded. He had just remembered that for some time, he had been on a track team.

“Look,” Cecilia pointed. “This is the farm, we’re really close to home now.”

Merlin looked ahead, and what he saw was almost unreal. What he remembered to have been the city park was a giant community garden, growing trees ripe with fruits, vegetables, roots, and flowers. Beautiful flowers in all sorts of colors. There were sections, it seemed, split by man-made streams of clear water leading all around the garden. Merlin knew why everybody was gone; they were all here. Thousands of men, women, and children were working and playing in the garden and the small islands of wild around it. Merlin stared in awe. That was what happened. This wasn’t a city any longer.

Soon, Cecilia’s mother was close behind, and she too stared. After a couple of minutes, Cecilia’s mother moved them along.

Cecilia didn’t run, but walked close to her mother, waving at various people. They waved back. Merlin was close behind them, looking around.

A garden? A farm, even? Why would we, if we came so far, suddenly resort back to farming? Why is everything so primitive here?

Merlin looked around at all the people and their faces. Some were happy, some were not, and some were neither. The children were playing, or sulking, or just sitting down. The adults were farming, playing with their children, or gossiping. Merlin sighed.

He thought, My parents didn’t know how to farm. I have a black thumb, and so do they. My mother may be able to cook food, but she cannot grow it. I’ve cooked before, and it turned out okay. I’ve tried to grow flowers before, and it turned out the opposite of okay.

So he just walked with the others, around the entire edge of the garden until they were back in forest again. That was when he couldn’t take it anymore.

Merlin ran up to Cecilia’s mother and asked impatiently, “What’s going on here?”

Cecilia’s mother looked back at him, confused. Then, it looked as if she had an a-ha moment.

“I see,” she breathed.

“When your great-great-grandfather was a child,” started Cecilia’s mother, interrupted by Cecilia.

She ran over to stop her mom, saying “Storytime!”, and then sat down right in front of her. Not knowing what else to do, Merlin sat down too, on top of a dead tree stump. Cecilia’s mother giggled, and sat down as well.

“When he was a child, even younger than Cecilia, this whole area was a big city. Buildings everywhere, made of clay and stone and metal and glass. There were roads leading to every single place there was, and all the grass and trees were controlled.”

“No way!” Cecilia exhaled.

“Yes way, if you’re strong enough to believe it. Everything was different, all the resources were from somewhere else, brought to our home by magical machines that could fly.

Cecilia’s mouth gaped wider.

“But one day, it all…” Cecilia’s mother paused. “Went away. It all disappeared. It wasn’t very fun, then.”

“What do you mean?” Cecilia asked quizzically, “After it disappeared, then it was like this?”

“Well, if you recall what I told you about plants–”

“They take time to grow.” Cecilia answered, “Ah, I see. What was it like then?”

“I’m getting to that,” Cecilia’s mother said patiently. “It really wasn’t fun. All of that clay and glass and metal were broken into little pieces of rubble on the ground. There were few survivors. Oh, what’s the word I’m looking for… paco… upa…”

“Apocalypse,” Merlin said. “The word’s apocalypse.”

Another peculiar word, and a word that Merlin did not like to say.

“Yes,” Cecilia’s mother said, looking at Merlin with happiness and a trace of sympathy. “Apocalypse. A time where there are few survivors. But, of course, he was a survivor and he grew up to reproduce me and Cecilia.”

Cecilia smiled.

“And you are a survivor, Merlin. One of the lucky few.”

 

Chapter 2: Days Turn To Years

Storytime left Merlin’s brain fried and confused. He had to think all the way through the forest; he couldn’t look at any of the sites or the broken buildings.

A survivor? An apocalypse? I was a survivor of something, something huge. How? It’s so peaceful here! How? It’s like nothing ever happened. Like the entire world changed in the time I was asleep…

How long was I asleep?

Merlin jogged to catch up to Cecila. He looked back at her mother, who knew the area so well she could walk through it with her eyes closed. He began to repeat that word. It was such a terrible word. He knew it so well, but he repeated it.

Apocalypse, apocalypse, apocalypse, apocalypse, apocalypse…

All the way through the forest. There were hills, valleys, animals, reptiles, rain, sun, and the word “apocalypse.”

Cecilia eventually ran back to Merlin, concerned.

“Are you okay?” she asked, “You’ve been silent for the past ten minutes.”

Merlin nodded his head. He was okay. He was just confused.

“Well, anyway,” Cecilia closed her eyes and held her head high.

“We’re here!”

Cecilia stopped, and so did her mother, in the same place. They both opened their eyes at the same time.

They all stood before a clearing surrounded by moss-covered trees, and a single warehouse with many holes. The clearing had grass that was much taller than any grass Merlin has ever seen, even those near his own home. There was a hut in the middle of all of it, made from bricks seemingly from the warehouse, boulders, and straw. The walls were held together with some kind of sap, and the roof was stone and straw. In the very front, a wooden door stood, closed. There were windows, those windows being holes in the walls, and a single sign next to the door. It read “Mentoris.

That must be their last name, Merlin thought.

He began his usual habit; he really wanted to remember that name.

Mrs. Mentoris beckoned the two children inside, and they followed.

Inside was a large bed made of wool and soft grass. A wooden, handcarved table with three stools. Those two holes making windows caused the bright sun to pour in from seemingly all angles. Merlin could see the dust particles flying. There was a small fireplace, with a pot hanging very close to a very small, dying flame. There was a trapdoor; Merlin guessed it was for storage. It all looked so primitive, like everything else had looked. Merlin looked around, interested and disgusted at the same time. Once he looked down, straight in front of himself, he took a step back.

A small groundhog was standing on two limbs, looking at Merlin curiously.

“Oh, that’s Henry,” explained Cecilia. “He’s one of my dear friends, so dear that he stays with us in the house.”

Merlin turned his head slowly, even more confused.

“He’s… supposed to be here?”

“Merlin!” Cecilia scolded, “Don’t you know about the revolution?”

Merlin stared blankly at Cecilia.

“What?”

“Where animals and humans joined together? Y’know, the rule that you can only kill an animal and an animal can only kill you if it’s for purposes of survival?”

Merlin didn’t answer.

“What are you from? The twenty first century?”

Cecilia laughed, raising her face to the ceiling. Merlin looked away from Henry, and found Mrs. Mentoris sitting on one of the stools.

“What does she mean?” Merlin knew that Mrs. Mentoris would have an answer.

“It’s a joke, meaning that the people who lived four hundred years ago were stupid. She’s young, Merlin. She doesn’t know about the freezings.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“The freezings,” Mrs. Mentoris repeated, “Don’t you know? A surviving is placed in a bed and frozen. Their muscles are paralyzed and memories are erased. It saved hundreds of lives!”

Merlin looked down at his leg, and rolled up the pant leg. It seemed to be twitching. He found a band strapped near his ankle.

Muscle paralysis band – children’s. Freezings INC.

 

The Assassin

“What was that?” John said to himself.

It was the sun glinting off of something shiny that was lying in the sand. John went up to investigate.

“Wow — a triangular piece of a gold doubloon!” John exclaimed.

John went to his camp, a tent hidden in bushes, and looked again at the report and pictures of the person he was supposed to kill.

“Where is he?” John said to himself again, since there was nobody else to talk to.

For thirteen years, John had had only his clients to talk to, and occasionally the police, but not for long, because it was boring to talk to dead people.

The reason why John was so alone was because, when he was eight, John had gone fishing with his dad, whom he loved so much, off the coast of Costa Rica. From out of nowhere, there was a tropical storm that grew into a hurricane. There was a huge storm surge coming at them, and suddenly, there was a loud crashing sound as the storm surge came down on them, and everything went black! Slowly, John’s hearing came back and everything was quiet, and then a few minutes after that, his sight came back. John realized that he was on an island with black volcanic sand. John went looking for his dad.

After a while of looking for his dad, John found his boat’s remains on the other side of the island and started to search it. While searching it, John found a telescope and his dad tangled in the ropes, dead. John quickly looked around the island with the telescope and saw the tip of a mountain smoking. Occasionally, sparks would fly out. His dad, James, had been strangled by the ropes and was bent at an unnatural angle. It soon became night, and John used his boat’s sail for a blanket and tent. John was devastated by his father’s death and cried himself to sleep. John dreamed about his mom, who was probably wondering where they were at this time. When John woke up, his eyes were red and tear stained. He was still sad, but not as sad as the night before.

The following morning, John decided to explore the island, since he had never gone to the other side of the island because it was so big. On his way to the other side of the island, John thought to try and see if there was an island nearby that he could find life on. John was looking for an island out at sea with his dad’s telescope when he stumbled on something. When John looked down, he saw the end of a stick protruding from the ground. John decided to dig it up and see what it was. It turned out it was the skeleton of a boat, and John decided to use it to make a boat. John hauled the boat down to his tent with vines he had found and laid it down beside the tent. By that time, it was already night, so he decided that first thing in the morning, he was going to explore.

The next day, John woke up and washed in the ocean. Then, he dried off in the sun and set off for the other side of the island. Once on the other side of the island, John took out his telescope and looked around.

“An island!” John shouted.

John could see boats leaving and arriving at the island! Finally, civilization. John could use the boat that he was building to get there. Later, when John was building his boat, he realized that the land he saw was where he had come from. After John finished the boat, it was weeks later. John was still homesick and couldn’t wait to leave the island and get back to his mom, but it was too late at night now. First thing in the morning. He did like that there were a ton of monkeys to play around with.

The next morning, John dragged his boat down to the shore and stopped to have breakfast, which consisted of a coconut and some monkey meat, which he had caught the day before. Finally, John started rowing himself and his food, which was even more coconuts, over to the island. That night, John stopped to camp at one of the islands he had spotted that he would pass along the way. In the night, John shivered on the cold ground; even with the sail of his ship on him, he was cold. In the daytime, it was warm, but at night, it was freezing where he was.

Finally, the following morning, John set out for the next island, which would be his last island before the main island. After hours of rowing, John still had not made it to the island, and he was scared. The reason he was scared was because there was no island near him. Finally, John made the hard decision of sleeping in his boat that night. It was a long and painful night, so the next morning, John’s back was aching, and he was so tired. John finally got to the next island, but he was soaked with not only water, but also sweat. After a few more days of rowing, and rowing, and rowing, John finally made it to the port.

Finally, John was at the island, and he was so happy that he ran all the way to his house, which was only a few blocks away. The first thing he saw when he got there was the police tape and the police surrounding his house.

This must be the wrong house, he thought, but he asked anyway.

The police closest to him said, “A woman named Sarah Cable had killed herself because she thought her son and husband died in a hurricane, so she was so depressed that she tied a weight to her feet and hands and jumped into her pool.”

“How do you know why she killed herself?” I asked.

“Sarah had left a letter on her door.”

At that point, John had been crying for a long time.

“Why are you crying?” said the police officer.

John said, “I am crying because Sarah Cable was my mom and I am John Cable and my father was James Cable, but he died in the hurricane, but I survived.”

The officer was stunned for a while. Finally, he pulled out his walkie-talkie and said, “Whoever is inside the house, this is officer P. Johnson. Are there any family photos in there?”

After a while of silence, the walkie-talkie crackled and a voice said, “Yeah. Why?”

“Because there is a kid out here claiming to be Sarah’s kid,” replied Officer P. Johnson.

An officer came out of the house carrying something in his hand. After a while of comparing the photo and John, the officer told Officer P. Johnson that the only difference was that John’s hair was longer in real life than in the picture, because he had been at sea for three years.

The next thing that happened was so sudden. Officer P. Johnson said that John had to go to an orphanage. He didn’t want to, so John tried to resist, but P. Johnson was too strong for him.

The next day, he was driving off to an orphanage in the heart of the town. He felt scared.

That night, John had a sleepless night at the orphanage. The next day, nobody talked to him. In fact, over the next ten years, all of his days were the same: Wake up, have breakfast, walk in the park outside, read a book, eat lunch, read a book, go to the park, eat dinner, read a little more, and finally go to bed. He would read action and adventure.

Well, all days were the same until one day, when he was at the park. Somebody, dressed in a coat that went down past his knees with the collar pulled up to hide his face and a hat pulled down over his eyes, asked him about the orphanage.

The person, who sounded like a man, asked questions like, “Are you happy at the orphanage?” and “Do you like the food here?” and “Do you like anyone here?”

John’s answers were: “I do not like it here, the food is awful, and I don’t like anybody.”

Just before the strange man left, he asked two more questions. The first one was, “How old are you?” and John’s answer was eighteen, and the second question was, “Are you mad at people?”

To this John’s answer was, “I am mad at people because my parents died, and I am depressed.”

The strange man replied, “I am leaving now, but I am going to leave you with this question. How much do you hate people?”

For the next two days, John thought about the question, and when the strange man came again, he had an answer.

“What is your answer?”

“I hate people so much, I want to wipe them off the face of the earth. I just wish there weren’t any people on earth except me and you, because you have been so good to me.”

“Well, then, I have the perfect job for you.”

“What is the job?”

“It is being a hitman.”

“How do I know I can trust you? What if you are the police?”

“I am not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Anyway, do you accept my offer?”

“Yeah, sure!”

“Okay. I will bust you out. At midnight, come down, and I will cut a hole in the fence and you can come out.”

“Okay.” John says.

Beep, beep, beep. John’s alarm clock was going off at 12:00 p.m. and he went out to the yard. There the man was, standing there with wire cutters and a hole in the fence. John crawled out, but in the process he got a lot of scratches.

When John came out, the man said, “You need to be quiet. Follow me.”

“Okay,” John said.

They walked a long time.  Finally, they got to a dark building and the strange man said to go inside.

“First, tell me your name.”

“My name is Xavier.”

“Huh,” John replied.

* * *

The next few months went by in a flash. John practiced his accuracy with a sniper, pistol, and Ak-47.

One day, Xavier came up to him after practice and said, “It is time.”

“It is time for what?” John replies.

“It is time for your first kill.”

“Okay. Who do I have to kill?”

“You have to kill somebody named David Oreily. He is a billionaire.”

“Okay. Where is he?”

“He is going to be coming out of a limo near the Italian restaurant, Gibetto.”

“Where will I be?”

“You will be across the street on the top of a building with a sniper.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”

John went to the building and climbed the stairs to the roof.

There David was. He was getting out of the car! He stopped to talk to one of his security guards, and that was the time when John looked through his thermal scope and found David’s head. Before he got moving, John shot and hoped for the best. It was like slow motion, the bullet slowly traveling through the air towards Oreilly’s head. All of a sudden, John lost track of the bullet and waited for one second before seeing Oreilly jerk his head and fall to the ground.

John did it! He took apart his gun and threw it in his suitcase and ran down the stairs. John looked out the door, and there were police everywhere. Instead, John used a side door and got into a car that was waiting for him, and off he went.

After two years passed, John was assigned to a mission at the Grand Canyon.

There was a trillionaire who had just created really high-tech virtual reality goggles. John was on his motorcycle when he saw the trillionaire driving his Mustang convertible. John started chasing him and the man looked in his rearview mirror and saw John. John opened his throttle and closed in on him. John was closing in when the man saw a huge hill. He jumped off the hill and landed in front of his car, but he kept coming at John. John pulled out his pistol and shot the trillionaire. His head jerked back and he died, but his car still kept on coming.

John started up his engine and tried to get out of the way, but the car hit him. John went over the edge! He was falling! It felt like forever. John reflected on his life and the people he killed, and that this was the feeling to know that you are going to die. He regretted killing so many people. John wished he had never done that.

 

The Library Dweller

I.

I walk into the public library and sit at a small table. The library is very small, with only a couple of tables, but with bookshelves on every wall. Most of the bookshelves are full, giving me the impression that the library is infrequently visited. I absently scratch my leg and select one of the books that is conveniently on top of a bookshelf next to me. I open the book and try to start reading, but I get this feeling that someone is watching me. I look around me, but see no one, so I try to ignore the feeling and get back to my book.

I get midway through the first chapter, but become bored with the book, realizing that it is completely non-fiction. I scratch my arm and scan the bookshelf. I don’t see any books that are interesting, so I put down the book I was reading and start to walk around. My footsteps echo loudly, so I try to walk quietly. All of the sudden, I hear a quiet voice coming from somewhere. I can’t really hear it with the noise my feet are making, so I stop moving and listen.

“Help,” I hear, coming from somewhere to the right of me. I start walking slowly and hear it again.

“Please, help me!”

I walk to the corner of the library and hear it much louder.

“I’m trapped in here!”

I walk up to the bookshelf where I think the sound is coming from. I hear rustling on the other side, and I pull the bookshelf out of the way to try to get behind it. I try to move it. The bookshelf moves away and reveals a small hole in the wall. A tiny creature walks out of the hole and smiles. Its eyes and face are visible, but its body is in the shadows. I sense someone behind me, but see nothing as I turn around. The feeling is still there, but I ignore it and call out to the creature.

“Who are you? What are you?”

The creature’s smile broadens and asks me a question. “Who are you?”

“My name is Aaron,” I answer. The creature’s eyes grow brighter, and a shiver goes through my body. It steps out of the hole, and I gasp. It looks like a mouse, but it’s completely blue, with speckles of purple around its eyes.

“I am not a who, but a what,” it says. “Also, my name is Bill.”

“Well, that’s a dumb name.”

“I didn’t choose it.”

“Whatever. Why did your eyes just glow?”

“I read your mind and viewed your soul to judge if you were worthy of learning what I am about to tell you. It is no coincidence that you were able to find me. Few can hear my voice, and the ones who could were unable to find me. I have been here for thousands of years, and you are the person I was waiting for. You are the only person that can stop the destruction of the world.”

 

II.

“I have to apologize for one thing. You did not come to this place on your own. I sent you a telepathic message so that you would come here on this exact day. It had to be this exact place, for this is one of the few places in the mortal world that magic is at its strongest, and this is one of the only days that I am able to enter the mortal world. Magic is everywhere in the world, and everyone is able to see it, they simply don’t care. Many years ago, before I was even born, humans started to ignore magic, and slowly, they lost the interest in it. Once a century, a person is able to care enough to see magic, and even then, some of these gifted people never even realize that they can. Anyway, I’ll tell you more later, dinner’s almost ready, and you should get home. Your parents will get worried. I’ll visit you in a couple of days,” he says, his eyes swirling.

I nod numbly, too many thoughts going through my head to take in at once. I turn around and walk out of the library.

***

I ponder those words while walking home. I arrive at my apartment and knock on the door.

“Aaron! I was so worried! Where were you?!” my mom exclaims, as she opens the door.

I roll my eyes and walk inside.

“Don’t worry, Mom. Everything will be okay,” I respond, as I walk towards my room.

“Whatever,” my mom mumbles.

I sigh and flop onto my bed. Before I realize it, I’m dozing off.

“Dinner’s ready!” my mom yells, as I am unceremoniously shaken awake.

“Stop! I’m awake!” I yell, as I stand up and stumble to the kitchen table.

I groan. Dinner tonight is meatloaf. My dad anticipates my complaint before I can even talk.

“Don’t complain, Aaron. This is the only thing that I know how to make with the limited amount of ingredients we have,” my dad says, as he glares at Mom.

“What?! I said I would buy food tomorrow!” she exclaims.

My dad sighs and proceeds to devour his meatloaf, while I have barely eaten half of mine. After a couple minutes of speed eating, I finish my food.

“Done!” I exclaim, as I stand up and go back to my room.

“Only an hour!” my dad calls after me, but I barely hear him.

I run back to my room and take out my phone. I unlock my phone and check my messages. I have a text from my best friends.

“Did you go to the library that we dared you to go to?”

I respond to both of them with a “yes” and lie on my bed, replaying the events that unfolded at the library. Bill’s words echo in my head. “You are the only person who is worthy enough to stop the destruction of the world…” As soon as the echo stops, he appears in front of me.   

“What are you doing here?!” I exclaim in surprise.

“I don’t have much time,” he says, as his form flickers like a broken flashlight.

“Be… careful… watch out… for… the…” he starts to say, but his final words get cut off, as he vanishes.

“Watch out for the what?!” I exclaim, realizing too late that he wasn’t able to respond.

 

III.

The next morning, no one wakes me up, which is odd. Due to this, I am late for school. I get up and walk around the house, but no one is to be found. The only other living thing in the house is my cat, who swipes and growls at me as soon as I get near him. I try calling my mom. No answer. I try calling my dad. Nothing. That really gets me worried. My mom is always on her phone. I try to set my nervousness aside and leave my building. I get a taxi and go to my school.

I walk inside, but there isn’t anyone there. Oh yeah, class field trip. I groan and walk outside. I have no idea where the field trip is at. I guess that’s what I get for not listening in class. I call an Uber and go back home. The ride in the car is fairly uneventful, and I get home in a decent amount of time. I walk into my apartment and sense that something is wrong. I look at my phone. It says 8:20 A.M., but that was the time I left to go to school. That’s kind of odd. I get an uneasy feeling, but decide that I must be imagining things. I check on my cat again, but he is sleeping. He never does that. Now I’m really worried. Maybe it’s because of…

“It’s happening,” Bill says out of nowhere.

“What’s happening?!” I exclaim in fear, but I don’t get a response.

Then, the realization comes to me. Something must be stopping Bill from communicating with me. All of the sudden my body feels heavy, and everything fades to pink.

 

IV.

Everything around me is pink. The trees, the grass, even the sky. But it’s not the kind of bright, happy pink that you often see. It is a dull pink that looks like the life has been sucked out of it. Like it has given up. Bill appears in front of me.

“I had to take you here, so that I could finally talk to you. He has been interfering with my ability to communicate with the mortal world,” he said, in a voice that sounded dull and lifeless.  

“Who?”

“I cannot say his name, for fear of my life. If I speak his name, I will be found. He would suck away my essence, just like he did to this land. You must find the sword. It is the only thing that can stop him.”

There is a flash of light in the distance, and his eyes widen.

“Quickly! I must send you back! He has found me!”

His eyes glow, and I’m suddenly back in my apartment again. What sword could he be talking about? I get distracted by a vibration from my pocket. Josh or Melany must have texted me. I pull out my phone and check my texts. I have one new message from Melany.

“Aaron, what is going on? You aren’t responding to anything. Please answer me!!”

I respond with, “Something is going wrong. My parents aren’t at home and there is something I need to talk to you about. Meet me at Starbucks in fifteen minutes.”

***

I buy some coffee at Starbucks and wait patiently for Melany. She arrives a couple of minutes later.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks.

“When I was at the library, I saw a strange creature. It told me that magic exists, and that I’m the only person that is able to stop the destruction of the world. And that its name is Bill.”

Melany bursts out laughing.

“That’s a really good joke!”

“I’m not kidding!!”

Everything around us stops, and Bill appears in front of us.

“Aaron is completely serious. I exist, and I need your help. You two have to find a sword. I’m not sure what the sword is or where it is, but I know from my research that Aaron has the ability to somehow sense its location.”

“Wait, how can Melany see and hear you? I thought that I was the only one able to?” I say in a confused voice.

“Only people like you can see me without any knowledge of my existence. The ability to see and hear me was given to Melany when you told her about me.

Bill disappears and time resumes its cycle.

“Well, that was odd.”

“Yeah. He’s mentioned the sword before, but never how to find it,” I answer.

As I say these words, a small shiver goes through my body. I instinctively know that it’s the sword calling me. I stand up violently and spill my coffee on my shirt. Without even noticing it, I toss some money on the table.

“Melany, follow me!” I yell behind me, as I sprint out the door.

Melany rolls her eyes, mumbling something about my rush.

 

V.

Melany bursts out the door panting.

“Nothing yet?”

“No. The feeling that I was getting in Starbucks is gone. I think we should go back there and investigate,” I say, as I head back towards Starbucks.

When I’m only a block away, I sense that the sword is nearby. I immediately stop, and Melany runs into me.

“Ow. Why did you stop?” she asks.

“I can sense that the sword is somewhere nearby,” I say, as I look around.

I start walking towards the Starbucks, and the feeling becomes stronger. All of a sudden, the feeling goes away completely. I retrace my steps and notice that I’m standing right next to the playground.

“Aha!” I exclaim and run through the entrance.

Melany and I split up and start searching. A couple of minutes later, I hear Melany calling my name. I walk towards her, and the feeling gets stronger. As I stand next to Melany, the feeling gets to its strongest.

“This area looked strange. I think this is the place,” she explains.

I nod and start searching the wall. I can’t see anything out of place, but after some investigation, I notice a piece of the wall that looks unnatural. I push it, and a portion of the wall opens up. We walk inside in amazement, and I see a stick. Melany tries to pick it up, but she is unable to.

“It must be like Thor’s hammer. You can’t pick it up unless you’re worthy enough. I guess I’m just not worthy enough,” she says with a small sigh.

I try to lift the stick, oblivious to her feelings, but it doesn’t budge. I try again, but still no response. Finally, I will the stick to move while trying to pick it up, and it lifts easily. As I grip it with both hands, it changes from a stick to a shiny sword. I grin and take some practice swings.

“Aaron!! Be careful!! You almost decapitated me!”

“Okay, jeez! I’ll be more careful,” I complain. “How am I supposed to walk around if I’m holding a sword?”

“Try to will the sword to turn back into a stick I guess,” Melany says, quizzically.

I shrug and stare at the sword. Before my very eyes, it shrinks into a stick.

“It’s getting kind of late. I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Melany says, as she starts walking home.

“Okay,” I say, as I too head home.

The next morning, I wake up and get an idea. If I can understand how the sword works, then I can talk to Bill and figure out how to stop the person that he was talking about. I grab my phone and text Melany.

“I have an idea. Meet me at Starbucks again.”

I grab the stick and leave the house to go to Starbucks. I walk into Starbucks and see Melany in one of the corner tables.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“I have an idea. If we can figure out how this sword works, then we can talk to Bill and fight the thing that we need the sword for. Let’s go back to the playground. There might be some clues in the place where we found the sword.”

Melany nods in agreement, and we walk back to the playground together.

I press the button to the secret room, and we walk inside. I activate the sword, and it lets off a slight glow. Melany and I examine the sword, and I notice that there’s a word engraved on the hilt. I bring the sword closer to my face and say the word that is engraved.

“Vis!”

Immediately, the sword starts glowing, and the blade catches fire. I gasp and almost drop it in shock. The fire slowly creeps from the sword onto my hand. My hand doesn’t start melting, so I assume that the fire won’t hurt me. Soon, the fire consumes my entire body, but I still don’t feel any pain. Melany looks at me curiously.

“Are you okay? How are you covered in flames?” she asks in wonder.

“I’m fine, but I don’t know how,” I respond, as I look at myself. As I turn around to walk outside, Bill appears in front of me.

“Quickly! Come with me!” he says in fear.

I turn the sword back into a stick, the flames disappearing with it. Melany and I stand next to Bill, and for the second time, everything fades to pink.

 

VI.

I wake up to the sound of Melany yelling in my ear. I almost ask where we are, but my question is answered when I look around. Everything is the same dull pink, but it looks even duller than the last time I was here. The trees are blackened, and the ground is scorched.

“You got the sword!” Bill exclaims in excitement.

I nod.

“Now, how can I stop the destruction of the world?”

“You need to stop an extremely powerful being called The Drainer. It sucks the life out of a world and uses the energy to become stronger. It is only told of in myths, and the myth that I have heard says it is almost invincible. I did some research and have been able to pinpoint its location. I will try to help you in every way I can, but I will not be able to kill it. You must be the one,” Bill explains.

“Umm… Okay,” I say. “How do we get there?”

“Follow me,” Bill says, as he starts walking towards a giant castle in the distance. Melany and I follow him towards the castle.

I activate my sword and cut a hole through the castle doors, like a hot knife through butter. I look behind me and without words, they nod. The three of us line up and walk into the castle as a group.

***

The silence is eerie. Only our footsteps can be heard through the blanket of muteness. We are all tense, fearing an unknown assailant, but nothing confronts us. As we reach the end of the entrance hall, we are stopped by a large wooden door. I tentatively push it, expecting resistance, but it slowly opens up without trouble. It is all too easy. We know that we’re going directly into a trap, but we decide to continue. Bill peeks his head through the doorway and immediately catapults backwards, screaming. The screaming suddenly stops with a crunch. I wince, but my worries are quelled, as I hear Bill groaning and cursing. I try to ignore him and focus on the door. I slowly peek through the door, hoping to not go flying.

“No! Get back!” Melany yells, as she tries to pull me away.

I resist, but she pulls me back anyway. The door slams shut with a crash.

“Damn it, Melany! Now we’ll never be able to get past this door!”

“Sorry, I just didn’t want the same thing to happen to you,” she responds in a quiet voice.

“I know. I’m sorry for yelling at you, Melany. It’s just really annoying. This thing will destroy our world, and I just want to stop it.”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I forgive you. Let’s go check on Bill,” Melany says with a smile.

Melany and I walk over to Bill.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Get me up!”

Melany and I roll our eyes and grab his arms. I pull with all of my strength, and Bill finally gets into a standing position.

“What did you see through that door? I wasn’t able to see anything,” I ask him.

“I saw a little creature that looked like a skeleton. There is a door behind the creature, and I think that it leads to where the Drainer lives,” he responds.

“Okay. What are we waiting for then?!” I say, as I turn the doorknob and rip the door open.

The skeleton creature is standing in the center of the room, eerily still. What is it doing? I slowly creep into the room. As soon as I step into the room, the skeleton lunges at me at inhuman speed. Before I can even react, I am shoved outside of the room. As I am sent flying, the skeleton walks back to the center of the room as if nothing just happened. I hit the wall with a grunt and slowly get up.

“Guys, I don’t think we can get the skeleton out of this room. It only tries to attack me when I enter the room.”

“Maybe we don’t need to get the skeleton out of the room,” Melany muses. “Maybe we just need to attack it while we are outside of the door.”

“Yes!” I exclaim, “Good idea!”

I take out my sword and aim it at the skeleton, while staying away from the door. The sword ignites, and I shoot a fireball at the skeleton. It burns completely through the skeleton’s ribcage and continues into the door. The skeleton’s upper body caves in, and it collapses to the ground, shattering on impact. I grin and walk into the room. The skeleton bones start to shudder, and I quickly destroy them with fire. The feat of power makes me feel strong. I walk to the next door and pause. I look back, waiting for confirmation. Melany and Bill nod. I open the door and brace myself for whatever is behind it.

***

The door swings open easily, on hinges well-oiled.  An empty white room, coated in mist, appears. I put my hand through the doorway and hit an invisible wall. I push and feel the wall slowly move. Melany helps me push the wall, and we walk through into the room. There is no visible door in sight, so we split up and start examining the walls. Almost immediately, Melany shouts. I turn around and see her getting sucked into the ground. I run to her side and try to pull her out, but the attempt is futile. Before I know it, she’s gone.

 

VII.

“This is all my fault!” I complain loudly.

“It most definitely is not,” Bill says reassuringly, “You couldn’t have done anything more than what you did.”

I sigh.

“I guess so,” I say, as I look at the place where she was taken.

I suddenly realize something. There’s a little button on the ground that I didn’t notice before. I bend over and push it. Slowly, the ground near me turns invisible, and I’m able to see a ladder going down into a dark hole. I peer into the hole and realize that it’s longer than I first expected. It goes down for at least twenty feet, and the rest is darkness. I gingerly put my foot on the top rung and start going down slowly. Suddenly, my foot touches the floor. I get off the ladder and look up to encourage Bill to follow me.

“Come on! The ladder is really short!” I yell up to Bill.

He nods and starts descending on the ladder. I look ahead and see a plain, white door, an arm’s length away. I try the handle, and it opens into a room with computers everywhere. Most of the monitors are in a fixed view of the misty white room, but a couple of them say “Project: Drainer.” Melany is tied up in the center of the room. She puts a finger to her mouth and motions for us to stay still. I raise my eyebrows, and she points to something in the doorway. I focus on where she’s pointing and see a bunch of small red lines crisscrossing the door frame. I assume that they’re motion detectors and move back slightly. Melany points to the goblin, and I see a small black remote control. I sigh in defeat. It’ll be impossible to reach the remote from where I am without going inside the room. As I turn around to leave, I hear a faint click. I turn back around and realize that the motion detectors have deactivated. The goblin must have rolled over onto the remote! I tiptoe into the room and untie Melany. I pull out my sword and blast the goblin with fire. Its body turns into a blackened crisp, and I look away. The three of us run out of the room and climb the ladder. We run back through the rooms and out of the castle. The three of us stand in a circle, and Bill warps us back into the mortal world.

 

VIII.

The next day, the three of us meet at Starbucks. I ask Melany for her version of how she got kidnapped, and she starts talking after a moment.

“All of the sudden, I was pulled underground by a goblin. It tied me up and carried me down the ladder. I was dragged into its control room and put on the floor. It sat down in a chair and turned on a computer. After a couple of minutes, it left to go to sleep, but it forgot to turn off the computer. I waited a couple minutes and started using it. I read about a secret project called, “Project: Drainer.” It said that the Drainer is actually a robot controlled by the goblin that kidnapped me. The room that it took me to was the control center. After that, the computer died, and you came to rescue me,” she said.

“Wow,” Bill exclaims, “I was led to believe that the Drainer was some sort of monster. I guess not!”

Out of nowhere, my phone starts buzzing.

“Sorry guys, I have to go!” I say.

I get up and run home for dinner.

 

Epilogue

One year later…

Melany and I are sitting down at a table in Starbucks. I drink the final drops of coffee with a straw, listening to the sucking sound that it makes when the cup is empty. I have bags under my eyes; it took forever for me to finish my homework last night. I can’t believe that my life is finally normal again. Just as I’m about to get up for more coffee, Bill appears in front of me.

“Aaron, I have another mission for you,” he says in an upbeat voice.

“Not again!” I exclaim, as I roll my eyes.

 

The Journey

I sat there, my red Converses tapping the cement, while my two fingers twitched nervously. I waited under the large bus sign with my red hood draped over my head. It was the day I had been dreading since the beginning of August. I waited.

But, as the bus swooshed near the curb, splashing a puddle, the same uneasy feeling came again. I threw my tattered backpack over my shoulder and reluctantly stepped on the bus. The driver gave a quiet nod as I counted each silver coin, paying the fare of $1.50. I walked to the very back and slid into an empty seat. As the bus slowly drove away, I leaned back, resting my head near the frosty window. My eyes gazed, noticing a father and his daughter crossing the street. I watched as they giggled, their umbrellas dancing behind them. They slowly disappeared. I looked away, my hands fumbling as I cleared the lump in my throat.

Final stop. I looked around as I gripped the silver pole beside me. The driver, looking through his stained mirror, gave me a silent smirk.

“Have a nice evening,” he said. I nodded, my lips pursed together as I grabbed my headphones out of my backpack.

Stepping onto the ground, my Converses hit the crusty pavement. I stopped. I reached for the folded piece of paper in my back pocket.

“44 Dayton Lane,” I muttered. Behind me stood the 8 Pin Motel, the sign blinking in bold, red letters. I pulled out the torn map of East Michigan from my backpack. To the left, a stop sign read, “Hollow Road.” I followed it.

As I walked, my thick, sandy hair turned damp, and the rain continued. It seemed to be a rather quiet town on this chilly Tuesday.

I wondered. Thoughts about the future circled my mind, but I instead pushed them away. I continued on, directing myself through the ramble of streets.

“Muten Road.” I was one final street away. There I stood, my feet unable to move. I wanted to turn back and run. But I couldn’t, I wouldn’t allow myself to. It was then that I realized my life would never be the same. What I once knew would be in the past, and that scared me.

But, while thinking this, I walked on, my Converses hitting the gravel. I was there. I took one deep breath, and I rang the doorbell. I heard footsteps coming from inside, and the door slowly opened. There was my father, the man I never met.

***

“Hi,” I managed to blurt.

“Hello, can I help you?”

He was a tall figure with thick, sandy hair and piercing, green eyes, much like my own. His house was small, yet comfortable, with a light blue painted coat. His voice was deep and stern, but with the slightest warmness that was indescribable.

I stood there, my hands fumbling in the pocket of my sweater.

“Ron?” I asked, quietly.

“Uh, yes. You?”

“Jane, your daughter.”

He stood there shocked, his eyes wide. He began to mutter nonsensical things, his mind unable to comprehend what I had said.

“So…” I watched, as he nervously debated what to do.

“Uhm, come in,” he muttered.  “I think that will be best.”

He opened the door a bit wider and allowed me in. I walked into the dark foyer, drying my shoes against the welcome mat. He led me into the kitchen, where he offered me a seat. I sat, drying the ends of my hair.

“You said your name was Jane, right?”

I nodded.

“And your mother’s Anna?”

“Yes, ” I said as he shook his head.

He began asking questions.  After every few minutes, he would nod his head in disbelief.

“How old are you again?”

“I’m turning eighteen this fall.”

He looked out the window, seeming confused.

“How’s Anna?”

“She’s dead.”

His face deepened, and his eyes grew big. I felt my stomach turn.

I stared silently out the window. I watched as the rain fell, tapping each window.

“Why did you leave?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” he sighed.  “I was young.  I was seventeen.”

“I know,” I interrupted.

But why? I wondered. Why? That is  just an excuse. I’m seventeen, and I still face reality. That’s why I’m here.

Looking to my side, I saw a small picture frame. It was of a family, a happy family.

“Who are they?” I said, pointing to the silver frame.

“Oh this,” he said, as he reached for the picture. ”My wife, Christina, and our two daughters.”

I so badly wanted to leave, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Tell me!” I demanded.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me why you left?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“You told me an excuse. Tell me why!”

I sat there. He gave a sigh and stared down at the floor.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“But why? My whole life was this unknown mystery. And now, I’m so close but–”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry.” His eyes widened and became slightly watery. “I regret it, that’s all I can say.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Tell me why you came.”

I paused. Why did I come? I thought for a while.

“I wanted you to know I exist,” I shrugged. “But that’s all.”

He looked down and muttered something. He was hurt, and I could tell.

“You came here to find your father, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, I am the closest thing to a father. I may not have been there for you, but I am now.”

“I know, but you were the one who left. You caused my mother nothing but trouble, and I will never forgive you for that,” I screeched.

“But I am still your father.”

“So?” I said.

He sighed and circled the kitchen. While he paced the floor, I noticed the silver detailing around each cabinet. I stared. We locked eyes, and I saw his pain. I shouldn’t have felt bad, but I did. I knew he regretted it, but I wouldn’t let go. He hurt me. And it was as simple as that.

“Fine. I’m sorry.”

“I think I should go. It’s getting late,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, sure.”

I stood up from my chair and threw my backpack over my shoulder. He gestured, and I followed him down the hall.  When I first came, I believed my life would never be the same. But it still was.

He opened the door and stared down.  “Well I guess this is it,” he said.

“Yep.”

Was I really going to leave? I suddenly remembered the day my mother passed. I recalled picking up the phone at around noon and hearing the sound of someone telling me that she had died. I thought it was all a dream, but it wasn’t. It was reality. She was gone. Gone. I hung up, and I ran to the phone book. It was then that my quest to find my dad began. I remember wondering, What would happen if I knew him? Would my mother still have died?

“I’m here if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye, Jane.”

“Bye, Dad.”

 

Ants

The queen died last night. The colony is in a fervor. They look lost. Each wanders the tunnels they made, like aliens. The dirt and glass, that used to wrap them in warmth and keep them safe, now feel like a maze with no end or prize for solving. They don’t eat or sleep. Ants are strong creatures, but without direction, it doesn’t matter that they can carry twenty times their own weight. Once there’s no one left to protect, it doesn’t matter that they can fight to the death to protect their colony.

He could wait for the last eggs to hatch, but thinks he’d rather not trust his luck. He’ll have to find another queen outside later.

He sighs and sits back from the desk where his ant farm rests. Even from back here, he can see their movement, like rocks tumbling through kaleidoscopes, jumbled and directionless. He drops in some food, but knows it won’t make a difference.

The desk is empty of anything important besides his ants. He used to do homework here. Schoolwork stays on his bed now; clutter has seeped into the rest of his room like mold. The sparse sunlight, coming through his window, does little to drive it out.

After one last check on the ants, he grabs his backpack and heads out to walk the three blocks to school. It’s bright out, the kind of bright where you can’t see anything, but it doesn’t feel like seeing matters much when no one can. The dry, dusty air doesn’t help. He heads to his first class, biology, and sits in his usual seat in the back, two seats behind that girl: the mayor’s kid, who always writes down the answers, but doesn’t raise her hand and always seems to get her hair caught on the nails on the back of her chair.

He saw the mayor last fall, when she gave her annual speech at graduation. Though she probably doesn’t have much better to do, he muses, taking care of a town like this, with as many stop lights as they have water fountains. It’s three, not that he’s counting. Seems like she couldn’t take care of her family too well either, with all that he’s heard about her. He thinks the girl is lonely. At least, he hasn’t seen her talk to anyone, and she walks through the hallways as if, despite her years here, she’s never seen them before.

He lets out a breath and takes out his books. Maybe he was too loud; she turns around. She’s never done that before.

“Will you quit staring at me?”

He stops for a second. “What?”

She’s already turned back, and maybe she heard, but she might not have; class is starting. It’s another lesson on macromolecules.

He taps his fingers one by one on the top of the desk, almost feeling the vibrations. He imagines all the bugs, the bacteria and parasites, and all the little creatures that live beneath his feet. He feels like he’s in a million pieces, a million tiny things swimming around in space that, when looked at from far away enough, happen to resemble one being. For some reason, the more he tries to understand, the worse it gets. So he looks at the grayed whiteboard, streaked with faint lines of different colors from where lines have been drawn and erased, drawn and erased. The ceiling is falling in, the drooping panels pretending that instead of metal bars, they’re hanging by a thread. The lab desks are painted black, but those are chipping too.

From back here, the kids are just hair, a motley of dull brown and black. Not a large enough group for a single redhead. He thought middle school would be bigger than this, with looming lecture halls steep enough to slide down, so they can fit all the kids. There are twenty-three kids here, and he knows each of their names and their parents. It’s easy to look down on them, knowing they’ll be stuck here forever, first at the college, then as workers in the electrical plant or the grocery store, and he will have escaped.

He blinks back to the lesson and tries to remember that even in a place like this, there’s something alive. It’s just too small to see.

When class is over, the girl walks out, not quite rushing, so he takes that as a good sign and jogs to catch up.

“Hey, wait.”

It almost looks like she’s walking faster, but it’s hard to tell. Someone bumps into him and while he’s distracted, she slips away.

He walks home on the same route he’s been walking most of his life. He thought he would be out of here, going to the elite boarding school two towns over. But when the money fell through, he found there weren’t too many scholarships available for ant enthusiasts. He supposes the town owes it to him, owes him good education, or at least a chance. The college is the only thing keeping this place on its feet, but it doesn’t seem that different from the rest of the town.

A car drives by, kicking up dust and dirt. He starts to cough. It’s the first car he’s seen today, but the dust doesn’t make his eyes water like it used to.

He stops by his house to grab some supplies and heads down to the only park in town, which is less of a park and more of a field. Grass and trees don’t live long in the desert. As the sand and dirt and dust came in, so did the ants. Now there’s hardly a place you can walk without stepping on one.

He crouches down by a tree near the entrance. Here, ants have nestled their homes, between the thick roots that bend through the dirt like tentacles. In order for the queen to be ready for a new colony, it must be hatched and mated, but not yet bonded with her colony. There are several colonies here, so at least one should have an extra queen. He keeps track of the ants here passively, just in case something should go wrong. He takes out his container. Lays down a trap.

The queen is coming for it. He just has to wait.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something.

The girl is standing there. Looking down at him. And there he is, playing in the dirt.

“Boo.” She doesn’t sound like she’s trying too hard to scare him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.”  

“Just hanging out?” She sounds incredulous, but almost smiles, as if this is a perfectly plausible excuse.

He tries to swallow and sighs instead. “I need an ant queen. For my ant farm?”

“Oh, right, your ant farm. You know, I forgot about the ant thing, from the science fair in third grade? Nice to know some things never change.”

He shrugs, not able to do much else. “Why are you here, then?”

“I just had to get out for a bit.” He can’t tell if she means her house or all of this, but it makes sense.

Her hands jammed in her pockets, her eyes shift across the landscape. “See you later, ant guy. If I can’t avoid it.”

He turns back to find his ant prize all wrapped up for him, but he leaves confused.

Introducing a new ant queen to a colony takes meticulous time. A single worker must be removed, refrigerated to make it less aggressive, and then placed next to the queen. She has to prove her dominance on the worker, and the worker must get used to the queen’s scent. Then, another worker is refrigerated and added, then another, over the course of days or even weeks. The queen has to win them over one by one, though the first is always the hardest.  

People always used to tell him that when he got older and got a job, he would get caught in the grind of life, waking up early every morning and completing whatever slack-jawed job he was assigned until he went to bed. Maybe it will happen one day, but for now, his life isn’t like that. Not just because his schoolwork doesn’t occupy all his time, but because the time he wasn’t working, he spent on something he’s actually enjoying: his ant farm. People could talk, but it didn’t bother him when he knew he had at least made meaning in a life where everything seemed to be working against just that.

When he introduces the first worker, it keeps its distance. Maybe he didn’t wait long enough. It still seems stuck on its old queen. It’s aggressive towards the new one.

Ants fighting those from other colonies often battle to the death, and he doesn’t know how far this one will go. He leaves them alone and hopes for the best.

The problem with people is that they can’t be kept isolated or refrigerated to make them docile.

In his next biology class, she’s missing. Absent, unexcused. First time this year.

On his desk is a pencil-sketched picture of an ant.

***

A week later, more worker ants have been added to the mix. There’s fighting still, with the queen and each other. He should have waited longer, but now, he just follows the process, adding one ant a day.

She still hasn’t shown up to class. He thinks about looking for her and tries going to that spot in the park again, but finds nothing.  

He starts to worry about her. Something had to have happened. People don’t just disappear, especially in a town where it’s hard enough to leave by normal methods.

There’s a species of ants in the Amazon that build elaborate traps out of plant fiber. They fill it with holes, and each wait beneath one, and when an insect comes on top, every ant reaches through the hole and grabs the insect with their jaws. They’re predators, sometimes even to other ants.

The ground has been feeling pretty thin to him lately.

***

It takes a month for him to incorporate the rest of the worker ants with the queen. From their eyes, it must be a massive crowd. It would be hard to find a spot where your antennas weren’t bumping into anyone. Some of them climb over each other, and though there isn’t much fighting, there’s tension in the container. A queen is a queen, and while they know they need her, they don’t bow to her. He starts to incorporate them back into the ant farm, though this is a first for the new queen. It seems to reinvigorate her; in her own domain, with her special chambers, she begins to take control.

He starts to anticipate biology class; now there’s a black hole in the room bigger than the lab desk and two spots farther away. He feels like the jellyfish used for DNA splicing — some strange thought is now part of him, and there’s no way to get it out. He wonders if anyone else notices her absence. Are they looking for her? Are the police looking for her? What if she was murdered, or kidnapped?

When his curiosity gets the better of him, he asks the teacher, who shrugs, then the kids who sit next to her chair, who do the same. It’s not that no one noticed, but no one seems personally invested enough to try and do anything. He isn’t either, but the more he learns of others’ negligence, the more he wants himself to care.

So after another week, when his ants have settled and he has nothing he can distract himself with, he heads down to the mayor’s house.

It’s taller than the other houses on the block, but not imposing. It has a porch, tall windows, gray walls. The driveway holds a single car, pointing outwards.

He’s seen the mayor before, up on stage and in pictures in the town hall. He’d been in there a couple times, for his fifth grade piano recital before he quit, and then for graduation. He often wonders if she knows him, if she remembers the names of most of the citizens, or if she just directs from afar. Ant queens use chemical signals to direct different workers, and he wonders how much of her job is behind the scenes.

He looks at the doorbell, the creaky steps, and covered windows. The chipping, cesious paint on the doorframe reminds him of the biology desks. The door, however, looks freshly painted, so he can tell someone is trying to keep up appearances. The windows are dusty, so he imagines if they spend time looking out across the town, it would be on this porch, on the couch, and scattered chairs. There’s a deck of cards on the table in the middle, and he wonders if they spend a lot of time out here.

He decides to go in the back way instead.

There’s a shed with the door open, so filled as to make the place unusable, yet still somewhat organized. Bikes are in their slots on the back wall, posters for a Girl Scout cookie booth on the walls, tennis rackets in a pile next to the balls, and portable net. There’s a life here, a childhood. Nothing too recent, though.

He heads in the back door. He’s been here twice before, once for her birthday party, once for an invitation to “hang out.” He thought they had fun, but she didn’t really talk to him or invite him over after that.

He wonders if the mayor is home. He hasn’t seen her lately, but she must be around, attending to the town or something. He wonders if she’s been looking for her daughter, if she knows where she went.

It’s a little familiar, and he figures out where to turn to go up one flight of stairs, and then another. He glances into the rooms he passes: a bright kitchen, a formal living room, rows of bedrooms ready for use. There are lots of signs and crochet pillows with sayings like No Place Like Home and Love This Place.

When each of the rooms turn up empty, he heads up to the attic.

It’s strange to think of the deadness he’s seen in this place for so long as contentment. Do people really choose to live here? The mayor must. But looking around, her attic is empty, except for dust bunnies and a few boxes on the sides and in the corner. There are ants living in almost any climate, even the tundra, but he doubts his ants would like it up here, in the dry heat and stale air. He supposes for once, he’s grateful he’s not an ant.

There’s a small, square window in the center. He pushes aside the curtain and stops to look out.

It’s getting late, and he can see the sun passing over the horizon. A first star looks down. When he thinks about solar systems, it’s easy to imagine ours as an atom, one cog in a massive machine beyond human comprehension. It’s nice, for once, to imagine himself as part of something greater.

From here, he can see everything: the paths of the school, the buildings and streets, the hospital he was born in, the ice cream place he used to walk to from his house. The lined passageways don’t make a matrix, they make sense: a thousand weaving roads each leading to another, all centered around this house. There are dozens of people out, some driving on the roads, others walking through the park or standing in their lawns. Only ants have to follow the passageways they build.

Looking out, he can’t think of where she would have gone. He used to think he was stuck here, but now it seems like the only thing keeping him here was himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees her car, a black dot, speeding away like she’s being chased.

 

The Bomb

Five hours ago, my mother walked up to me and dropped a bomb. Right there, in the living room. People shouldn’t be allowed to do that.

Ever since school got out, I’ve been working. All my friends, well, they’ve been out riding their bikes and wall jumping and doing the sorts of things that one would expect a 15-year-old boy to do.

But every time I sit down and start drawing, it’s almost unthinkable to stop. I submitted a portfolio to my local arts high school a month ago, and I’m so anxious sometimes, I notice that I forget to breathe. My mom agreed to send in the application, after months of me begging and being extra nice. She thinks I’m studying for the SAT, but I’m drawing. I don’t think I need to study for a test I have to take in 3 years, and I would much rather be working on something I love to do. She won’t listen, though, so I have to lie.

Anyways, back to the bomb. I’m not a scientist, but I’m pretty sure an entire town could have collapsed from that one.

My mother, she didn’t send in my portfolio.

I don’t know if you’re aware of the deadlines for the Las Vegas Academy of the Arts’ Visual Art Program, but it was yesterday. So why, you may ask, did my mother not submit my portfolio? Well, she and my father had a discussion without my knowledge. Let me illustrate the conversation that we had.

“Honey, can you get the mail?” my mother screeched out of the dining room.

“Sure, Mom,” I mumbled, scooping the letters off of the marble floor and placing them in her pointy fingers. I stood there, with my hands folded, swaying back and forth.

“Harrison, what do you want? Stop slouching,” she said, as she browsed through the mail.

“Mom, I know you’re getting tired of me asking, but is there any possible way you’ve heard from LVA?” I winced as I asked. The last time, I got yelled at. I suppose I have been nagging her a bit.

“Jesus Christ, Harrison.” She groaned as she started to play with her silk scarf. Who wears a scarf in the summer? “We’ve been through this. You’ll hear when you hear, and besides, your father and I don’t even want you to attend that pitiful excuse for a school. Your father already has a spot for you at Meadows, where you’ll get a well-rounded education.”

“Okay, Mother. I know this school isn’t preppy enough for you, and it may not have buckets of money, and the average SAT score may not be 1500, but please could you consider my feelings? I want to go there, okay? The number of times Dad takes me to meet alumni or the staff there at his golf tournaments won’t change that.”

“Okay…” she said, rolling her eyes at me with such force, that I’m pretty sure I saw some eyeshadow flake off.

“No, Mom, listen to me. What is going on here? Why are you hiding the results from me?  Contrary to what you think, I’m not stupid. The results were supposed to come in a week ago. James already got his results back. He got in, and if he can, I certainly can. What did the letter say?”

“I think we should discuss this with your father, and anyways, we don’t have time. Go upstairs and get ready for the dinner party tonight,” she said, setting the unopened mail down on the table and slowly getting up from her velvet armchair.  

“God, why are you always so passive aggressive?” I yelled, slamming the oak door behind me.

“Fine, Harrison. Do you really want to know? Do you really want to hear it from me? Here? Now?” my mom yelled, following me into the hallway. “You didn’t get into the school.  You know why? Because I never handed in your goddamn portfolio. There you go. That is the truth. So stop nagging me about it.” Her pointy heels dug into the carpeting as she stormed out. “Do you know how hard your father and I worked to get you into Meadows? Don’t you understand that LVA isn’t a real school?” she yelled behind her, her voice bouncing off the paintings and trophies and photos that attempted to fill up the empty house.

I’m pretty sure I stood there for about ten minutes with my mouth wide open. Not to be blunt, but I hate my mother. Not in that teenage angsty way where I’m upset because she won’t let me go to a party or because I’m grounded. But because I genuinely don’t respect her. What kind of a person lies to their kid about that kind of thing? And I don’t buy that, “Your father and I just want what’s best for you” crap. Please. She just wants to be able to tell her friends that her kid goes to Meadows. That way she can get their manicured, blow dried, and botoxed approval.

I stormed down the hall, past all of the trophies in their glass cases, determined not to become one of them. When I got to my room, I ran to my bookshelf and ripped all of the pamphlets and books about Meadows onto the carpeted floors. I went to the back of my closet and rummaged around until I found the mustard yellow Meadows hoodie that my parents gave me for Christmas, and I threw it in the pile.

Then, I put on my usual suit and tie for dinner. I was halfway through putting on my belt when my phone rang. I picked my jeans up off the floor and pulled my phone out of the pocket.

“Elise? Why are you calling me?” I put my phone on speaker and continued to put on my belt.

“You don’t even have the decency to say hello to me, Harrison?” she joked. I knew she was smiling, and I could picture her dimples.

“Okay. Hello, Elise,” I mocked, catching her smile.

“Well, guess what?” she teased into the phone.

“What?” I was curious by then.

“I got into LVA! I submitted my portfolio early, just like you, and it paid off! I’m so happy, and I know you’ll get in. You have to!” She sounded like she had just won the lottery, and I’m sure I would have too, if I were in her situation.

“Oh, that’s great.” I’m not a very good actor, and this wasn’t an exception. I think she knew something was wrong. I mean, after all, she knew me the best out of practically anybody.

“Is everything okay, Harrison? You don’t sound too good. Did your mom go off on you about LVA again? You know, you really should stand up to her at some point. I know I’ve said that about a million times, but just because she’s your mom doesn’t mean she can control you.” Elise gave me the usual speech. I mean, yeah, I should stand up for myself, but it wouldn’t make any difference. Mom either wouldn’t listen or wouldn’t care.

“I have to go to this dumb dinner party with my parents, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I didn’t wait for a response and hung up the phone. I didn’t think she would mind. After all, she was going to make a million new friends at LVA, and I was just this little boy who couldn’t even stand up to his own mother

I rode the car ride there in silence. Cold, bitter silence.

When we arrived, I sat down across from my mother, and to the left of my father.  The long, oak table stretched on and on, and I hoped the evening wouldn’t do the same. When the appetizers were served, my mother brought up a topic that really wasn’t wise to bring up.

“You know, Amy, Harrison is absolutely delighted to attend Meadows next year.  Do you have any alumni advice for him?” She talks differently around these people. She coos when she speaks.

“Well, you’re in for a tough ride, but a good one. I think you’ll fit in there.” Amy half laughed as she talked.

I didn’t look up. I just moved the mustard greens around on my plate. I couldn’t listen to any more alumni talk, so I turned to my mother.

“You know what, Mom, I don’t really think you should be going around telling people that I’m going to Meadows when I haven’t even agreed to go.” I spoke softly, hoping that nobody else could hear.

“Harrison, what are you talking about? We agreed at home, an hour ago, that that is where you will be going to school. Now, shut up. We can talk later.” She smiled as she talked, but believe me, she wasn’t happy.

“Are you kidding me?” I spoke louder, and the whole room turned their big heads toward me. “We did not agree that I would be going to Meadows. You told me that you didn’t submit my application to the school that I actually want to go to. I don’t know what world you live in, but that doesn’t suddenly make me want to attend a snotty private school.”

My mom was looking at me in utter disbelief and didn’t seem to notice that her Chardonnay had spilled onto her croquettes. “How do you have the audacity to speak to me that way? Your father and I have discussed this. You are a child. Our child. And we know what is best for you. Your attitude about this is deplorable. I’m not discussing this here any longer. We will settle this at home, but there isn’t any more to talk about at the moment.”

“I’m terribly sorry to inconvenience you with the timing, and my apologies go out to you, Mrs. Smith, for I’m afraid I have disrupted your casual get-together. But do you even listen to yourself, mother? I mean really. ‘Your attitude is deplorable’ Who talks like that? Who spends an hour on their hair and ten minutes on their kid? You probably aren’t even listening to me right now, you’re probably too busy wondering what excuse you’ll make up to excuse your son’s deplorable actions.”

 By now, my mother’s left eye was twitching, and one of Mrs. Smith’s embroidered napkins was balled up in her lap.

“I try to talk to you about this at home, and you run away into one of the million rooms to hide in. Well you can’t run this time, Mom. Listen to me. I don’t want to go to that boring, privileged, and snotty school. I don’t want to do things so that you can tell Cindy or Mary about how studious your son is. Will you just stop thinking about how other people will view you?”

“Okay, okay, let’s stop this acrimonious discussion, darling.” My mother was half smiling (I’m pretty sure she was thinking about ways to punish me), and she was completely unraveled.  

“Do you hear me? I don’t care if I have to go to the shitty, local school. I’m not going.”

The company was astonished that I had just cursed, but my mother yelled over the gasps.

“That’s it. I’m done. You try and handle having a kid. You try what I have to go through every day. Your ignorance is aggravating. I’m doing the best thing for you, not me. I’m sorry that you want to be an artist. I’m sorry that you want to become homeless and unaccomplished, but I won’t allow it. You’re embarrassing yourself. Just leave.” She sat back down and picked her wine glass out of her plate.

I was happy to oblige. “Thank you for the lovely evening, Mrs. Smith,” I yelled behind me as I escaped out of the dining hall. I probably wouldn’t be invited back.  Oh well.

Our driver wasn’t going to pick us up for another hour and a half, so I started to walk home. Our estate was miles and miles away, but at least I would have something to do. I didn’t know what to think of what had just happened, but I suppose I finally got heard.

Punny

Nobody liked 30-year-old George Denton’s show. It was on at 10:00 at night, and it was called This Week in Jokes. It was supposed to be a hilarious show filled with funny anecdotes about the latest gossip, but George didn’t do a great job living up to those expectations. He really wasn’t funny. All he could write were terrible puns, and no one really appreciated them. It was a miracle he could make a living off his horrible show and still have enough money to pay his only crew member, Charlotte Lacourse.

All George wanted was to be a famous comedian, but it’s very, very hard to do that when you’re not funny. When he first started, George absolutely loved his job and thought he was on the path to fame and fortune. However, after years and years of disappointment, George’s love for his show began to fade away. He would’ve stopped as it was quite far from a success, but if he didn’t work on his show he would have no money at all.

“You know, George,” Charlotte said to him one day when she came in to work, “if you’re really unhappy with this show, perhaps you should consider looking for a different job.”

“A different job? There’s nothing else I’d be good at.”

Charlotte wished dearly to say that if that was the case, there was nothing he was good at, for he certainly wasn’t a good comedian. However, her respect for his feelings prevented her hurting them in such a way.

George ran his fingers through his dark brown hair thoughtfully. “I suppose there’s no harm in looking…” he said very slowly.

“No there certainly isn’t,” she replied. “It might also be a good idea to talk to someone who can help you figure out what kind of job would be best for you.”

George, happy with this suggestion, made an appointment with a life coach by the name of Dr. Walsh. He was very smart, and very Irish. His accent was, at times, absolutely impossible to understand.

George got to the office at 3:00 for his 4:30 appointment. Charlotte, who had recommended him, had told him that he might be taken early, but he had really misunderstood her. However, it just happened to be George’s lucky day, because he was the only one in the office and he saw Dr. Walsh at 3:15.

“Hello Dr. Walsh,” he said nervously, “I’m George Denton. I had an appointment for 4:30.”

“Yes, I see that,” said Dr. Walsh, staring down at a notebook.

“Pardon me?” George said hesitantly, for Dr. Walsh’s accent was just too much for him.

Dr. Walsh cleared his throat, seeming not to hear him. “Well George,” he said suddenly,
“What is it you need from me today?”

“Well

“Wait,” Dr. Walsh said, cutting him off, “your shoes look rather tight. Take them off please. I find it’s much easier to talk to patients if they’re as comfortable as possible.”

“Alright… ” George said hesitantly, wondering quite how weird Dr. Walsh was going to be. He removed his shoes and placed them on the table.

“No!” cried Dr. Walsh. “You cannot put shoes on the table! It’s the most important Irish superstition! Put those shoes back on and get out of here.” He pointed to the door.

George told Charlotte about his very unsuccessful meeting with Dr. Walsh, hoping she could recommend someone else to talk to, but she had no one. Dr. Walsh was the only person she ever went to see. George supposed she never put her shoes on the table or let her chair fall over when she stood up, which Dr. Walsh had nearly fainted at when it happened to George.

That night, George performed another one of his shows, though he was really not in the mood. He had hoped that Dr. Walsh would have been able to help him solve his job problem, but he had no idea how insane he would be.

“Hello, and welcome once more to… This Week in Jokes!” George said, turning his chair to face the running camera held by Charlotte. “This week, we have had some very interesting reports about animals. First of all, Karla the Koala has learned to sing! I bet that girl gives some Koality hugs!”

Charlotte laughed. She always did that so it sounded like there was an audience enjoying all his terrible jokes.

“In addition to our animal with the great Koalafications, the cow who wrote that book last summer has come up with a moo novel!”

Charlotte laughed again.

“Speaking of novels, Barry the beagle thinks that the dogs in the wonderful book from last week, All the Queen’s Corgis, had a pretty ruff life! This is an interesting theory as most would think that being the Queen’s pet would give you some serious advantages.”

Just like all the other shows they produced, this show was not successful at all. It didn’t really affect George, though, because by now he was so used to his failures that he would have had a greater reaction if it had actually worked out.

The day after this show, George was walking along fifth avenue when he spotted a sign. It read: DR. ANDREW JACKSON, LIFE COACH. George got excited and decided impulsively to walk inside.

“Hello,” he said confidently to the receptionist.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked irritably, staring at him over her square rimmed glasses.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, we can try to fit you in but I’m not sure we’ll be able to,” she sighed.

“Oh, yes, it does look rather busy in here,” George said under his breath, looking around at the empty waiting room.
“What did you say?” the receptionist demanded.

“Nothing,” he mumbled in reply.

“You’re in luck,” the lady said, though she didn’t sound at all enthusiastic, “Dr. Jackson can just squeeze you in today. You’ll have to wait twenty minutes, though.”

“Alright,” George said happily. He had nowhere else to go.

After twenty-two minutes, the receptionist told him to walk down the hall and enter the first room on his right.

“Thank you,” George said. He discovered that there was absolutely no reason he had had to wait, for before he went in, no one came out, and there was no one exiting the room as he entered it.

George took a seat on the fluffy couch placed across from the armchair where the rather short Dr. Jackson was seated. There was no desk in between them.

“Hello,” Dr. Jackson said. “What’s your name?”
“George Denton. I don’t have an appointment but the lady at reception told me I could come.”

“Alright, George, what exactly do you need to talk about?”

“I’d like to talk about my job situation. I’m not happy where I am, but I don’t think there’s anywhere else I’d do well.”

Dr. Jackson sighed. “I get that a lot. People need to make better decisions about jobs.”

“Yes, well, I’m certainly not happy with mine,” George replied, trying to get back on topic.

“May I ask what about your current occupation it is that you are so unhappy with?”
“I run a show called This Week in Jokes. I’m the only member of the cast, and I’ve only got one crew member. I’ve been putting it on for five years now, but it’s a very unsuccessful show.”

“How on earth has it stayed in business this long?” Dr. Jackson asked, and rather insensitively, George thought.

“We’ve only got one investor, but he’s so wealthy it doesn’t really matter to him where his money goes. He agreed to pay for our show years ago when we told him we’d pay him a lot if he did. That was back when we thought our show would be a great success. Obviously, we didn’t make enough to keep our promise, so gradually we had to stop paying him, but he never really noticed and he keeps giving us his money.”

“Hmm… I’m sure you’re very grateful to him.”

“Yes, we are,” George said eagerly.

“But anyway,” Dr. Jackson said, “We need to talk about your unhappiness with your show. Why don’t you like your job?”

“I’ve always wanted to be wealthy and famous. I used to have fabulous dreams that everywhere I went people would stop me and ask for my autograph. I thought I’d be an outstanding comedian. But no one appreciates my jokes, so I’ve been beginning to think that maybe I’m not that great after all.”

“Well,” Dr. Jackson replied thoughtfully, “If that’s the case it would be a good idea for you to look around at other jobs. What do you think you’d be happy doing?”

“Anything where my talents are really appreciated.”

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about that one. How about I look around and let you know when I find things I think would be good for you?”

“That sounds wonderful! Thank you!” George said enthusiastically, and he left feeling quite happy he had seen that sign. Dr. Jackson was certainly better than crazy Dr. Walsh.

George had to wait a couple days before he heard from Dr. Jackson, but eventually he received a letter in the mail with his return address on it. Inside, he found four different packets filled with information about four different jobs.

The first one was, interestingly enough, a position at Starbucks. Dr. Jackson’s note said that this job might be good because the baristas were always spelling people’s names wrong and he could use his sense of humor to come up with funny name spellings. Somehow, George didn’t think that was quite the job for him.

The second job was a job at Apple in which he had to fix autocorrect issues. Dr. Jackson suggested that he could make autocorrect phrases into funny autocorrected phrases. Although working at Apple might be kind of cool, George thought he’d likely get fired if he irritated people with autocorrect when he was supposed to be making it work better.

The third job was a job working at Buzzfeed, for they were always making funny jokes. Though George did appreciate their funny articles, he didn’t think he’d do well working at a computer all day when he hardly understood how they worked. The only person who would have offered to teach him was Charlotte, but he hadn’t wanted her to think he was dumb for not knowing, so he just told her he was great with technology. He resolved not to tell her he had received this offer.

The fourth and final job was a position as coordinator of kids’ birthday parties at a gymnastics venue. Though this job didn’t seem like it would really require a sense of humor, Dr. Jackson said that when working with children, you always needed to be funny. However, not only did George find most children rather irritating, he had very bad organization skills and didn’t think he’d do well coordinating anything.

No matter what job he chose, even if it wasn’t one of these four, which it probably wouldn’t, he needed to put together a resume. He started this immediately, with help from Charlotte, for it needed to be done on a computer. George spent a while trying to come up with an excuse for why he needed help, but he didn’t need to, for although he always pretended he understood computers, Charlotte had always known he really didn’t.

“Okay,” Charlotte said. “So what was your first ever job?”

“I worked at a CVS,” he replied, slightly sheepishly.

Charlotte repressed a laugh. “Alright,” she said, typing that in. “And you started this show right after that, right?”

“Yep. And I’ve been working on it ever since.”

Once George and Charlotte finished putting together his resume, they needed to plan their next show. George looked at the latest news and discovered that a wonderful new shop called Georgia’s Chocolates had opened. George started thinking about some good chocolate puns.

“I know!” he said out loud, and Charlotte turned to look at him. “What?” she asked.

“I wonder if Georgia owns a pet chocolate moose!” George said excitedly.

Charlotte gave a small laugh.

“What, not good enough?” George asked indignantly.

“Oh, no, it’s perfectly good!” Charlotte said quickly. George seemed satisfied and they continued working in silence. It didn’t last long, though.

“Hey Charlotte?” George said after five minutes.

“Yes?” she said, preparing herself for another pun.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Oh! Of course!” she said, taken aback.

“Why did you go to Dr. Walsh in the first place?” George asked.

“He seemed like a good life coach,” Charlotte replied, thinking the answer was really quite simple.

“Well, yes,” George said impatiently, “I didn’t think you would have gone to someone who was supposed to be bad. But why did you need a life coach in the first place?”

“Oh… same as you. Career stuff.”

“When did you stop seeing him?” George asked, thinking that Charlotte didn’t need any job help now that she worked for him.

“I still go,” she said, trying to stay calm.

“But… why? Aren’t you happy with your job?”

“I wasn’t pleased. It’s hard to work on a show that has no success, who’s only investor doesn’t even know they’re paying for it. Dr. Walsh helped me to better appreciate my job.

“But you appreciate it now, right?”

“Oh… yeah, of course,” Charlotte replied uncertainly.

Though Charlotte’s answer would have been satisfactory, there was something in her voice that made George suspicious.

***

The next day, Charlotte was late to work. She was supposed to come in at 9:30, but it was now 11:00, and George was constantly checking his watch. He decided to call her, even though he knew she hated it when she got phone calls that weren’t emergencies.

He dialed her number and held the phone up to his ear. He heard it ringing on the other side, but no Charlotte answered it. He waited and waited until he heard Charlotte’s voice. He started speaking, but then realized that it was only, “You’ve reached Charlotte Lacourse. I’m not here right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!” Frustrated, George waited for the beep and left a message asking her where she was.

Charlotte didn’t call George back, or show up to work that day. He was starting to worry that something bad had happened to her.

That night, George was going to call ‘Missing Persons’ to see if Charlotte had gone missing, but because he was very forgetful, he didn’t. However, he hoped that Charlotte had just been sick yesterday and had forgotten to call him, so he went into work thinking she would be there. She wasn’t. She wasn’t there at 10:00, 11:00 or noon. She never showed up and, again, wouldn’t answer her phone. George was starting to get very worried. He was so preoccupied that when he went home, he walked right past the doorman, not realizing he had mail for him.

“Excuse me, sir,” the doorman said, “I’ve got your mail for you.”

“Oh! Thank you,” he said, taking the mail. He got upstairs and dropped the letters on the coffee table. He wasn’t even going to open them, but he noticed that the letter on top was  in very familiar handwriting, and upon picking it up, he realized that the return address was Charlotte’s. George got nervous, for Charlotte never wrote letters, never. Breathing quickly, George ripped open the envelope (which took a while, for he was about as good at opening letters as he was at following Irish superstitions) and pulled out the paper. He began to read, having absolutely no clue what he would find there.

Dear George,

I thought this would be easier to write in a letter than to tell you, as I fear it will surprise and worry you greatly. I’d like to elaborate on what I said about why I saw Dr. Walsh and my satisfaction with my job. To be honest, I never liked my job. Like you, I wanted to be famous and it frustrated me that your puns never got us anywhere. I majored in comedy at college, and I was really good. I knew that if I had my own show, it would be successful and my jokes would be hilarious. I didn’t like your show. I thought that if I helped you out by recommending some good life coaches, you would see that you needed a different job, and once you were gone, I would be able to take over your show and make it my own. I know this will come as a blow, but I never wanted you to succeed. I always told you your puns were good because if you knew they weren’t, I worried you’d ask me for help and then they would be good jokes and your show, particularly you, would become successful. That was the exact opposite of what I wanted, because then you would stick with the show and I would not be able to take it over. After our conversation the other day, when you asked me about why I needed a life coach, I realized that you were too close to discovering the truth and I had to leave. I was terrified you’d find out, but now that I’ve left and won’t be coming back, I feel like it’s safe to tell you, and you deserve to know because of how trusting of me you’ve been. When I first left two days ago, I had the design of coming back once you had left the show, which I knew would happen now that your only crew member was gone and you’ve told me you’re not happy.  However, upon leaving and moving to Portland, where I am now, I got a job assisting one of the best comedians of all time, Jackson Hatson. This job is a clear path to fame, whereas reviving an unsuccessful show would be very hard and less likely to turn out well.

Now that you have found out about my selfish character, I know we will surely never see each other again, so I wish you all the best in whatever you pursue and I hope that you have a happy and healthy life.

Charlotte Lacourse

George was speechless, not that he had anyone to speak to. He couldn’t believe this. Charlotte, who had always been so kind, Charlotte, who had always seemed so supportive, Charlotte, had betrayed his trust. It was absolutely unbelievable. It was even more painful to know that Charlotte was right, he would leave his show without a crew member. He’d been planning on it for a while anyway. George was going to miss his show. He remembered the day he had decided to start it…

***

George went home and collapsed onto the couch after a long day of working at the local CVS. He reached out his arm and grabbed the television remote lying on the coffee table. He turned on the tv and selected a channel at random.

“This looks pretty good,” he mumbled to himself.

The show on the channel of George’s choice was a fake news show put on by Michael McMarty. It was very funny.

“That looks fun to do,” George thought to himself. He started daydreaming about being someone like Michael McMarty. Wouldn’t it be great to be a famous comedian? George loved jokes, and though he had never tried, he thought he would probably be good at making them up. George loved the laughter of the audience watching Michael McMarty. He loved everything about the comedian’s life. That was the day he resolved to be a famous comedian and start his own show.

***

George sighed. Back then, he had thought that being a comedian was the best thing he could possibly do, that it would be so much fun and that he would be famous and successful. Clearly, comedy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

George decided to go out for a walk. He thought it might be a better opportunity for reflection than sitting inside all day.

When he was out walking, he spotted a small, cracked bottle of blue nail polish lying on the street corner. Figuring he would be a good citizen, he picked it up and was about to throw it out when he noticed the name on the bottom. ‘Don’t Be Blue,’ it read. George chuckled to himself. He wondered who wrote those punny names… and then, it hit him. He needed a job coming up with nail polish names.

That night, he wrote an email to the head of Essie, one of the most prestigious nail

polish companies in the country, if not the world. George was shocked to receive an answer just an hour later. Upon reading it, he saw that Essie would let him apply for the job! Very excited, he pulled out the resume he had constructed with Charlotte. He winced. It pained him to think of her.

The next day, after sending in his application, George received another email. He was wanted for a job interview with Essie! He was ecstatic.

George’s interview went very well, although not all of it was comfortable. There were lots of questions about This Week in Jokes, for he had been working on it for a very long time. Every recollection was painful, for there had never been a day, until she left, that Charlotte had not been with him at work. He scowled, remembering that she had surely only done that to continue working her devilish scheme.

The people at Essie seemed very pleased with George. The puns that the viewers of ‘This Week in Jokes’ had hated so much were exactly what these people loved. He got the job, and it was absolutely perfect. George mourned Charlotte as if she had died, for the Charlotte he had known certainly had. Though he learned to move on and really loved his new job, the loss of his partner and supporter stayed in the back of his mind forever and always made him sad when he thought of it.

Epilogue

One Saturday night, George went home to watch television. He was going to switch to the channel of his choice, but before he did he noticed a headline that interested him: Famous Comedian’s Assistant Fired. He clicked on the channel, wondering who it was. A reporter was speaking.

“ — assistant to Jackson Hatson has been fired. Let’s hear from her about what went wrong.” George’s eyes widened. Though he wished to turn it off, because he hated thinking about Charlotte, there was something about the segment that drew his eyes like magnets. Charlotte appeared on the screen.

“So, Ms. Lacourse,” the reporter said, “why do you think Mr. Hatson has brought this sudden end to your time with his show?’

“Oh, I really don’t know what went wrong,” Charlotte replied distractedly, “I was going to be famous, everyone loved me, but my jokes began turning dull and Mr. Hatson thought I was hurting his career instead of benefiting both of ours.”

George felt a sort of grim satisfaction. Finally, Charlotte could experience the huge disappointment he had had to go through.

“Well, Ms. Lacourse,” the reporter said, “On the bright side of things, I love that nail polish you’re wearing. What’s it called?”
“Oh, it’s called Li-Lac-ing Color,” Charlotte said, looking at the very light shade of purple on her nails.

George laughed out loud. He remembered inventing that specific color. Charlotte had now gone through what he had to when he discovered how unsuccessful he was, and she was wearing one of his nail polish colors. George was satisfied.

The True Horrors of Online Dating

Ever since I was a youngling, I have always wanted to be loved by others. Besides my parents and friends, that is. What I’m talking about is relationships and “mating”. Sure, I did have many lovers in my life, but, after a while, I realized the people in Billings— no, not just Billings— people in the whole state of Montana are not… appetizing to me. They all seem like one, ugly female, and that bothers me. Why can’t I find someone that I truly love? People my age are having kids already, and I, twenty-seven-year-old Rick Doherty, am still single.

That’s why I tried online dating. I hoped I could find someone who truly appealed to me. But, all I saw were either people who looked hideous, or hot chicks who were already in relationships.

I desperately posted a really sexy picture of myself in hopes of attracting someone. That, at first, attracted even more monstrous creations. There was a girl with two warts on her mouth and an overuse of makeup, constantly sending me chat requests. I declined chatting with her, but she just kept on sending me requests. After a while, I got sick of all of this, accepted one of her requests, and said I wasn’t interested in her. She never sent me another request. In fact, she deleted her profile. A small victory for me, but I wondered if I was too harsh on her.

To be honest, I was ready to delete my profile at that point, too, until, a month into this website, I struck gold.

Jackie Martha LeGree was really pretty, without excess makeup. Her blonde hair weaved down her tan skin, and her green eyes were like emeralds in a cave of rock. She seemed attracted to me too, since, when I accepted her request, she texted me, “You look hot.”

We started texting constantly— right when I woke up, on my way to work, at work, on my way back home, and while I ate. I learned that she was from Greensboro, North Carolina, and that she was twenty-seven too. She was an outdoors lover, and, when she could, she would sit outside and enjoy nature at its finest. She worked for a nature preserve, and she enjoyed helping the environment grow. She bragged that her nature preserve was the best in the country.

I also used this opportunity to brag about myself. I said I was a programmer for a game (didn’t say which), a really smart and buff guy (partially true), and a kind community worker (which is surprisingly true). Jackie seemed to love the “altruistic ” side of me, and she also loved video games and smart people, which made me feel warm inside. We seemed to have so many similarities, making us a match made for heaven. By then, we officially became online boyfriend and girlfriend. My heart was racing every time she texted me, knowing that all she would do was shower me with praise, in which I would do the same to her.

A year passed. Despite being in contact with her, I hadn’t met Jackie in person yet. I asked her if she could meet up, but she said that she was too busy working in the nature preserve. I kept bugging her until, one day, Jackie texted me that she was given a week off, and she was going to Billings to visit me. I told her to meet with me at Rainbow Bar. What I didn’t tell her, though, is that I bought her a Blue Diamond ring so I could propose to her. I was ready to become a husband, and I hoped she was ready to become my spouse, too.

The day came. I brought my ring to the bar and waited for a long time. I looked at every girl that came in, hoping that it was the blonde-haired, green-eyed girl that would become my future wife.

I fiddled with my ring as I wondered if her flight was cancelled, or if she was lost in the city. I was pondering to go search for her when my phone rang.

It was Jackie. She texted that she was going to arrive in a few minutes.

My heart was ready to run a marathon. Finally, I was going to meet her in person, then hope she would marry me. My body was filled with so much adrenaline, I didn’t realize that a taxi car drove in. I spotted an old, dark-haired lady with a crooked nose and broken brown eyes that I had never seen before. Was she a newcomer? I thought. I never saw someone so hideous. She can’t be my date… wait! It struck me then that I never knew what her voice sounded like, nor did I see other pictures of her. Oh, shit

My heart flipped as the old woman spotted me. A really creepy and crooked smile appeared on her face as she walked towards me. Oh, no no no!

“Hi,” She croaked. “You must be Rick.”

Noooooo!

“Uh, yes, I… uh, I am Rick,” I managed to say, unable to cover my surprise and fear.

“Hehe. Yes, I’m Jackie. And that must be a ring you’re holding. You want to marry me?”

When I didn’t reply, she continued. “No one has wanted to marry me. Ever. This is my first proposal. You know I’ll definitely say yes, right?”

“You said that you were twenty-seven…” I said in a small voice. “Your profile picture…”

“Yeah, that’s a picture I managed to Photoshop,” She said. “And I’m actually sixty-eight.”

“But…” I stammered. “Why did you lie to me all this time?”

“I have always loved younger men,” She said. “I was attracted to you once I saw you. I knew you wouldn’t love an old, ugly woman, so I put that picture together to attract you. I hoped that when you learned what I was inside, you would love me no matter what.”

She stared at me. Her brown eyes made me sink into my chair, wishing that someone could just kill me.

She snatched the ring from me and was about to put it on when I smacked it out of her hand. Her eyes widened as the ring flew across the room into someone’s beer.

“No,” I said. I was scared to the core, but I was beginning to feel really angry. “You lied to me! You made yourself seem younger so I would become your boyfriend. No! No! No! I’m not going to marry you.”

Jackie was speechless, her scary eyes staring at me. Finally, she smiled her creepy smile and said, “Well, of course you want to marry me. Come here and give me a kiss.” She closed her eyes, puckered her lips and moved closer towards me.

Before she made contact with me, I swiftly leapt out of my chair and sprinted out the door of the bar, fear and anger fueling me to go faster. I heard her gag as she realized she had accidentally kissed my chair. By now, people were giving us weird looks.

“Wait!” She screamed out the door. “Come back! I promise I’ll be a great wife! Please, my love!”

“I never loved you!”

I ran into my car and immediately sped away from the bar. I looked back and hoped that she wasn’t following me. The street was completely devoid of humans, which made me sigh with relief. I drove home, locked the door, and the first thing I did was delete my dating profile, ignoring all the messages Jackie had sent me while I was running away from her. I was still in disbelief that I had wasted a whole year dating what I had thought was the perfect woman, when the whole time it was a pedophile, manipulating inexperienced men like me into loving her.

It’s sad that there are a lot of evil people trying to harm innocent, kind people like me. I mean, a community worker doesn’t deserve the devil, right? I remembered that hideous girl with the warts and excess makeup. Was I evil in her eyes when I harshly rejected her? Was she feeling what I’m going through right now? How did she recover from it? For the first time, I wondered if there truly was someone that is a perfect match for me.

The next day, I looked out my window. Jackie was nowhere to be seen. Good, she didn’t find my address. As I drove my car to the train station, ready for work, I drove past the Hilton Hotel Jackie had said she was staying in. Feeling myself becoming numb, I decided to go another route when I realized she was nowhere in sight. Odd. She said that she loved to sit outdoors. Did she leave? I parked my car and went into the hotel. I asked the clerk if Jackie LeGree was checked in.

“She left last night. Pretty shaken up and sad. I kinda felt sorry for her, but she was hideous.” I sighed in relief, thankful that she had given up on me. I thanked the Lord that I had averted a disaster, then noticed that the clerk was staring back at me.

“Hey…” She said. “I’m getting off topic but, you want to, uh, hang out sometime?”

Her brunette hair was tied back into pigtails, and her sapphire blue eyes glimmered across her smooth face. She looked kinda cute.

“Uh… sure,” I said, feeling my luck change. “You want to meet at Rainbow Bar this afternoon?”

House Arrest

Fisher woke up to tentative and inconsistent guitar playing coming from his sister’s room. He stretched, yawned, and cringed at his morning breath and at Lane striking an incorrect note at the end of the song. No matter how many times she would practice each day, that single note was always just sharp enough for him to flinch. Even though he was the one who taught it to her in the first place, he desperately wanted to storm across the hallway and turn her guitar to splinters, just to make it stop. He knew it was futile, though, as he never was and would never be allowed in Lane’s room.

Disheartened, he got out of bed and stumbled towards the kitchen, still in his tattered Star Wars pajamas. Well, it wasn’t as if anyone would see them. He heard cabinets swing open and pots and pans clash together as they were removed, and knew that his mom must be trying to cook again. Smelling nothing that was edible however, Fisher knew he would simply have to fend for himself. Again. He ducked his eyes and his head as he hopelessly tried to avoid his mother and her swinging cabinets to make breakfast.

Making his way back down the hall, a layer of dust and burnt toast crumbs under his feet, he sighed heavily as he passed his parents’ bedroom door, where he could hear his dad watching the same basketball rerun. Fisher practically had it memorized. And that guy in the yellow shirt threw a ball to another guy in a yellow shirt, who threw it in the air. Apparently that deserves a round of applause. Still flailing his arms in a flamboyant impersonation of the commentator, he fell to the floor when his dad suddenly shouted with the television crowd. Still startled by his dad’s unnecessary reaction to something that happened a year ago, he brushed himself off and wiped mist from his eyes as he trudged back to his room.

Locked in his monochromatically furnished prison for the day, Fisher’s eyes watered and twitched as Lane tried her clumsy hand again at Avenged Sevenfold. He, once again, had nothing to do all day, as his phone and guitar were still in Nick Young’s room. After unsuccessfully attempting to take a nap and never wake up, just to pass the time, he screamed and took out his frustration on the wall, peppering it, along with the band posters plastered to it, with dents from his Dr. Martens. No one stopped by to tell him to stop, he remembered as he stormed over to retrieve them, even though he knew the noise could replace Brooks Wackerman. The thought made his hand send his shoes flying to the opposite wall, where very few framed family photos were shattered.

Why, why was this happening to him? He snuck out once, left them alone for one night, for one stupid party, and this was what he got. This was worse than being grounded for life.

At exactly ten o’clock at night, after long hours of sulking, pulling his dyed-black hair out, and generally being miserable, he opened his window, unaffected by the creaking noise it made. A year ago, he would be nervously looking over his shoulder, but he knew now that no one would catch him. With nowhere to run off to this time, he simply jumped outside and crouched against the side of the house, holding his breath in horror when he heard the window on the other side of the house opening. He clenched his eyes shut in an attempt to block out everything he knew was going to happen.

Meanwhile, an invisible intruder pushed the window open, making shallow depressions appear into the stained carpet as it stepped into the empty house. It didn’t cast a single shadow as it loomed over the king-sized bed that hadn’t been used in months. Two adjacent tears appeared in the moth-eaten sheets as if they were slashed with a knife, and crimson blood began to spread from the adult-shaped lumps in them. As Fisher’s parents’ faint breathing stopped, the sheet fluttered uselessly to the empty mattress. It moved on to the next room, where it killed the girl and the guitar, just out of spite, and the next, where it found an open window and no occupant.

Fisher shivered violently from the cold and his terror as he heard it crawl out of his window, still invisible, and jump towards his hiding place, escaping just before it hit the ground. He had been remembering the first day of his imprisonment- how scared he had been when he first found his family’s bodies, and how shocked he had been when the guitar, the cabinets, and the television worked on their own. He remembered how he had cowered inside that night and watched his house reenact their murders (complete with an invisible murderess, though he knew she was long gone) and how he had tried to run away, tried to change what happened, only to wake up back in the “safety” of his own bed. He remembered growing accustomed to his new daily routine as he was forced to relive the last day they were alive for months. He still couldn’t get used to his dad’s disembodied voice shouting as he watched the rerun that was live at the time, so early in the morning and so soon after his nightly death. His chattering teeth bit the inside of his cheek and he choked on the blood that ran down his throat. Despite this, he stayed outside until he knew it was safe, knowing he would only feel worse when he returned.

At eleven-fifty, he climbed back inside, noting that the house was dead silent. He kicked himself for the pun and sat slumped on the edge of his bed. At midnight, the house began to paranormally heal itself, removing any evidence of the previous day into a surreal memory. Lane’s splintered guitar fixed itself to be used horribly tomorrow, the dents in Fisher’s wall disappeared, to be replaced in several hours, and even the bruise that he had just given himself faded into his skin. Guiltily and with difficulty, Fisher went to sleep, thankful, at least, that he didn’t have to hear his dad’s snores.

A Sky Full of Mediocrity

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea. — Douglas Adams; The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

***

They had originally started out as simple, single-celled protozoa, just like everybody else. All was well for a short while until, one day, one of the protozoa thought it would be pretty neat to turn cannibalistic and eat all the other protozoa. And so came the very first case of obesity in the history of mankind. Overtime, more of these obese protozoa developed, and as they continued to eat each other, they turned more and more into the shape of what was eventually deemed as “man”. Man came to create governments to help maintain stability in the chaotic realms of his world. He claimed that the duty of the government was to represent the general populace and to listen to whatever this populace had to offer.

Yet, for some reason, these duties were never reciprocated back from the populace itself, as they had chosen to ignore the incessant government warnings that, some day, the planet could actually reach its breaking point. They ignored government threats warning that if they drilled to the core of the Earth, they would most certainly find liquids along the way, but it most certainly would not be oil.  They had chosen to ignore the warning signs that Earth was deteriorating. All until it was too late to turn back.

By the time the people finally lifted their heads up from the computers and the unbelievably expensive power bill, it was far too late to turn back.

“Maybe we could just move somewhere else,” someone suggested. “I hear that we haven’t completely destroyed all of space yet.” (He was quite wrong, for that matter. But not that anybody knew.)

Since nobody else had the insight to come up with an alternative, it was decided that everyone would emigrate elsewhere in space. They wrote an appeal to their government, asking for permission to use some of the stored petroleum that the government had been keeping, just in case anything like this should come up. We want to go to another planet,” they wrote, “and find another place where we can charge our phones and get good cellular service.” They sent their letter off with high hopes.

The government took its time, as it always did, to answer. After three long months, a small note, printed on a sheet of fine plastic wrap (as trees, and subsequently paper, had long disappeared), arrived. The response was quite succinct:

No, but nice try.

Everybody was extremely taken back, as they had all the necessary equipment for the one-way flight and all they needed was government approval and some fuel. All they needed was a yes, or, at least, no response, so that they could just assume that the government was busy and didn’t have the time to deal with their trivial matter. Yet, clearly, the government had not thought of their plan as a trifle, and even had taken the time to write them a response, despite it being so terse and blunt.  It was quite clear that the government would take extreme measures to ensure that everyone would stay where they were.

Another letter was quickly written back, only this time slightly more assertive: “We seek your approval on letting us travel, as our phones are running out of battery and some of us really have to update our social media statuses. Quite honestly, we would just like to be anywhere but here.” They left the reasoning part out, added something that sounded slightly more professional, and sent it in, hoping that this time the government would be a little more lenient.

***

When one of the government staffers received the new letter, one of the first things he had to do was to quickly finish his sandwich so that he would have enough plastic wrap to write a response. The second thing he did was figure out how to formulate an answer that could concisely explain that nobody was not allowed to leave Earth, yet at the same time be convincing and satisfying enough so that he wouldn’t get another plea to leave and have to choke down another sandwich.

Hold on a second, he thought. Why can’t they leave?

If they leave, he thought, I’ll never get another one of these letters! No letter means no work!

The staffer was enthralled by the idea; he lumbered to the safe full of fuel and grabbed a canister to ship away. “Please do not feel the urge to write a thank you note,” he scratched on the bottle. “Your departure will be equally appreciated.”

***

Back home, everybody was elated to see a small package arrive. They hastily filled their rocket tank with fuel, and made some general calculations for how they were going to travel to their final destination (“Just point the rocket up. It doesn’t really matter where we land.”). Finally, the chance to devastate yet another planet had finally arrived!

The average amount of time required for a rocket to reach space is approximately eight minutes, but after fifteen minutes, it seemed that our heroes were nowhere close to space. They were starting to worry a little bit, but since there seemed to be nothing wrong with the machines or the control room, everybody just assumed that maybe they were going slower than usually recommended.

It is said that time goes by slower in space, as the planets’ orbiting around the sun and the galaxy result in approximately a one second loss per Earth week. The Earthlings most certainly felt this time loss, perhaps a little more than they were supposed to. It had already been half an hour, and there was still no sight of human-sized, parasitic-looking creatures, or extraterrestrial air crafts that shot out spectacular laser beams. The sky, or whatever it was that was surrounding them, was most certainly getting darker, but it wasn’t the kind of dark like when you forgot to turn on your night light at night. The air around them seemed to be much denser than before, and the color of the clouds around them was like the color of your phone screen the second after you shut it off, at that moment of transition from dying to dead. It was a very uncomfortable sight: just looking around made everybody cringe a little.

The eerie journey only worsened from there. It had been more than an hour since take off, and nobody was quite sure whether they were still trying to break through the atmosphere or if they were just in a very disappointing-looking part of space. The engine was starting to sputter sporadically, and people were beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with the shuttle, or even the fuel itself.

The hours of mental pandemonium turned into days. People began licking the oil off the plastic wrap letter from the government staffer, and chewing on their leather seats. By the end of the week, our advanced group of obese protozoa had been completely wiped out.

***

Meanwhile, back on the desolate wasteland, the government staffer who was obliviously eating another sandwich decided that it was time that he summon up some courage and ask someone about what was really up there, beyond Earth, when suddenly he saw a bright, shining object fall out of the sky. A sub? A gyro? Ooh- a calzone? No, that was too good to be true, but his inevitable sense of curiosity still drove him outside. He really hoped that there wasn’t rye bread: he had already had that for four days in a row, and it was starting to taste bland.

Fortunately, there wasn’t any rye bread. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any food either. Whatever it was, it was extremely worn out: the sides were dented so much that what appeared to be letters was completely illegible. The entire mechanism itself was crushed; just like the way the staffer himself crushed soda cans.  

The staffer was deeply immersed in the idea of getting a can of soda later when he suddenly heard a deep, bellowing voice. “What’s a damn spaceship doing out here?” It was the staffer’s boss.

A spaceship? The staffer mused, how would a spaceship get here? Wouldn’t it need fuel in order to…. Oh. Shoot.

(But he didn’t say shoot. He said something much worse.)

“Well, it most certainly can’t be our ship,” the staffer’s boss huffed. “We haven’t allowed anybody to leave the planet since, well, a long time!”

The staffer turned around to face the burly man that was his superior. Now was his chance to know the truth. “Why not, sir?” he asked nonchalantly.  

The staffer soon learned why not. After admitting his mistake, the staffer’s enraged boss sent him up on a spacecraft with another canister of petroleum. Six days later, another bright object came plummeting out of the sky. When it crashed, the shock created almost tangible waves, as the buildings nearby shook a little. This nearly scared the living daylights out of the new staffer who had been hired to replace the old one. He had clutched his sandwich in fear and buried it deep in his chest.

***

Years later, the mystery of the two unidentified objects that fell from the sky was resolved. Researchers had literally poured their blood, sweat, and tears into finding the answer to the phenomenon, but when the question was finally answered, nobody celebrated. The answer sent a simple but haunting message to the few earthlings that remained: nobody could ever leave the planet.

Apparently all the unattended trash particles and whatnot had come together and formed almost this sort of behemothic wall of plastic wrap and unpaid electric bills, which then, having no place to escape, began to cloak Earth’s upper atmosphere. Since nobody ever bothered to do anything about it, the wall had expanded exponentially in size over the years, until it was so thick that nothing could get in or out (since people had been relying on technology for the past few decades to live, sunlight and skin cancer hadn’t been much of a problem for a while). Therefore, the scientists reasoned, the two objects that fell out of the sky must have taken off from Earth, and when it crashed into the wall, the two aircrafts, having nowhere else to go, must have fallen back down to Earth, leading all of the passengers to their presumable deaths. Whatever actually happened to the bodies of the passengers still remains a mystery; the scientists had to go on their lunch break.

The Raven in the Window

Outside the rain is pouring, each drop splattering as it hits the ground. Inside, an old man sits on a cushioned pew, his frail back bent forwards and his hands cupped to his face. Completely alone in the cavernous church, he is undisturbed. Rows of empty, dust-covered pews line the church behind him, in front of him stands only the altar. Besides slight creeks in the floorboards, the church remains silent, a place of tranquility in an ever-changing, fast-paced world. The old man stands and walks towards the side of the church. With each measured step, his weary legs bring him closer to a beautiful stained glass window. It is a picture of a woman standing in a field full of color, next to a tree. A streetlight outside casts rays of light through the panes of glass revealing the artistic wonders within the window. All of the colors instantly become brighter and the translucent picture is illuminated. Looking up at the tree branches, the old man is entranced by the vibrant hues. Filled to the brink with colorful birds, the branches are quite a sight to see. As he marvels in their elegance, the old man’s eyes flitter between each bird’s vivid set of feathers. Alone on another branch sits a raven, its jet black beak and wings stand out, anomalies among the rows of birds. The old man immediately recognizes this symbol of misfortune. It is a bad omen. Just then, the doors at the back of the church fly open. A man walks in looking disheveled, his collared shirt ripped and untucked, his pants bedraggled. Lifting a gun, the intruder points it at the old man’s head.

“You, you did this!” he shouts, pulling the trigger. The bullet pierces through the old man’s forehead, lodging in his skull. As his knees buckle, his legs give way, and his lifeless body falls to the floor. Outside, the rain continues to pour. Inside, the man’s blood spreads slowly across the floor.

The Box Sat Unopened on the Table

Johnathon Mathew was not an unusual man. He worked every day from nine o’clock in to morning to five o’clock in the evening for five days a week. He was a little soft around the stomach and loved to read mystery novels. That’s all there is to know about him, really.

Johnathon lived alone. Of course, he didn’t feel like he was alone. Every morning the birds were singing just for him, it seemed. Every evening he would make himself a lovely meal. Yes, Johnathon lived alone. But some might say he was the happiest a man could be.

One gray Saturday evening, just after Johnathon had finished his dinner, there was a ringing at the door of his small, peach colored home. “Visitors!” Johnathon thought excitedly (he didn’t have too many visitors these days). He wiped his mouth, got out of his chair, and scurried to the front door. Instead of a visitor, Johnathon found a box lying on his very clean poch. It was around the size of his head, with blue and yellow string sitting in a bow on top. “How odd…” He thought out loud. Johnathon had not ordered a package. “A mystery! I love mysteries!” Johnathon was very excited now. He grabbed the box and rushed inside, heaving the cumbersome package onto the spotless table. Johnathon thought it would be fun to leave it until tomorrow morning, just like Christmas when he was a boy. What Johnathon hadn’t noticed was the label on the package. It read: “For whomever it sees fit.”

The next morning Johnathon woke up in a delightful mood. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the dining table as though he was a child on Christmas morning. Johnathon pulled out a pair of scissors and cut all the string. Then he opened the lid. Empty. It was an empty box. “How could an empty box be so heavy?” Johnathon wondered. He picked up the box again, and it was light as a feather. ”AH HA! Another layer to an already thrilling mystery!” he said out loud to absolutely no one. “I will solve it. But first, breakfast!” Johnathon made himself a cup of coffee and scrambled two eggs. As he was sitting down, he heard the tea kettle start to whistle. There was no tea kettle in his house.

Johnathon grabbed a kitchen knife. He wasn’t excited anymore. “Wh—who’s there? If you don’t show yourself I’ll call the police!” Johnathon slowly walked forward towards his bedroom. He gripped the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white. He heard himself chuckle. A sweat bead ran down Johnathon’s forehead. The chuckle turned into a laugh. Johnathon’s lips weren’t moving. In fact there were pursed. And that’s when he knew what was in the house.

He ran outside, down the street and into the police station. “Excuse me, sir,” he panted, “someone has broken into my house.”

“How do you know?” The officer inquired.

“Well, I don’t have a tea kettle but I heard a tea kettle going off,” Johnathon explained. “Please sir, I need your help.”

“Go home,” the police officer said in a voice that sounded extremely similar to Johnathon’s. “I’m waiting for you.”

Johnathon screamed at the top of his lungs and ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the street in the opposite direction of his small, peach-colored house. But no matter how far Johnathon ran, he landed right back at his front door. He felt his head start to spin. “What is happening to me?” he sobbed. He flung open the door, only to find the person he’d least expect to meet face to face: Himself.

No one ever saw either of the two Johnathon Matthews again; and no one ever questioned his absence. Not for a year. And when the police finally checked his house in search of him, all that they found was one box. The box sat unopened on the table.

 

Lucky

“Hey, what the hell, Connor!?”

“Alex, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident,” I plead hopelessly.

“Come on, Connor. Why did you pull the stupid home goalie!” he yells back.

“Alex, it’s just a game!” I respond, probably a bit too loud.

“Shut up, you two!” My dad yells from upstairs. Then we stop. After all, it was just a stupid X-Box game, and no one wanted to be yelled at by Dad, especially over NHL ‘14. I turn off the console and ask if Alex wants to throw a football.  

***

It is September 17th 2015, the day before my birthday. I am almost twelve, living with my eight-year-old brother and our parents. I like school, but I hate the work. I go to Yorktown Middle School, or YMS for short. Seventh grade at YMS is like being in hell. My social studies teacher is crazy and my Spanish teacher makes us sing songs with a bird called Pepito. So, there’s already a lot to overcome this year, but I feel I will need to overcome worse things.

Baseball season is ending, and skiing is beginning. December is around the corner, and in December a lot of things happen: Chanukah, skiing and vacation to Mexico! Holiday break is tomorrow, and during 8th period Ms. Filner (my social studies teacher) gives the class a homefun packet. Homefun is homework, except better (apparently). Personally, the name doesn’t make a difference –– I HATE IT!!! I hate homework in general, and it makes me feel sick inside knowing that I have to go home and actually continue school for another hour and a half… Even if it’s homefun.  

***

My first day skiing, ahh! Finally I am able to hit the slopes of Mt. Mohawk once again. I go up on the lift and start on a blue square. My brother and dad start on a green circle right next to it.  

“Now, you be careful,” my dad says. Then I’m off! I go racing down the slopes at 40 miles per hour when I see a ski shack getting closer and closer.

WHAM!!!  THUD!!! My skis go flying and I wipe out, unconscious of what is going to happen to me next.

***

“Connor, Connor, CONNOR!!!” someone whom I don’t know yells.

“Who are you? And who is Connor?” I ask.

“Stop playing games with us,” another mysterious person states.

“I’m not playing games, who are you!” I yell.

A third voice joins, a doctor this time, “Your name is Connor Allison, you are thirteen years old, you like to play baseball, and your parents tell me you have a ––”

“A thirst for knowledge! That’s the only thing I can remember about me.”

The voice that yelled “my name” earlier first says, “I am Bonnie, your mom, and the man standing right next to me is John, your dad.”

“I’m guessing this is my little brother right here,” I say, touching the boy’s head next to me.

“Yes, his name is Alex,” ‘my dad’ states.

“Doctor, what has happened to our boy?” ‘my mom’ asks.

The doctor says, “He has amnesia, but he can recover from it.”

***

We, as a family reunited (I memorized everyone’s name), walk out of the hospital. We are walking down 5th Street to get to our car when a boy that had walked by us dropped his books all over the pavement. I stood there for a second, analyzing the situation, and when I was sure I hadn’t known the boy before my accident I went to go help him pick up his books. After we had picked up all of his books he introduced himself.

“Hi, I am Aidan, what is your name?”

“My name is Connor, but I don’t remember anything.”

“Oh yeah, you’re the kid on the news with amnesia!”

I turn around then said, “Wait, Mom, it’s on the news?”

“Umm… yes, it is on the news,” she says.

“Why did you hide that from me?” I ask.

“We thought it would anger you, buddy. We’re sorry,” my dad interjects.

***

One hour later, when we get home, I walk in the house and see two tiny furry monsters at our doorstep.  

“AHHH!!!” I yell.

My dad comes in, “Connor, what is it?”

“These two furry monsters!” I cry.

My mom says that they are just kittens and won’t hurt anyone. So, I agree, feeling a little suspicious, as I walk out of the kitchen to my room… whichever one that is. It takes me three tries but I find it. I climb into bed, but don’t go to sleep; I think about what will happen to me, and how I will get all of my knowledge back. Then, once I figure out the answer, I go to sleep.  

***

“Connor, wake up!” My mom says.

I get up and look at all of the books strewn across my floor. My textbooks and my pleasure reading. I might have sleep read, if there is such thing. After eating breakfast, I get on the bus heading to school. At the high school stop, I get out of the bus. My bus driver, Nancy, asks where I was going and I say to school. She tells me this is the high school and I walk back on the bus.  

At the middle school stop, I get off of the bus and I see Aidan. I go over to him and say, “Hi.”  

“Hey, what’s up! How is your head?”

“Getting better,” I say, “How are things around here?”

“Okay… you know it is school, though.”

***

I have Spanish first period, and when I walk in, Seniora Peterson says,”Hola clase, tu tienes un examen hoy.”

I go up to her and say, “Seniora ––”

“Tu necesitas sentarme ahora. Tu tienes un examen.”

So I sit down and study the test. I have forgotten everything! This unit test is a total of 100 points! I am so screwed. It is all writing, so I cannot guess.

***

The same thing happened during eighth period. I forgot everything and got a perfect 0.0!!

Anyway, at the end of the day, when you walk to the buses you have to walk across the street. Aidan and I were walking together when, HONK HONK!!! WHAM! UGHH! CRRRUNCH!! AHHH!

Then silence.

***

I am dressed in all black for an occasion: the departure of my new friend Aidan. He pushed me out of the way of a car, and sacrificed his life for mine.  

On the bright side, my grades have improved and I have gotten my memory back. It turns out that you don’t need a lucky charm to have a good life.

 

  

 

Zom-Be Happy

           

Part 1:

We walked through the mist, the dead leaves crunching under our feet, through the neat rows of the graveyard. My little sister’s hand was in mine, but the air was so still and there was no wind, but there was a feeling of… something. As if a living, breathing thing, with a beating heart of love and hope does not belong. I shivered, though the air was warm. I quickened my pace, reaching the old rusty gate, and opened the door that led to my family and their dead bodies. Tears pricked my eyes, and I let go of the door, leaving it  open. I tried to take a step forward, but I fell to my knees, and my little sister sat next to me. My mind seemed to go against me, replaying the scene, the flames at the end of my bed catching onto my father’s coat as he ran with me in his arms; him falling, my mother trying to save my sisters, and the flames. I remember grabbing my grandmother’s hand as she lifted my youngest little sister from the crib, then handing her to me while she fell to her knees, her eyes closed, and her body fell against the crib, and she was gone. Like the rest of them.

I felt my little sister squeeze my hand and I looked at her little brown eyes, so clear and innocent, but afraid. I stood, my feet frozen, and she shoved her thumb into her mouth, reaching out to touch my mother’s grave. I walked with her as she looked at each headstone in complete fascination. I knelt down to her level and I spoke to her as clearly as I could. “Sophie, do not be afraid. Your family loved you, and I do too.” She grabbed one of my braids, and grabbed one of her own, as if seeing a connection in her four year old mind. I slowly pried her fingers off my braid and took her hand again while slowly getting back to my feet. At that moment, I felt a breeze around us. The wind quickened, and I felt a cold, hard hand land on my shoulder. I turned to see a skeletal face, and with my sister’s hand still in mine, I fell onto my knees, and we were dragged through the low mist. I lost sight of my sister, and her hand slipped out of mine, and my stomach dropped. I struggled against the strong, cold grip of my captors, but one of them raised their fist, and the world faded away.

The next time I woke up, it was dark and cold. I sat up and rubbed my forehead on the place where I was hit. There was a rather large bump, and at first I was afraid to stand, but the thought of Sophie, maybe crouching in a little corner, or crying and fighting against the creatures was too much. I got up and looked around. I seemed to be on some type of planet like the moon, with a gloomy white powdered landscape and deep craters, but with some dead bodies lying here and there. I squinted my eyes and saw a tiny hut in the distance, and I started running toward it… I was desperate, hoping to escape. Then I smacked right into a wall. I was so dumb. How could I have thought that I would be thrown into the middle of a plain? It was just a mural. A really realistic one though. I fell to the floor, then quickly got back up, trying to find a way to get out. I looked around me another time, and my eyes spotted a small window. I ran towards it and reached up. It was just too high for me to get to. I slammed into the wall from the momentum of my speed, and I got yet another bruise on my arm. I felt panic in my throat as I ran faster and faster. I jumped, grabbing one of the bars that kept me from freedom. With much difficulty, I pulled myself on the ledge and collapsed.

I was breathing with difficulty as I pondered my ways of escape. If only I could… just… find a way… to… escape. My thoughts were getting mixed up, and my vision was getting foggy. Was it my imagination, or did the room get smaller? Was it my imagination, or did I hear… footsteps, the swish of fabric? I pulled on the bars, my panic rising once more. I jumped from the windowsill, forgetting how high I was. I landed on my feet, and my knees gave up under me. I fell to the floor, and a sharp pain shot through my legs. A door opened, and I heard someone come in. I squinted my eyelids, just enough to see, and just enough to appear dead. The creatures. They were back. I looked at a hole in the wall. An open door. A large, rotting creature walked toward me, so I shut my eyes. I felt myself being lifted, high above the air. I was ready to be put down, and I was ready to run through the open door. But my plan was completely off. I was thrown against the wall, and I opened my eyes just long enough to see the monsters drag their dirty nails across the surface of the wall, leaving a mark behind. Red, like blood. And all was gone. I had blacked out. Again.

I woke up, and this time, I had another feeling. I walked to the wall, not sure what was controlling me. Strangely, I felt rested and calm, and I wasn’t very surprised when I walked right through the wall and onto the lunar landscape. I made my way toward the hut, but as I was about to open the door, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps make their way toward me. I already knew that sound, and it filled me with dread. Pairs of hard, bony hands grabbed my arms, and I struggled around, trying to loosen their grip. But I didn’t need to. Someone was stopping them. A familiar, but masked voice was yelling my name. The zombies dropped me to the ground, and a cloud of moon dust blocked me from seeing anything. I felt vulnerable and defenseless without my vision, but something about that voice kept me still until the dust cleared. What I saw astonished me. A rotting body was walking towards me, but the closer it got, the more I recognized it. Grandma.

Beautiful Spirit

            

Chapter 1

3/18/16

As a 14 year old girl growing up on the sunny streets of California, Kylie’s main objective is to be recognized by her friends, classmates and most importantly her family. Her piercing blue eyes and raven colored hair make her different, but her shy personality is what holds her back. Kylie’s family is a group of characters, they are all outgoing and whimsical. At the age of six Kylie’s parents got divorced. Kylie lives with her mom, Catherine, in LA during the school year and with her older brother, Nathan who is sixteen years old, and younger sister, Charlotte, who is eleven. She only visits her dad, his new fiancé and their two identical twin daughters, Rayna and Sophie, during the summer time.

Writing my short story in my school journel felt so surreal. My life, I thought to myself.

As I am putting my pencils back into my backpack I hear Mr. Burke say, “The short stories I have assigned are due after spring break.” As everyone sighed he shouted out, “have a nice break, I will see you back in two weeks!”

Walking out of my class I could see in the corner of my eye my best friend, Amanda. Amanda and I have known each other since we were babies and have been best friends ever since. I see her talking to a teacher, and then stomping away towards me. As she is walking towards me I can see her face getting red with anger. I couldn’t help but laugh “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Mr. Abel told me that he won’t raise my grade because he doesn’t believe in rounding a eighty-nine point five to a ninety,” she said angrily.

As we were walking to our bikes, we started talking about spring break. She told me she was going to Mexico with her dad and brother. Her mother died in a car accident when she was ten. For a whole year she would never talk to me about it. I found out after my mom told me. I could never imagine losing my mom, my mom is my everything.

I then told her about my dad’s wedding on the beautiful coast of Hawaii, which was what I was going to be doing for my spring break. Everytime I think of the wedding I get a rushing feeling of confusion. Of course, I want my mom and dad to get back together, but my dad is happy with Laurie. Laurie is going to be my stepmom, and I am going to be Laurie’s stepdaughter. I feel that the wedding is going to make it official that my parents are not getting back together. I have always had this lingering hope that my parents will get back together but it hasn’t happened yet. I know they belong with each other and I have twelve days to to make it happen.

Chapter 2

3/19/16

Kylie’s feeling about her parents marriage continued to overwhelm her. She partially blames herself for the divorce and constantly thinks about what she could have done better as a child. Maybe she could have become a better listener and followed instructions, but as a six year old how could she have known better? Yesterday Kylie walked in on her mom talking to her friend, saying, “How can Matthew find love and I can’t?”

Twenty minutes after working on Mr. Burke’s story assignment in the library, I arrive home to my small, but cozy, yellow house. It fits all four of us, and luckily I do not have to share a room with my annoying younger sister, Charlotte.

Entering into the house I could smell the aroma of burning chicken lingering through the house, and in that moment I realized that my mother was trying to cook, which she cannot. My mom has been trying out new things: yoga, juice cleanse, coloring books, but she never commits to anything and hopefully she doesn’t commit to cooking.

“Hi mom,” I said.

“Hi sweetie! Do me a favor and call you brother and sister down. Dinner’s ready” she said. While I was walking up the stairs, I could hear my brother playing his video games, and my sister playing with her Barbies. I called them downstairs. Once everyone arrived at the dinner table my mom placed the burnt chicken right in front of us. As we ate the disgusting chicken, my mom told us that we were leaving tomorrow for Hawaii at 6 a.m., so pack your bags. I began to feel so nervous about the wedding, lots of things kept going through my mind.

After dinner, I went to my room to pack, but I could not focus because of my brother’s obnoxious video-game music. I told him to keep it down, but because he has no manners what-so-ever, he just turned the music up.

Chapter 3

3/20/16

Kylie’s mom always puts a brave face on when she’s around her three children. Kylie could never suspect she was unhappy. When she did find out, she beat herself up for not knowing. Kylie’s mom did everything for her, unlike her father who had another family in San Diego. Kylie felt that her father was somewhat to blame for her mom’s unhappiness.

“Kylie, Kylie,” Nathan shouted in my ear.

“What do you want Nathan! Can’t you see that I am busy writing!” I replied.

“Jeez! I can but I was wondering if you could pass me the water? I can’t get up because we’re in flight,” he replied.

“Yeah sure. I am sorry. I was just deep in thought,” I said.

“Who would have thought that your name means beautiful spirit and this is your personality. So sassy,” he said in a joking manner. For that comment I punched him in the arm. I feel that my name is a very important part of me because it makes me, ‘me.’ I thought to myself,  how am I going to survive sixteen hours with this imbecile?

I woke up mid-flight to my brother laying, snoring and drooling on my shoulder. Since, my brother was in the middle seat, I pushed him onto the stranger next to him, who was also sleeping. I figured that the stranger and my brother could have a surprise to wake up to.

Getting up to use the restroom, I noticed someone who looked exactly like my father. Then I realized it was my father, with his fiancee and the twins. I walked towards my father. I  wondered why he was on this plane. He was supposed to leave yesterday. “Hi dad, why are you on this plane? I thought you left yesterday?” I said in a quiet manner.

“I was supposed to, but it was too cloudy, so everyone who is a part of the wedding bought tickets for this plane. You should get back to your seat. The seat belt sign is on,” he replied. As I walked back to my seat I saw my brother waking up. I could tell that he was surprised that he was leaning on a stranger’s shoulder.

“Did I sleep on this stranger’s shoulder the whole time?” he asked.

“No, you were leaning on my shoulder, so I pushed you onto him. I don’t want your drool on my shoulder,” I said, as I smiled.

“You have gotta be kidding me! Why would you do that! You’re such an annoying little brat!” he yelled.

“Because I don’t like you,” I said while laughing.

“I can’t-” he said. He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because in that moment the plane began to fall out of the sky.

Chapter 4

3/21/16

Kylie and her siblings never got along, they always pranked each other or made trouble and would blame it on one another. She thought she would never miss them until they were gone.

“You need to get up and stop writing in that little journal the plane just crashed!” yelled the flight attendant.

“It calms me,” I replied.

“It doesn’t matter! You need to exit the plane on the slides,” she said in a rushed manner.

“What about my family? I need to find them,” I replied while trying to choke down tears.

“I’ll help you find them later but right now I need to get you off this plane!” she said pulling me by the sleeve towards an exit. I grabbed my backpack and went down the emergency slide. Once I hit the water, I could feel the cold, dark blue engulf my body. A small shiver went down my spine. As I looked around I could see that there were a lot of people in the water wounded and grieving over the ones they have lost. I could tell they were just as confused and scared as I was. I tried to swim to find any member of my family but I couldn’t. The waves began to grow after each minute. I swam as fast and as hard as I could but there was no sign of them. They couldn’t be dead, could they?

I still had the smallest shred of hope that they were still alive, so I kept swimming. Then I felt something touch my foot. I yelped in fear, thinking it was a shark, but of course it was my brother. A wave of relief and rage came over me. “Don’t ever scare me like that! Where’s mom and Charlotte,” I asked hopeful.

“Mom’s over there” he replied.

“Where’s Charlotte?” I asked while my voice shook.

“We don’t know. She isn’t the best swimmer,” he said trying to hold back tears. I immediately dove under water. I swam and swam trying to see her. Praying that she wasn’t dead. Until I saw blonde hair slowly sinking. I swam as fast as I could to her. Thinking it was Charlotte, I grabbed her and brought her to the surface. The lifeboat was a couple feet away from me. I tried to swim with another person’s body weight on top of me.

Once I finally reached the lifeboat, I screamed for help. “Someone help me! My baby sister isn’t breathing!” I screamed as her lifeless face looked back at me. People came rushing towards us. A bulky man started to performed CPR. Charlotte began to breathe again.

My mom swam over with tears in her eyes as she climbed onto the lifeboat. “Thank you, thank you.” she repeated gratefully to the man that saved my sister. She then jumped up to give him a hug.  

“It’s no problem. She’s breathing but she is not waking up. I believe she is in a coma,” he said.

My heart dropped when he said this.

On a First Date

It was creeping towards 6 p.m. on a cloudless evening in the one and only, New York City. I had been waiting there for only a few minutes at most, but it felt like the lazy sun had been shining its pale rays on me for an eternity. I stood on the corner of dusty 112th street and bustling Broadway, waiting with waning patience for a moment that I had dreamed about for at least this entire school year, maybe even longer. Ever since I had first heard of straight-A hottie Roy Diamond, I had been hopelessly in love. I hadn’t been alone, though; at least ten other girls had fought me for this moment, but somehow I was the one who won him over. And now, here I was, standing right outside Tom’s Restaurant (he had picked it –– apparently something he loved to watch was filmed there) waiting for my first date.

“Oh, when will he be here?” I wondered, almost not noticing that I was talking to myself, “Wait, why do I want him to be here now? I still don’t know what to say, or what to do. What’ll I do if he turns out not to like me?”

I had been fidgety ever since I got there, but was now more than ever. I tried to think of something that would calm me down, but I came up empty. Just as I was about to fly into a panic, I heard a faint echo of music coming from inside. A slow, calm song that faded away as soon as I had heard it. That’s it, I thought. Try to sing a song to calm yourself down.

I searched through my mind for a song that I would love to sing. When that didn’t work, my Spotify playlist. As I would when I was stressed, I scrolled really quickly to the bottom, and then really quickly back to the top. It was then that I noticed “Where are U Now” by Justin Bieber. I laughed a little. Early last summer I had liked that song for some reason or another, but now I had no idea why it was even here. My first thought was to get rid of it, but then I figured it would be funny to try and sing it, as a memento to the days when I would do so 24/7. Of course, there was the crushing shame of being the kind of girl who sang to Justin Bieber, but at least I wasn’t doing it as if I liked the song –– it was a kind of mockery of my former self. With that thought in my mind, I put in my earbuds and pressed play.

Just listening to the song gave me an interesting feeling. I remembered loving it with a burning passion, but now, I noticed so many flaws in it, and the only thing I could make of it was a cheesy, burned out fan-bait. How I had changed over the last few months. I still had the lyrics memorized –– My head for words hadn’t failed me yet –– and I started singing a bit. Ew. I got about halfway through the first verse before bursting out laughing. Sure, I was going against many things I believed in, but this sure was a better feeling than waiting for a guy who just thinking about gave me massive butterflies in my stomach and pretty much everywhere else.

I had three more laughing fits before I had to turn off the song because it was too painful to listen to. To think I used to enjoy that! As I was dusting myself off and thinking about how some of the lyrics actually kinda described me at the moment, waiting for a guy who I was crazy about, I looked up and there he was. Roy Diamond, the sassiest kid in school, the guy who won at everything, the person all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be, was standing there, watching me look completely ridiculous.

“Am I late?” he asked.

I was as flustered as a polar bear who had suddenly teleported to the Sahara. “Hi! No, you’re right on time, actually. Uh, how are you doing?” I managed to stutter out.

“I’m ok. You have a beautiful voice, by the way,” he replied, smiling.

When I realized he had heard me singing, the gargantuan butterflies that had been propagating in my stomach turned into demons. “Oh! Well – you see – um… Thank you. How much did you hear?” I had no idea what to do at this point. If he thought of me as a girl who sang Justin Bieber, he would almost definitely drop me like a white-hot potato. I steeled myself for utter despair.

“I actually heard most of it. You sing it a lot better than Justin Beaver does, if I do say so myself. You know, Skrillex worked on that song, and he’s one of my favorite artists. I like your taste,” he flowed through his words like cool water through a silly straw. He was still smiling and seemed genuinely happy with me. I couldn’t believe it. Roy Diamond, happy with me? The king of the school, happy with a girl who had just chanced upon him and somehow won his heart? This was the happiest day of my life.

Over the Edge

I watch as the sun slides behind the horizon, its last rays gleaming through the trees. I tap my fingers on the table as the minutes pass in what seems like seconds. I suddenly shiver involuntarily and silently reprimand myself, telling myself to stop. Begging myself to stop. I give my head a quick shake and a lock of my blonde hair slips into my shaking fingers. Noticing how the sun now struggles to shine beneath the foliage, I begrudgingly look over at the clock. I squint to read the hands, but soon realize with a pit in my stomach that it is eight in the evening. I hear my heart starting to race. It pounds. Thud, thud, thud. The world speeds up and starts to spin. Stop, stop! I almost start to cry, but luckily a six year-old girl in a white dress bangs through the door with a smile on her face.

I stand up within a second, and she runs into my arms that immediately open for her. My dark world welcomes in her universe of light. I feel blissful and free for a second, but I quickly realize that my worries still cling on to me. I sigh and let her go. “Katie,” I say. “How was your day at school? Do you want some food?” She nods quickly, still grinning.

“My day was great. I did lots of fun stuff. I climbed a tree…” She trails off into paragraphs of enthusiasm. I give her an empty smile, trying to remember how much I love this girl, the only real family I have left. Unfortunately, I fail to do this. I trudge over to the fridge and grab some food to cook on the stove. The aroma fills the room as my little sister blabbers on. It smells delicious, but somehow I don’t really enjoy it. As I cook, our dad walks through the door.

“Hi,” he says in a tone that shows he is in another world. “I picked up the dry cleaning after I got Katie.” He holds up the plastic-covered clothing and I nod.

He then heads up to his room without saying another word. I remember when he used to talk to us for hours and make us amazing food. My mind begins to trail off but Katie suddenly finishes her tale with an exclamation and my thoughts are interrupted. I tell her that it sounds like an awesome day. I immediately feel guilty about not listening, but push it aside because I have to worry about my audition tomorrow. I set her food down in front of her, give her a quick kiss on top of her head, and head up the stairs to my room.

The next morning, I lie in my soft bed listening to the birds chirp. If only I could stay here all day. A wave of exhaustion then washes over me, most likely because I was not able to sleep for the entire night. I dread lugging myself out of bed and now my hands are already starting to shake again. If I don’t make it into this play, it will be so disappointing. My mom wanted so desperately for me to be in this play, we’d been talking about if for months before her accident. I have to do this for her, I miss her so much. But Alice, this  girl that is also auditioning for the lead role, is so talented and threatens your chances. How am I going to get the part over her? I take a deep breath and get out of my bed.

As I walk through the icy winter morning, I think again about my mom and her successful Broadway career. She was so famous. She starred in so many plays that they all get blurred together in my head sometimes. I saw almost every single one of them, each one unique from the previous. I wish that I could see one more. Maybe I could be inspired for this audition. I realize though that my mom is gone.

I walk into the school auditorium with a smile on my face, remembering the advice my mom used to give me. Unfortunately, the smile soon fades and my heart is pounding again. My palms sweat. With a shaky eye, I see that the room is bustling with activity, activity I realize I don’t want to be a part of. My peers stand in groups. I see one group of girls that distracts me. They wear tight shirts, fashionable leggings, and flats. They are also wearing so much makeup that not one bit of actual skin is revealed. I think about how they chitter and chatter like the birds outside my window as I look down at my baggy shirt, old jeans, and sneakers. I sigh. At least my hair is golden.

After surveying the other groups around the room and deciding that it isn’t time to audition yet, I creep closer to the girls.

“So, you girls ready?” One with a tight, shiny bun asks the circle.

“I’m so ready. Who do you think will get the lead role?” Another chirps.

“Me, of course.” Surprised I hadn’t noticed before, I realize that this is Alice. Her dark brown hair is pulled into two tight braids. She’s short and her small eyes squint in every direction.

“Oh, um, right, uh, of course. I-I’m sorry,” the woman stammers. I smile.

“You do have some competition though,” a brave one states.

“Who could possibly beat Alice?” Bun Girl exclaims.

“Annabelle.” My mouth falls open as many of the girls in the group turn to look at me, somehow knowing where I’m standing. I turn around immediately, my mind racing as I weave through the crowds of people to the back of the decorated auditorium. Oh, no. Now Alice must really want to beat me. I feel my whole body start to shake. No, no, no, this is not happening. I try to reassure myself. If those girls think that I’m a threat, then that’s saying something. I can beat Alice, I really can. I really can.

“Okay, all actors to the seats in the front of the auditorium. I repeat, all actors to the front.” A man in a black outfit shouts this while he ushers people away from the back. “All parents, please leave now!” he adds. I watch as mothers and fathers give last hugs and touches of makeup before being sent out of the door. A chaos of colorful children parade towards the front, and I follow them. My legs don’t work very well, but I push myself into a velvet seat and try to listen to the man’s instructions. I space out instead and inspect the sea of heads in front of me, each almost identical to the next with a glossy surface and a perfect poise. They are all unfamiliar and cold. I am mad at myself for only having one friend at school, Ava. I really wish she didn’t hate acting. I realize that my hands are numb now and my legs don’t feel too good either. I hate this.

Suddenly, the sea is moving. Everyone stands up. Their feet thump up the stairs and behind the stage. Startled, I shake out my legs and get up to follow them. We walk in a messy group, everyone chittering and chattering except for me. The area backstage is small, wooden, with splotches of paint. The red curtain looms in front of us, threatening me. Patches of golden light escape through it, lying to me about the amazing world that seems to be behind the flowing wall. Everyone remains in the same groups as before, despite the fact that we are packed tight like sardines. I feel incredibly uncomfortable, my arms rubbing across others while I float between the circles. Now, my heart is racing again, except much more than it did before. The difference is that this time, I can’t seem to calm it. I’m wondering how I can get my legs to stop losing feeling when we are instructed to form a line. So, I shuffle around with everyone else until we form a messy one leading to the stage. Then, it starts. People are called out one by one to audition while the rest of us are shushed backstage by the people in black. I take a deep breath as the line wiggles and shifts. I am slowly making my way to the front.

My numb hands are shaking now. We were told not to practice for this audition, so I didn’t, but I wish that in some way I could have. I have no idea what to expect. I hear the muffled talking of a boy on the stage and think about how terrible I’m going to be. I’m shivering now and once again, I beg myself to stop. My mom would be so disappointed in me. Why can’t I pull myself together? Thud, thud, thud. I’m crying silently in the dark backstage of the theatre. The tears are slipping down my face and I’m wiping the water away as fast as I can. Nobody seems to notice. My name is called. I’m pushed forward.   

Shivering and shaking, I am now on the stage.

The light hits me with a stagnant glare. It does not slip or slide or move at all. My face crinkles and a smile escapes out of the director standing in front of me.

“Hi, Annabelle. How old are you?”

“Uh, f-f-fifteen” I stammer and croak at the same time.

“So, you’re a sophomore?” I nod yes. He smiles again. “What kind of role are you

looking for?” I realize that he speaks to me as if I’m an incapable child.

“Lead.” I speak quickly and quietly, exactly like the child this soft brown-eyed man

thinks I am. He shows a flash of shock when I say this and tries to cover it up, but mostly fails. I’m momentarily distracted from my fear as I notice this and as I see the blatant doubt on his face that remains when he nods okay. He then picks up a script and gives it to my hands that I forgot are still shaking. I slowly flip to the page he tells me to and I read each line carefully in my head. I sigh. Okay, I can do this. Why am I shaking? I can do this. Why am I shivering? I can do this. I’m thinking I can do this when the world turns black.

I wake up in a haze. I seem to be sitting in the backseat of a car, but the people in the front don’t notice me. I rub my eyes and soon recognize a man in the driver’s seat with light brown hair as my dad. His face is bright and his eyes are shining. He looks so young. I can’t figure out who he is talking to because the person in the passenger seat is wearing a hat, but then we are moving and I see a lock of blonde hair slip onto the woman’s shoulder. It’s mom. We continue to drive and drive and I suddenly realize what is about to happen. My parents chat happily, without a care in the world. The night is dark with only specks of stars and I think about how Katie must be scared when I realize that she is not in the car. My heart then starts to thud and my hands start to shake, identical to how they do on stage. I know it’s coming when we make a right turn around a corner. A large blue pickup truck is driving towards us, getting closer and closer with every second. Suddenly, I hear the sound of smashing glass and my parent’s laughs are interrupted. This time, the world turns red.

I wake up lying on the warm stage floor, the director and a couple of chaperones standing over me. Their faces are cringed with worry but surprisingly, they don’t look happy when I sit up with blinking eyes. They only look relieved.

“What just happened? How long was I out for?” I wonder, only remembering fragments of the nightmare. I hear giggles behind the curtain and almost want to cry, but I stop myself. One of the chaperones goes back there to shush the kids.

“You were just about to start reading the script when your eyes closed and you fell to the floor. You were out for about ten minutes, but you didn’t look so good. We were about to call your parents and then the hospital. You still don’t look so good — why don’t you go home?” I remember the feeling of being treated like a child by this man, even though the feeling is distant and I feel like it is from a very long time ago. I can still hear the tone in the director’s voice though. However, I can only manage to stammer.

“B-b-but what about um, the uh, the a-audition?” The nervousness in my voice is obvious, I really hope the people backstage have stopped listening.

“I’m sorry, but you fainted. You looked very nervous and if you couldn’t handle the feeling in an audition, I don’t think you would be a very good fit for the play. But, go home and practice. I’m sure you can try out for the spring musical.” He says this with a tone of finality and my brain goes into overload. It floods with thoughts of Alice, how I was an actual threat to her and how now I am going to be the laughing stock of the school. Katie comes to my mind, I think of how she was so excited to watch me in the play. My spaced-out dad. I was hoping to cheer him up, but that probably wouldn’t have worked anyway because of — well, because of mom. The thought of her is what sends me over the edge.

Without even thinking about it, I quickly jump up to my feet. I raise a hand and, watching the director’s stunned face, I slap him. The loud sound is satisfying and my sorrowful, frowned face disappears. A weight is lifted off of my shoulders as I let a smile escape from my lips. A red mark is left on the man’s face, a mark that is as bright and as beautiful as a rainbow. The clouds go away and now I’m really grinning. The faces of the director and the chaperone remain blank, which surprises me. I’d expected some kind of reaction, but I realize that I don’t really mind. I skip down the steps of the stage and run out of the auditorium. I continue to blissfully run through the hallway, heading for the door. However, I soon hear steps coming up behind me. Oh, no. What have I done?

The director catches up to me and the only word I can use to describe him is furious. My heart starts to pound, a familiar sensation. What is the director going to do with me?

“Young lady, that was absolutely unacceptable. You are coming with me to the principal’s office right now! Unfortunately for you, I am certain that she will suspend you from school and ban you from all future productions here.” He grabs me by my shoulder and leads me to the office.

Since it’s a Sunday, the school is deserted. However, lucky for the director, the principal is here today. I walk into her office and escape from the director’s grasp just long enough to sit in a chair. The fabric is puffy, plush, and comfortable. The principal’s eyes widen as she moves her gaze from the computer and turns to see me. The director gives a fairly detailed summary of what I have done, but I don’t hear any of it. I don’t think anything either; I just tap my fingers and watch the pretty principal’s expression, which seems to get worse by the second. She cocks her head and her forehead wrinkles. She frowns and runs a hand through her long, brown hair.

When the director is finished, the principal sighs and says “I am shocked Annabelle. I would never expect this from you, but you have hurt a teacher and there will be some serious repercussions. Your father will have to be here for this.” She picks up her phone with a spiral cord after looking at a large directory. She dials a number, her manicured nails tapping the buttons, and waits. A minute later, she dials a different number. And then she dials that number again.

“Okay Annabelle, your father is not responding. Nevertheless, I am just going to give you your punishment now. I am disappointed to say that I will be suspending you for five days, all of this week. I will call your father again tonight to arrange a meeting with both of you tomorrow.” She sighs. “You are dismissed now, and must leave school grounds immediately.”

I get up, wondering if this is a dream. The director gives me a surprisingly smug smile as I walk out the door with nothing but empty space in my mind.

That evening, I sit at dinner with Katie and my dad. I pick at the microwaved food I’ve warmed up, an awful feeling in my stomach. Katie however, sitting across the table from me, wears two messy braids and enthusiastically shovels food into her mouth. After swallowing two-thirds of her plate she finally takes a gulp of water and looks up to smile at me. I give a weak smile back, turning my head to look at my dad now, who for once appears to be in the same mood as me. The dreary silence drips on, the only sound being an occasional loud crunch from Katie’s mouth. My numb mind can’t think, so I just drag my fork around my already scratched plate. I then realize with a sigh that the sun is sliding again. Suddenly, the phone rings. It shatters the almost peaceful silence. Without saying anything, I shake my head no to my dad, who forces himself upwards and plods over to the phone. He picks it up on the fifth ring and answers with a grunt that has the semblance of the word hello. I hear a high-pitched voice babbling, but can’t make out any words. I start to tap my fingers on the table, worrying what this might be about. I notice that my dad’s blank expression is starting to turn into a frown and when the babbling stops, he only responds “Okay. We’ll be there,” and hangs up.

“Annabelle, that was your school. Um… they said that, uh, they said — ” he struggles to finish the sentence. “The principal said that she wants to see us tomorrow at 8:00 AM.”

“Oh, um, okay.” I don’t want to offer any more information. I try to keep my face as blank as possible while I watch my dad fidget around. My fingers are tapping — does he know what I did? He shifts from one brown loafer to the other and scratches his head. He’s trying to say something, but he’s too scared to.

“Annabelle, they told me what you did.” My eyes are fixed on him. My fingers move to tighten around my chair. They grip it so tight that they start to turn white. But how could he be mad at me? He hasn’t shown any emotion in years. “Annabelle, that was… you know, go to… no, um… you are… you know, nevermind.” Punishing me was too difficult for him to do. Wow. “Okay, we’ll leave at 7:50 a.m. sharp.” He gives me a strange smile, and then heads off to his room without eating any of his food. Great. Now I have to do all of the dishes.  

I walk through the halls with my dad, continuing our silence after the car ride. I observe all of the people around me. There’s not as many as usual, because school doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, but I recognize a few familiar faces. I see Bun Girl and Brave Girl. I see Ava with a bunch of her friends, and we wave shortly to each other across the infinite distance that seems to be separating us. I see Alice, with a different group of friends than at the audition. I wonder how she does that.

The weak, white morning light pokes through the windows. It’s climbing upwards, instead of sliding downwards. This at least gives me a smile as my dad and I walk through the principal’s door. When I step inside, the principal is sitting at her desk, her straight hair obviously curled. She gives us a slight nod with her serious face and says “Welcome. Please, take a seat.” My old sneakers screech slightly on the tiled floor as I walk over to a seat. My dad plops down next to me just as the principal begins to speak.

“So,” she says. “I want to start by saying thank you, Christopher, for coming. I think we all know what we are here to talk about. Let’s just jump right in. As Annabelle may have told you, I have suspended her for five days because she has injured an adult working in this school.” I think the principal wants my dad to say something, but he just nods and swallows so she turns to me and continues. “Now, I know that your mom passed away a few months ago. I’m assuming that times have been hard, but what you did is still unacceptable. I’d like to hear what you have to say for yourself. Tell me the story.” She finishes and fixates her attention entirely on me.

I look at my dad who shows no emotion whatsoever and then realize he isn’t going to be any help. But, my hands aren’t shaking and my heart isn’t pounding, so I just start talking.

“Okay, well so this audition was really important to me. I was doing it for my mom. We had talked about this play months ago, and – and she was so excited about it. She was going to be so proud of me and it was going to be so amazing and I just miss her so much and —” then I’m crying, the tears blurring my vision. I feel a hand on my shoulder and stiffen, but then the hand rubs my shoulder and I soften. I look up to see the principal, her face kind. I don’t realize how strange this is.

I just say “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” The moment is short, because as soon as I wipe my tears away, the principal is back at her desk. My dad’s face is blank.

“Do you think you can continue the story?” The woman asks softly. I nod and take a deep breath.

“So – well, because there was so much resting on it, I was very nervous for the audition. When I got there, I remember I was freaking out backstage. On stage, the director gave me a script to read from. I remember looking through it, and then I think I fainted —”

“What do you mean you think you fainted?” The principal interrupts.

“Oh well, I just remember everything going black. I fainted though, they told me afterwards. So when I woke up, the director told me that I didn’t look so good and that I should go home. I asked him about the audition and he told me in the most annoying —” I pause for a second, expecting her to stop me, but she doesn’t. “In the most annoying tone of voice that I could try out for the spring musical. That made me really angry and that’s when I slapped him.”

“I see. What happened after?”

“I kind of just ran away” I say sheepishly. “But the director ran after me and caught me. He told me that what I did was unacceptable and that I would be punished. Then, he brought me here.”

“Okay” the principal smiles. “Thank you so much for telling me all of that. I’m still going to have to suspend you, but I think I’m going to have a talk with the director.” I’m surprised, but feel lighter. “Now, I’m going to ask you to leave so I can have a little chat with your dad. Is that okay?” I nod slowly and get up to leave. She gives me a small smile and I respond by awkwardly slipping out of the room, closing the door behind me.

As soon as I get outside I pin my my ear to the glossy but thin door. I can imagine my dad crossing his legs inside and the principal giving him a quick smile.

“So, Chris, how are you doing?” I can hear the sincerity in her voice.

“To be honest, I’m not so good.” He’s giving a weak smile, I can tell.

“Well, I’m so sorry. I’d like to give you my greatest condolences. Lily was an amazing woman and I loved speaking with her. I remember when she used to come in for Career Day and talk about working in her science lab. It was quite interesting — the kids loved her.”

“Wow, thank you. She sure was great, yeah.” He sounds like he’s really smiling.

“Do you think that Annabelle misses her a lot?” Woah, I think. Isn’t that a little too far? But my dad answers in a second.

“Yeah, I think she does actually. It’s been really hard for her and she’s gained a lot of anxiety because of it. I always see her tapping her fingers or shaking her hands.” How does he know that? He’s always in his room!

“If this is crossing the line, let me know, but I think that Annabelle feels a little — ” The principal keeps talking, but her voice lowers and I only hear mumbling for a few seconds.

Ugh. I desperately want to hear what she’s saying.

Luckily, I hear my dad respond. “Um, the thing is… well, yes, I have been a little out of it lately. I’ve been finding it hard to focus on things and I’m thinking about going to see a therapist, but I have been paying some attention to Annabelle. I just don’t think she’s noticed.” I’m shocked. This is the most I’ve heard him talk in months, how could he be paying attention to me?

“That’s interesting. Maybe —” the principal suggests very carefully, “maybe you can talk to her. Be here for her, she really needs it.”

My dad starts to talk, but someone turns on a fan in another room and his words are drowned out. I’m practically pulling my hair out by the time the fan is turned off. How is he responding to that? Unfortunately, all I hear is my dad finish. “Thank you for showing so much concern though.” It sounds like he wants to leave.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I know this must be hard. One more thing — do you think that it’s possible Annabelle will act out again?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I hope that she won’t. I am definitely going to have some sort of conversation with her.” I think that the principal is satisfied with this. I hear one more mumble from her mouth and then a chair creaks as it slides across the floor. I instantly jump back from the door and slide down to the ground, preparing to pretend that I was spaced out the whole time. My dad comes out, looking distressed. He does give me a small smile though, which is bizarre. The principal really had an effect on him, more of an effect than I ever had. “Okay, let’s go,” he says.

My dad walks briskly down the hallway.

“Wait up!” I exclaim, struggling to keep up with him. He turns his head and smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’m waiting.” He winks at me like he used to when I was a little kid.

When we get to the car, we don’t say anything, but the silence is okay. The evergreen trees seem to whiz by as my dad drives, but really we are the ones that are moving. Soon, I realize that we are going away from home.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” he says.

When we pull up in front of the building, I know exactly where we are and I am ecstatic. We haven’t been here in months. The building is small, but extremely colorful. Neon lights illuminate its exterior that is already filled with huge pictures of mouthwatering ice cream. The outside air is icy when we get out of the car, but I don’t care. I’ll have this ice cream any time of the year. My dad and I walk over, continuing to not speak. He holds open the heavy metal door for me and I step in, immediately engulfed in this other world. All of the ice cream flavors are written in messy chalk on a gigantic board that takes up almost the entire room. The servers working here bustle around behind a tall counter with smiles on their faces. A long line leads to the cash register, but I don’t mind. The room smells cool but delicious, probably because the most amazing ice cream in the world is made here. My dad and I go to the back of the line.

The wait seems quick, but it’s only because my mind is occupied with all of the bright posters that plaster the room. When we get to the front of the line, a kind girl dressed in a tie-dye shirt greets us. We order our usuals, mine being triple chocolate fudge ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and my dad’s being strawberry ice cream with hot fudge. Licking our lips, we get a corner booth. I slide into one red bench and he slides into the other. As soon as I pick my spoon up, I notice my dad’s looking at me with a small grin so I put it back into my bowl.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you smiling in months. You look just like your mother. ” My dad doesn’t seem sad when he says this, like he always is when he mentions her.  

“It’s nice to see you smile too!”

“I really shouldn’t be smiling though,” he laughs. “You hit your teacher!”

“Yeah…um…” I laugh too. We share another glance before digging into our ice cream, the sun high in the sky outside.

                                        

The Sourcery

        

Chapter 1

You’ve got a friend in me

One day a 13 year-old girl named Annabelle went to the park and she was completely unaware of what was in store for her that month. Annabelle has long, brown hair, light tan skin, and big eyes. Annabelle is an identical twin, her twin’s name is Rose. Rose always gives her a hard time with everything she does wrong. If only her sister understood her. The weird thing about her is when she is in pictures her eyes turn red.

So, one day when Annabelle decided to go to the park without her sister she met a new friend and that new friend’s name was Hannibal. Hannibal was a trapeze artist yet he was only 14 years-old. Annabelle thought that Hannibal was the coolest person she ever met. Hannibal always wears a leather jacket, black jeans and he has nice long brown-red hair. Annabelle loved hanging out with this guy. All they do while together is talk about his family, his family owns a circus and he is one of the star performers. She had lots of fun and she was now wondering if she has seen him performing before.

When she was ready to leave the park that day she decided to give Hannibal her necklace, she said. “Meet me here tomorrow, and if you don’t then I will look for you because you have my necklace,” She said as she put the necklace on him.

“When you get home and wash your face you will see the necklace and remember that you have to meet me here tomorrow.”

He told her, “I love that you would entrust me with your necklace but no need to fret I will return here tomorrow.”

He started to take off the necklace but she shook her head and walked away. Hannibal was intrigued by her mysterious ways, for she didn’t talk much about her family.

When she went home she told her parents about the kid she met in the park. Her parents wondered why she wanted to hang out with a kid that spends his time in the circus. Apparently her sister had the day to herself so she planned a pool party for June 8th because it was going to be the hottest day of the year. Knowing that today was the first of June, she had time to ask Hannibal to go with her.

Chapter 2

The stalker

The next day, Annabelle rode her bike to the park. When she got there she saw Hannibal sitting on a hedge. When she saw his bronze skin glistening in the sun she fell off her bike. That day he didn’t have his leather jacket on instead he had on a grey t-shirt that said Death Rider with black flames under it.

“What’s Death Rider,” Annabelle asked “Is it like your favorite band or something?”

“Actually, it’s my band” Hannibal said

This didn’t make sense to her, “Wait I’m confused. You are in a band? Are you the lead singer? Is it a punk or a rock band? How do you have time to be here when you’re in a band and in the circus?”

“I perform for the circus on Sundays and practice band on Tuesdays.” responded Hannibal.

“Oh” Annabelle said.

Hannibal wanted to show Annabelle his tricks on his skateboard so they rode to the skatepark. The skatepark was really cool, it was black fenced but the paint was falling off so it is partially silver. Inside there were many different sections. Some were big ramps and some were somewhat small. The one Hannibal showed her, his favorite one, was like a sunken dome, and it was huge! In it was some graffiti that said BEWARE. She sat down on a bench and watched him as he did some cool tricks on his skateboard. She turned around to look at some of the other people in the park. She saw a guy staring at her, he was tall with light skin he had beard stubble. He had piercing grey eyes. He was wearing grey jogging pants and a long black hoodie, he didn’t seem too old or too young. She turned back around shivering with fear she told Hannibal she wanted to leave.

“Why,” he asked, “do you not like my tricks?”

“I do, it’s just there is a weird guy staring at me,” she answered.

“Oh don’t worry that’s my neighbor Jonah,” he told her “ He works with my dad on special experiments together and his son does them too.”

“But you were out of his sight,” she said.

“Have you seen him before?” he asked.

“I think so, but can we leave please?” she asked.

“Sure,” he answered.

When they got back to the park they sat down near the rose bushes. The roses were ruby red like the color that comes up in Rose’s eyes when she takes a picture.

“So what is your family like?” Annabelle asked.

“No, let’s talk about you for once,” he suggested.

“Ok, I’m open to any questions!” She exclaimed.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, a twin sister named Rose,” she answered.

“Cool, can I meet her?” He asked.

“Yeah, you stay here I’ll bring her here.”

Annabelle went home and asked her sister to come to the park with her to meet someone. Rose was rude at first but was convinced by her sister as long as she promised to help her bring home supplies for the party.

Chapter 3

Circus Freaks

When they got to the park they went straight to the rose bushes.

“So where is this guy you keep rambling on about,” Rose asked.

“I don’t know I guess he left,” Annabelle answered “oh there’s a note,”

Anna, I wanted to go see the experiments in my dad’s lab. Jonah has invited me for the first time so I want to take advantage of this opportunity. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your sister. Please come to the circus on Sunday, and bring your sister. You can get in for free as long as when you walk in tell the person in the front “You are the Great zizi” 3 times, bow and then say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious while hopping on one leg and you will be let in.

See you there,

Hannibal

 

Dead on the Floor

Some people are just naturally gullible. L used to be one of them. Starting when he was in elementary school, he had the reputation for falling for even the most obvious tricks, which made him a top target for pranks. When he entered the land of real life, the pranks suddenly became serious, and he started losing real money for them. It could even be funny in a way how easily he fell for these scams, but unfortunately L is no longer around to tell us about them. He now lives in the afterlife of police investigations and gag orders.

Getting to that point usually involves long stories, hitmen, or money. The latter two played a big part in L’s situation, but the story isn’t as long as you might think.

One day, L was on a pirated TV website on his endless and hopeless quest to have one of his favorite teams, whether it be Real Madrid, the New England Patriots, or the Boston Celtics, actually win a championship. After clicking the link for the Real Madrid vs. Malaga game, he was flooded with advertisements for 30 seconds before he could watch the game.

The biggest advertisement, in the middle of the screen, showed a sloppily photoshopped image of a smiling man holding a stock photo of $100 bills. This didn’t matter to L, nor to any of the other suckers who were dumb enough to fall for this. Next to the man, there was a colorful, inviting box with the words “GET MONEY NOW!” scribbled onto it. As you might expect, L proudly clicked on the link and was redirected several times until he landed on a webpage titled “Stock Marketplace –– Tutorial.”

L quickly read through the instructions, how important could they be? He checked the box that said he had read the terms of service and agreed with them, and clicked the “next” button. The next page asked for his credit card number. L had promised himself to be a little bit more careful with his spending after his credit score tanked. He had been warned that a debt collector would show up at his house and they would have an unpleasant conversation. He got out of that situation by pleading with his “friend” from middle school who now worked at a very important government position to give him a loan. The friend wasn’t too happy to lend him the money, mainly because he knew he would never see it again, but out of compassion he reluctantly agreed.

L didn’t want to get back in the same situation, because he had a feeling his “friend” had limits to how much money he was going to donate to someone he probably hated very much.  However, believing that this “Stock Marketplace” was going to earn him money like the ad said, he took the risk.

Once he got onto the site, he saw he could make a “risk-free investment” of $50. He put it in a random stock, waited a minute, and then he got a message saying ‘congratulations, your investment is now worth $60.” He had earned $10 in a minute. Of course, he had no idea that the stocks were fake and that this was basically a rigged gambling website, but nobody who knew him would expect him to figure that out.

He decided that he would put a lot more money on the next stock. If he earned $10 with a $50 investment then with a $5,000 investment he would earn $1,000. It was something he had learned years ago in algebra class –– proportions, he thought. He clicked the button, and after a minute of glossing over the thought of finally getting rid of all his debts, even the one to his “friend,” he finally understood that this made-up stock market didn’t run on proportions.

Sorry, the screen said in small font, but your investment is now worth only $400. That was all. L stared at the screen for a minute, understanding that for the millionth time in his life he had been ripped off.

He just kept on staring at the screen for a couple minutes, but he was interrupted by a notification from his phone. He took it out of his pocket and saw that it was an alert from his credit card company. They had canceled his transaction with Stock Marketplace because it was blacklisted. At first he didn’t understand what transaction the app was talking about, he hadn’t pressed any buttons, but then he realized that the website was automatically charging him for each investment he lost money in. Anyway, he had been saved again, this time by Bank of America, and that meant a celebration. He turned off his computer and headed for his favorite bar.

He spent a long time in the bar, trying to attract girls with his stories of being miraculously saved from getting into bad situations. This obviously didn’t work, it only reinforced everyone’s belief that he was a loser lucky to be alive. Eventually, like every other time he came to this place, he gave up around midnight, walked back the five blocks to his apartment, and fell asleep.

The next morning, L was woken up very early, at around five a.m., by his phone ringing. He reached for it from his nightstand, and saw that he had been continuously called for half an hour by someone whose caller ID was 0000. Apparently he was in such a deep sleep he hadn’t noticed. He pressed talk and wondered who would call at such a disturbingly early hour.

It could be Marco, the owner of the neighborhood coffee shop where he had applied for a job. It could also be his landlord complaining about the lateness of his rent payments. And maybe, just maybe, it could be Marie, his ex-girlfriend who had broken up with him after he had dropped out of UDC. L had stalked her Instagram and Snapchat and saw that she was still single, which left the slight possibility that she might want to come back to him.

However, it was none of the above. The voice on the other end was very deep and sounded vaguely Russian. He said his name was Eddie and suggested that they go straight to business. L wasn’t really awake enough to talk business but Eddie didn’t seem to care.

“As the treasurer of Stock Marketplace company,” he said, “I alert you that you owe us $4,600 American dollars. You have 15 hours to put money in box outside your building. No police, we have gun.” He then said something in another language, and L heard something that sounded like someone banging on a trash can, and then screaming. Before L could explain his financial troubles to Eddie, he hung up.

Most people would think this was a dumb prank. Not L, he believed everything the man said. And that meant he needed to come up with $4,600 quickly.

Why does this always have to happen to me? he asked himself. Every year, he thought, I get ripped off by some idiotic creep who sometimes isn’t even trying to rip me off, but it always ends up with me being thousands of dollars in debt. That was true, but he comforted himself by remembering that he always got out of these situations in the end. Three times his parents had bailed him out, last time his “friend” did it. Neither were likely to do so again. He had no obvious options.

The reason that L always got out of these situations is that when he really wanted to use it, he had a very good memory.  The reason he didn’t like using it was that there was probably a lot more stuff he would like to forget than remember. But this was a life-or-death situation. And if he could vaguely remember the name of one person who might be able to help him, then he would be on the life side. And if he didn’t, then he was screwed.

L thought very hard. The one place where he remembered that he met a lot of rich and smart people was two years ago in his 8th grade reunion. Everyone who bothered to come had just graduated from college and had gotten a good job. He had just started going to UDC, which was enough to please some of his teachers. He remembered that he had been given a paper with everyone’s name, job, and phone number. Of course, he had lost it. But then he thought harder, and he remembered that they put the paper on the school website.

He quickly opened the browser on his phone and went to alicedeal.org. The paper wasn’t on the front page, and he wouldn’t expect it to be there because it was two years old. He started going to random pages until under the “ADCA” tab he found a page that said “alumni.” He selected his school year and soon found what he had been looking for, the list of all the people who came to the reunion.

First he looked at the names, trying to find some of the people that were close enough to him to remember who he was. Only one came to the reunion, a short German kid who was a lawyer somewhere in New York. He had a feeling he might need a lawyer soon, but that was not an immediate priority. Then he started looking at the jobs. He was looking for some banker or maybe a cop or security guard. There were four people that worked in the financial industry, he knew none of them. There was one cop, one he even knew slightly, but then he remembered Eddie’s warning about “no police.”

Eventually, he found the name of his “friend”, who was a diplomat. Even if he wasn’t going to loan him money, L remembered that he had said that he worked in the International Organized Crime subsection in the State Department, which sort of sounded like what he was facing.

L called the phone number that was listed on the paper. It rang three times, then a message started playing:

“Hello, this is Verizon customer service. The number that you are trying to reach has been temporarily shut down by request of the owner, please try again later. Thank you.”

He called it again, and the same message played. He had no time to waste. He had put a work number there too, and he called it.

“Hello, this is Molly at the Organized Crime section of the State Department, how can I help you?”

L was expecting it to go straight to his friend, not to this person, whoever she is.

“Um, I want to speak with Mr. Lehrer. It’s, you know, uh, extremely urgent.”

“Mr Lehrer left for a post in Moscow last month,” she said.

“Yeah, you see that’s a slight problem. I sort of really need to talk to him.”

“Sorry, I can’t reach him. Even if I could I’m not allowed to disclose information to anonymous strangers. Have a nice day.” She hung up.

L could see that his search wasn’t going anywhere. If his friend was in Moscow, then he probably couldn’t help him. Even if he wasn’t, then he had no way to reach him. Time to try someone else. There was a slight problem with that, though. Everyone else on the list either hated him or had no idea who he was. Then something caught his eye, Adrian Lehrer wasn’t the only person on the list that worked for the State Department. There was another one who worked in the Foreign Aid section.

He only vaguely remembered this guy, Ian, who rode on his bus and was in a class with him once or twice. But he did remember seeing him hanging out with Adrian, which meant they probably knew each other. He dialed the number.

“Hello,” Ian answered, “who is it?”

“Yeah, I’m L, a person who rode your bus in middle school.”

“I don’t remember you, what do you want? I’m busy.”

“You remember Adrian Lehrer, he went to Deal?”

“He also works here. He’s in Russia now, what happened to him?”

“Nothing, I just want his number so I can call him. I, um, have important information to give him.”

“What type of important information could you have?”

“Not important, just give me his number.”

“Fine, it’s +7 2365-403-891. Happy now?”

L hung up and immediately dialed the number. It rang once, and then, he heard a message in what he assumed to be Russian. He tried a couple more times, and he kept on getting the same message. He glanced at the clock, it was 10:48 a.m., he only had nine of his 15 hours left to get the money.

He threw his phone on the bed in frustration. Why was his friend so unreachable? The only other option he could think of was to start an online fundraiser, but those never worked. In fact, it seemed as though the only point of online fundraisers was to give you false hope before they inevitably failed. No bank was going to loan him money, and his childhood friends were even less likely to donate to his get-out-of-trouble fund.

But then, he had a new idea. If his friends weren’t going to help him, then maybe his teachers would. He remembered from the reunion that one of them was dead, another was living in another state, and that left his science and math teachers to organize the reunion. His math teacher would probably just tell him “l told you so” and scold him for not listening in the finance lessons. But his science teacher was a different story.

He was a very nice teacher that could do many things, and L was sure he would either loan him money or help him find Adrian. L especially remembered that he sat behind Adrian in that class. L had done many annoying and dumb things to him, which was why Adrian hated him.

L held his breath and dialed the number. It was answered after three rings.

“Hello?” the science teacher asked.

“Hi, um, it’s L, the kid from your fourth period in your first year teaching.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Remember me? I sat behind Adrian but you moved me because I didn’t know how to peer edit an essay.”

“Oh, you. I remember you. What do you want?”

“So, it’s a weird story, but I probably owe some money to some guy Eddie. Problem is no one is going to loan me money.”

“You know, teachers are poor. We don’t make that much money.”

“Fine, you see I think this Eddie is some foreign gangster. Adrian apparently is an expert on these groups and he’s in Russia now with the embassy.”

“Okay.”

“Problem is that I can’t reach him. I got his number from his friend but it dosen’t work. Can you help?”

“Okay, I will try, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

L hung up and sat down on his bed. He had now come to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t going to get the money that he needed to pay Eddie and the best he could do was get some information from Adrian on who exactly he owed money to. Except he wasn’t even sure that would happen considering how hard it had been to make contact with him. He thought about his options for a couple more minutes, and then his phone suddenly buzzed. He picked it up, it was Marco. He had a job.

Once he got to the coffee shop, Marco quickly explained to him his pretty simple job. He was supposed to take orders for customers and type each option on his computer. It was extremely boring, and he even thought about taking all the money from the cash register but he knew Marco would find out before he could get the cash to Eddie. More importantly, he worked from 11:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., leaving him only three hours to get the money once he ended his shift. And he got no messages from his science teacher his entire shift, which probably meant that he hadn’t found Adrian’s number.

He ran the five blocks back to his apartment and decided the only way he could get out of this mess was to run away. He could leave most of his possessions at his house, he had no need for them. He had no idea where he was going to hide, probably in some forest somewhere, although he knew nothing about wilderness survival. And that way he hoped Eddie wouldn’t find him.

With no particular destination in mind, he got on the bus to Union Station with his last remaining money, about $60, and hoped it was enough to buy a train ticket. It probably wasn’t, but that was fine because he could stop at the bank and withdraw the other little money he had there. And if that didn’t work he would sell his computer. Either way, he was somehow going to get enough money to run off to wherever it was that Eddie couldn’t find him.

There was one small problem with that though. When he reached the station, he quickly figured out that $60 wasn’t enough to buy a train ticket. So he went to an ATM, except it didn’t work. He put in his PIN three times, but it always gave him an error message. He was sure he put it in right, but he was running out of time so he decided to try his last option, pawning his computer.

That wasn’t going to work either, because as he discovered, there weren’t any Apple stores in Union Station, and he was doubtful he could do it anywhere else. Not only could he not get any money, but by looking at the signs, he discovered that he needed an ID to get on the train, and he had left it at home. He was stuck in DC, unless he felt like endlessly walking toward some imaginary place.

At first, he panicked. But then he realized that DC was a big city. He could hide in some place downtown and no one could find him. He didn’t know where exactly that place was, but he knew he was safer hiding in an alley then in his apartment, where Eddie knew where he was. He just walked out of the station and found a Starbucks nearby. He decided to sit there until it closed, then he could figure out his hiding place for tonight.

While he was there, he thought about what the people in his favorite crime shows would have done. He wasn’t fit enough to win a fight against some gorilla and he couldn’t completely transform himself overnight. The one thing he could remember that nearly everybody did was get rid of their phones, which could be tracked. The AT&T store was across the street, but once he got up, his phone rang. It was his science teacher.

“Listen,”he said “I got Adrian’s number. He’s in a meeting in Belgium.”

“Whatever, what is it?”

“+7 832 4512 043.”

“So it’s a Russian number?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I got his Russian number from his friend, but it didn’t work.”

“Why, do you know the friend?”

“No, I mean not since middle school.”

“Then why would he give you the number?”

L shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Whatever, just call him if you’d like.”

L hung up and quickly dialed this new number. What he didn’t realize was that it was the middle of the night in Brussels.

“Hello?” a tired voice answered.

“It’s L.”

“What do you want? If it’s another loan, then the answer is no, especially at this hour.”

“No it’s not that. I heard you work against organized criminals.”

“I try to, but they are usually smarter than us.”

“Well, I think I have a little problem with this guy Eddie who wants to kill me because he thinks I owe him money.”

“Who is he, a loan shark?”

“No, a scammer.”

“What’s new?”

“Well, do you actually owe him money?”

“Sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of?”

“I lost a lot of money to his thing called Stock Marketplace. But I think it was rigged.”

“Wait, you fell for that scam? Me and my EU colleagues would probably agree that you’re the first. And in that case, no I’m not giving you any money, so good luck paying them back.” And with that, he hung up.

L dropped his phone on the floor. The whole reason he had not ran out of the city in the morning was that he was sure he would get advice and maybe money from his friend. Before he could decide what to do, someone tapped him on the shoulder. L looked up at her.

“Have you ever heard of the opportunities you could get by trading Forex?” she asked.

“No.” L had no idea what that was.

“If you want to hear about them, then come with me to the back.”

L stood up and followed her to the back.

“So this Forex thing, how does it work?” L asked.

“It doesn’t,” the woman said. In a quieter voice she asked, “Where’s the money?” She put a gun to his chest.

“At my house,” L said. And with that lie, a silenced gunshot entered his body, and two seconds later he was dead on the floor.

A Sketch of a Morning Walk in Late Summer

It’s early, only 7:30, but my mother and sister are awake and talking quietly in the kitchen. I ask if I may go for a walk around the street. With permission, I tiptoe to the door. Why am I tiptoeing? Everyone at home is awake. My father is already at work, and my brother is away for the summer. So why am I tiptoeing? It feels like the right thing to do today, on this bright early morning.

I open the large white wooden door. It slowly creaks open. The screen door awaits. I reach to open it –– but, oh, then I remember, I forgot my sandals. I tip-toe to the shoe rack and strap on my sky-blue sandals. Now I’m really ready to go. It will not be a long walk, just around our street and the neighboring one.

I open the screen door and close it carefully, so it won’t slam and wake the neighbors. I don’t tiptoe anymore, as I start my little walk, but merely walk quietly, slowly, to best take in the beautiful surroundings and fresh air. It’s a little bit on the cold side, but it’s August, and in a month summer will be over and gone. I’m not ready for summer to end yet. I still want to go to the pool and learn how to do a dive off the diving board. I still want to experiment with our new ice cream machine and learn how to make mint chocolate ice cream that doesn’t taste like toothpaste. There’s still a lot to be done this summer, and I’m glad because of it. But I think that when summer ends, it will end peacefully, yielding to the bright red and gold autumn. I can never decide what color matches summer best. Blue, like the water in the pool? Light brown, like an ice cream cone? What should it be?

I reach the end of our street and turn onto the other street. I see the house that two years ago had been white. A year ago, a tree was blown onto that house’s roof, and the house was damaged. But now, the house looks great! It’s a medium blue. When our neighbors hired someone to repair it, they also decided to have the house expanded. Now that they have two children, they decided to add a few more rooms to the house. All the construction work is done. Their house is beautiful.

I have now reached the end of the street, a dead end, I turn around to go back to our street. All the way back, I daydream, unaware of my surroundings. Suddenly, I snap out of my daydream, and I can’t even remember what I was dreaming about. I realize that I’ve already reached my house. I hesitate before walking inside. I hear my sister, practicing the piano. I smell oatmeal with cinnamon cooking from the kitchen. I decide to go inside. It was a lovely walk, but now my day awaits me. I’m ready to jump into it, refreshed from my morning walk in late summer.

Uncontrolled Control

The spoken world is only a fraction of what the real world is. Words do not make the world, and the world is not ruled with fair words.

I started noticing things when I was a kid. My friends would always listen to me. I remember a specific time growing up when my parents promised to discipline me after I hid their keys. I was around six at that time. It was nothing major, just simply an act of instinctive and rebellious freedom. Being the kid I was, a rush of fear and regret swept over me. With all of my heart, I wanted anything in the world other than to receive a scolding from my parents. I knew the good and bright side to them, but they also exhibited a very mean side just as extreme. My mom’s face was turning shades of scarlet when she found out. I knew that my parents showed very extreme emotions to me, yet their emotions were always very simple: they were either very happy, cheerful and joyful, or angry, cross, and quick tempered. It was never anything sophisticated or deep that lasted for a while. I was still a young kid at the time, yet I knew they were hiding something from me because of my age. I was brought up to be righteous and moral always doing the “right thing.”  As I was dreading the moment of humiliation from my mom I was imagining a million different ways she could punish me she suddenly became very calm, the violent red seeping out of her face as fast as it had come. Strange, I thought. It seemed so unnatural of anyone I had never seen it happen before. Her emotions had been sapped out from her, and her face became a blank canvas unnaturally white. She was confused and dazed, and instantly dropped the improvised kitchen spoon that she was willingly using to hit me just seconds before.
“Forget it, Jacob,” my mom whispered to herself with a disconcerting and detached tone. Hearing her monotonous voice started a feeling deep down inside of me, a feeling of guilt. I didn’t quite know where it arose from, but I knew it had something to do with the sudden, occasional, and seemingly irrational changes of her behavior. I realized I had a special telepathic ability, but I never told anyone. I could change the intentions of people, but they were very subtle changes. I made people feel like they were undergoing mood swings by themselves.
Having experienced the unsettling influence that I had exerted over people, I needed a relief from my uncontrolled control. I started running. I just felt like it. It’s the first thing someone does to get rid of stress. It’s the first thing someone does when they’re afraid. It’s the first thing someone does when they need to find new control. Just a mile at first. Then two. Then three. I trained myself with a structured and ordered mindset. It began with sneaking out of the house. Then making excuses, then eventually joining the track team when I was able to at my school. I seemed to have never been caught while making my expeditions, yet I had a feeling my parents knew. I would sometimes see the silhouette of a person through the yellow and old curtains of our attic window.
My school stood on the top of a hill. A shabby, old brick facility that lay on the other side of town. That’s what I pictured in my mind, along with some grey, sad clouds dangling from above. During my years, I managed to control my ability. Yet, sometimes, I used it to my advantage, occasionally in ways that made me feel the same old guilt that stabbed me in the stomach and heart whenever I did something out of my righteous boundaries.

One instance I remember clearly. Our history teacher, a severe woman who always wore a tight business suit to school, would find joy in slowly and painfully calling out our grades after each test. I remember vividly after one test in particular I felt like the world was against me. I was dreading the next class, even considering the idea of calling in sick. The day arrived. I came to school. Coming into class, I looked down. The old, rusty-hinged baby blue doors once coated with a layer of vibrant deep sea blue paint ruined my attempts of an unnoticeable entrance to class. I nervously stumbled in, hands shaking while clutching my notebook. I peeled my hands off only to reveal ink sticking onto them. My mind broke loose from its calm and collected mode. I made no eye contact with the old lady, yet I felt her eyes staring into me like two lasers. I shuffled my way to the back corner of the classroom directly under the window with the gaping hole The story goes that it was created by a baseball from the field a couple of blocks down and looked down silently at my dirty blue skate shoes. The teacher was calling out attendance, her raspy voice finishing up the list. A loud silence ensued another one of her painful mind games.
She commenced reading off her grade book with her same unforgiving, icy voice. Halfway through the list I envisioned my name another three spots down. With all my heart, I was begging for her not to call out my name. A 70% would probably have been the best grade that I got. The person alphabetically before me in the list 81%. I envisioned the moment that was seconds away, like I was tied to a track and the train of humility was about to run me over. I played through my mind the scenario. Congrats, you did so well at failing.
Suddenly, she paused for a second. She got up and started coughing. Hobbling over to the door, she looked back at us.
“Stay put and if I catch you or hear reports of you messing around,” she didn’t even have to finish, we were all terrified of her. Moments went by. We saw the cold, squeaky door handles turn. The silhouette of the petite woman. She sat herself back down in the squeaky front desk chair.
“Alright, where did I leave off?” My hands and feet were shaking uncontrollably anticipating the mortifying moment yet to come. The next name she called wasn’t me; however, it was the person right after me on the list. I knew this because I had remembered the list and took it to my heart to do so. I was shocked and confused. I incredulously sighed under my breath. How had it happened? I was relieved at first but hit with a subtle and more gradual anger once I realized that I had used my telepathic abilities once again. I was never called on.
Behind the school, there was a faded red, 200 meter rubber track that had seen better years. I was the second best on track. Weeds and other vegetation were slowly encroaching onto the rubber ground. Paint was slowly eroding and chipping away on the side bars. Track was my strength, and I remember my first practice in particular stuck out to me. The first day was another hot and sizzling summer day. My sweat started to simmer on the red tracks.
“Good luck,” I heard halfheartedly mumbled. Many unconfident stares were exchanged across the starting line. Our coach, an old man of around sixty years old, stared at his stopwatch, fiddling with it like it was some sort of futuristic device. Eventually, after many curses under his breath, coach looked up.
“On your marks.” Even though I hadn’t started running yet, the butterflies in the cage of my stomach had been released. “GO!” The words rang loud and sharp in my ears. I lunged forward at a full, paced speed. First lap down, second lap, third. Nearing the eighth and final lap I was first. A sudden movement to my right caught my attention.
A blur of green and blue, and a sharp red pain to my right ankle. I had been spiked. I looked to see who had whizzed by me. Another kid from our grade had managed to bypass me during the last lap. I looked down at his feet as I wearily threw myself across the finish line, coming in 3rd. He was wearing neon blue spikes, and wore a confident smile on his face. Coach began ordering us and grouping us into different ability level groups. The first guy never returned a glance at me and I did not catch his name throughout the rest of practice.
During my climb up the middle school ladder, meets occurred occasionally, then monthly, then every two weeks, until when I reached eighth grade, they were a weekly occurrence that were just called “practices” with extra hype attached. My weekly appointments with the finish line were expected. I would always qualify for the next race, week after week. Yet, I was never satisfied. Each time I would see the black and white checkered line demarcation and flag, the crowds in the stand cheering with routine enthusiasm, and the kid with the blue spikes in front of me. I was never first.
Our grade was huge, around 300 people. I only knew about a sixth of my whole grade. Everyone knew a handful of people by name. The rest, you would just recognize walking by them in the hallways of school. Then there was the kid with blue spikes. I didn’t know him by name. Every time he passed me by on the track, I could always swear he was wearing a smirk on his face. He was one of those recurring nightmares that you could never remember waking up, but always dread encountering again. Coach was never a help. By some miracle, he was put in charge of running our team. Our team had around twenty people. Around half were actually good. Every practice, coach would only count the first couple, giving up hope on the rest as they slowly finished their 400 meters.
“Remember your times,” coach would always yell as we were ending our sets, “Fifty-nine seconds, one minute one second, one minute two seconds, one minute six seconds, one minute twelve seconds, and the rest of you can ask me after you’re done.” In the end, he would never tell the other times, claiming that he would always forget to keep track. I was always second, the kid was always first. I was losing control of my mind. The kid was faster than me, but every time he turned around after he crossed the finish line to look at the line ahead, at me, I could see a sneer manifest itself on his face and creep away as slowly as it came. I tried to find his intentions, using my secret ability once again. I hostilely glanced at him every time he celebrated under the nose of our coach. I couldn’t seem to get inside his mind. I usually could sense the clockwork gears churning and sparking in someone’s mind. I could find nothing, his mind was locked. I never made my disbelief apparent. Did he possess a counter ability? I never found out. His secretive smug look gave me the feeling that he knew what was happening.
       Trying to pry open my enemy’s mind, I began to notice physical setbacks from my mental toil. One day, I was second. The next I was third. Fourth, fifth, until I was barely above the cut for a bright future in high school track. I even tried to brainwash and convince myself that I was not trying hard enough. I felt like I was loosing connection with my own powers, beginning to feel paranoid about whether or not my abilities were really mine or was it fate’s master plan to steal my confidence away when I needed them the most. Fate, I thought to myself, it is uncontrollable for it controls us. Borderline sixth to seventh place in my track team sequence, I told myself that the abilities I had owned most of my life were genuinely mine. Yet it became a lost cause. If they were mine, and if I was a unique anomaly, then why did my powers not work on some people? A war between my sense of righteousness and sportsmanship was beginning. Moral and practical barriers were being broken. I was channeling every last ounce of strength to manipulate the minds of my own teammates who had managed to climb the ladder while I descended it. I was draining up the already dried up reservoir of my mind. A deep feeling that I knew I wasn’t supposed to have grew inside me I was going to cheat. I began putting in after hours, desperately clinging onto sanity, on the verge of surrendering to its dark, perpetual, and unceasing opposite unforgiving anarchy. The faded red of the track behind school became the flaming fires of untapped, uncontrollable rage that made me want to do one thing: win. I want to succeed, I would say to myself over and over again, not sure if running endlessly was helping me get better or launching me further into sheer madness.
       A week before the race. Daytime swallowed up by its counterpart pitch blackness. Sweat. Another sleepless night amid the blazing and burning lights that illuminate the track below. No one was in sight. The only sound was the fast pitter-patter of rubber against rubber. I had lost track of my distance. A feeling swept over me, I was being watched. I jerked my head around. For a brief moment, I thought I saw staring someone directly at me, perched on one of the stands on the opposite side of the field. A silhouette of someone. Neon blue caught my eye. I blinked. No one. Was it my mind? My very own conscience turning against me? My mind was torn apart. I had the ability that no one else had winning seemed so easy. Yet, it all fell out of my hands because of my rage. Finding myself halfway down the straightaway to the finish line and halfway in between the different battling sides of my mind, I started running. It became a stride, running at full force, nearing the finish line. Ten meters away. Five meters. Three meters. Then I sprung forward, rolling over the finish, tumbling into a ball and standing back up. It felt good to break the rules. I felt in control of something new. Not a power that I had, but a sense of rebellious freedom that from deep down inside I knew I had before. I felt satisfied. I felt confident. I felt a revival of my secret ability.
       The day of the race. Packed onto the starting line. Fog hung in the air, clinging onto anything and everything. In the distance, I saw a man with the starting gun. A deep breath.
“On your marks… ” the same giddy and jittery feeling. The gunshot ringing in my ears. A split second for my legs to catch up and start moving. The moments following were complete chaos, and then, out in the open. I found myself around tenth. I saw the kid with neon blue spikes ahead of me at first. A series of turns and twists. Shoving people left and right, making my way up the horde. Second place, the pitter patter, blue rubber against the red rubber of the track in front of me, my new found energy flowing through me like a violent torrent, mighty yet uncontrollable. The blue now was accompanied by checkered white and black, and we were blasting through the long straightaway. A force that seemed to come from out of nowhere swept me off my feet, making me sprint uncontrollably. I wanted revenge, and an instinct that seemed so foreign, yet wanted to me. I was still in my trance running faster than I ever had before. For the first time, I was eye to eye with the kid in the blue spikes. We were 200 meters from the finish. We locked eyes. A silent war turned into an ironically timed staring contest only, I didn’t really know who my opponent was. 150 meters away, my brain not only split in half morally, but also divided by the physical demand at hand. I tried using my power again. Neck to neck, running to the finish line. The wind was materializing into thick, sticky sheets layering onto our face. Blue and I came into the first two places. People kept on tumbling into us. It was chaos. I saw the tag collector as he accepted my tag second.

Then, I got an idea. I focused really hard to get the collector to switch our tags, mine first. Immediately, I was knocked down by the impatiently violent crowd surging behind me. I saw the collector stutter for a second, an incredulous and worried look creeping over his face, lift the tags, delicately switch them, then put them back, stacked, mine first. A deep breath of relief. A cold, dull medal was shoved into my face.

I walked over to the stands. Gingerly looking up at the leaderboards. First. Mixed feelings in my heart flooded me like the butterflies I had experienced at the starting line. I was euphoric yet confused. I looked back at the crowds, and saw one face in particular stare back at me in a haunting way. I looked back at the ground, at the dirty medal in my hand. I hurled it at the ground, with a satisfying and ear piercing cling.

Apocalypse

Day 1

Walking through the bustling streets, I slip into one of the side alleys in order to avoid the daily inspection checks and constant battles between the Chaotics and the Dynasties. The subtle creaking from behind indicates another presence as I slowly reveal a dagger from beneath my robe. I continue walking at the same pace as a second follows. From a muddy puddle ahead, I barely make out a hooded figure picking up his pace as he approaches. My hands turn white as I grip the dagger tighter. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and turns me around. I’m about to stab him when I realize he’s a she and she’s my girlfriend. I push her into a building so that no one sees us. Any kind of contact between two persons of opposite sex is prohibited because of the war going on and the opposing roles of each gender interfering with one another. I kiss her quickly and tell her to leave before someone notices but she doesn’t budge. I ask her again, this time more insistently but she just stares mindlessly at me.

“Techa, I’m leaving tomorrow. The Chaotics have decided to ship me to the Wastelands for Commencement Day.” She said. My eyes turn red, as my conflicting emotions make it hard to respond. She hugs me as she cries yet I still have no words. Speechless, I wrap my feet around hers and interlock her hands in mine like we used to. My heart rapidly beats as she walks away.

“Remember, Peace, September eighth,” I mutter and she nods with her head down.

Days 2 – 99

The days go by slowly as we push the Dynasties back to the Relic Grounds and Commencement Day nears. It’s ninety-two days after fighting on the front line, and Commander H finally transfers me to the Alpha Team where I’ll lead half of the army into direct hand-to-hand combat with the enemy. One day later, the President personally drafts a letter handpicking me to attend the Annual Chaties Meeting where the most powerful leaders from both sides meet to discuss treaties and official business. I gaze in awe for an awfully long time until I remember every word by heart like a child picking up a book for the first time.

Putting on the formal leather robe I was sent, I tuck my half heart necklace underneath the collar and hope that Peace still has hers, wherever she is now. Opening the door, I am welcomed by a man in a suit, representing his loyalty to the Dynasties. I greet him with a Chaotic three finger touch and he offers his hand for a Dynasty handshake. Remembering all the Dynasties I’ve killed in combat, I can’t come to look him in the eye and guiltily smile as he opens the door for me. During the ten-minute ride, I learn his name is John and that he has two children who are enlisted in the Dynasty army. We share in common the thought that war is not necessary to find a silver lining. When we arrive at the looming tower, I give him a handshake and he gives me a three finger touch. I sigh and open the door. The ten hour torture begins. My heart flutters when I see President Quill standing across the room with Dynasty President Madison. I greet the other military officers and sit at my assigned seat. The president comes over to greet me as I look at pictures of Peace and me. I bow and give him a three finger touch, embarrassed.  

“Mr. Techa Krii, I have some bad news. As of today, you will become the Vice President of the Kingdom of Chaotics, the Chairman of the Board of Chaotics, the Primary Heir to the President of the Kingdom of Chaotics, the Leader and Commander of the Army of the Kingdom of Chaotics, the Director of the World Order of Hollows and Grounds, a Knight of the Chaotics’ Guard, and lastly, the Underworld Leader of Tchao. Your new daily salary will be $1 billion effective immediately and all your expenses will be paid for including personal necessities such as clothes”

“How is this bad news…?” I try holding my glee in.

“I never said it was bad news for you.”

“Thank you so much for this opportunity. I will not let you down, sir.”

He puts down my first check and pats me on the back. I just sit there, without saying anything, realizing this means I have complete control over everything, and can just coincidentally move some random person named Peace into a job position that coincidentally coincides with my schedule perfectly. The meeting drags on for three hours about topics not even remotely related to peace treaties, meaning that neither sides were ready for the war to end.

Outside, a group of fifty Chaotic Servicers escort me to a brand new Bugatti Limousine which is driven by a Sergeant and is surrounded by three military trucks. I am then taken back to my house where I tell servants what to pack and not to pack. Then, we relocate to a castle just five minutes from the President’s Isle. Happily, I lay down on the comfy bed and fall asleep.

I am awoken not more than 265 hours later to breaking news: the President has committed suicide. The sound of an eerie alarm goes off in the distance. Mounds of rioters are seen starting fires in the distance. Soldiers create a circle around me but I tell them, “I’m not a goddamn politician — I am a soldier just like all of you, and tell you that this is not part of your job description. Alpha Team, flank right. The rest, flank left and center. Go!” I grab my titanium plated suit, an MRAD sniper rifle, and an electronic pistol from inside the weapon locker.

Suddenly, there’s an explosion inside the house and I immediately seal the door to the room. Two more soldiers join me from an underground bunker hole and we wait until the enemy comes closer. I open the camera visuals from hologram, where we see two unidentified men getting ready to arm explosives to the door. Taking out a phaser, I point it at the door, aim, and fire. The round phases through the door and hits one target in the throat, blood pouring out. The second man is killed not long after he runs in the other direction. We cautiously open the door and sprint for the main entrance where Teams Foxtrot and Charlie rendezvous for a recap.

After less than an a hundred hours, all fires are extinguished and I take the oath to become President of the Kingdom of Chaotics. An emergency meeting is called in by both sides to decide where we’ll go from here, and I immediately sign a treaty with the Dynasties in order to stop the fighting and become a united kingdom again. At the President’s funeral, no one mourns nor does anyone speak any gentle words about him. The President dying is the best thing that could’ve happened at the moment due to the underlying circumstances because there would be an excuse for revolt against tyranny and for a new government to form.

Day 100

Putting on my old soldier’s helmet and sneaking out of the President’s Isle by means of an underground tunnel, I am invisible to the public as I march in line with other soldiers right through the gate labeled “Women’s Manufacturing Factory.” I take off my uniform and hand it to a soldier who immediately recognizes me and salutes me. He leads me to Warehouse E-3 where I spot a beautiful, fair skinned girl working tirelessly at sewing together worker’s clothes for higher ranking officials. I press the emergency stop button which stops all material from moving on the assembly line, but everyone keeps making the same motions even though there is no material to work with.

Running to her, I pick her up and tell her to stop. She looks at me with this confused look as I run my hand down her hair. All the soldiers purposely turn their heads the other way as I carry her out into the open. We catch up and I learn that I had stopped Commencement Day just in time because the higher ups were planning to create a woman’s task force and fight on the front line along with everyone else. Dirt ran down the drain as we take a shower together and it seems as though everything has worked out perfectly. Suddenly, I remember Day 79 — it was a Saturday. My heart sinks as I remember the ambush, and the look in my friends’ eyes as the van tipped and hundreds of Dynasty soldiers rushed us back into the forest where half of us were killed as a message to our President. I start to cry but she wraps her feet around mine and interlock my hands in hers, whispering, “It’s my turn to take care of you,” as I think of everything we’ve been through. Suddenly, I see something in the sky, and remember it’s September eighth — “I love you, Peace. I always will.” She looks at me, holds my hand and everything goes dark.

Fin

A New Understanding

Leto walked down the stairs, into the living room. She was about to turn on the TV, when she heard her brother yelled at her mom.

“Leto, come here and tell your brother to stop being so rude!” yelled her mom. Sighing, Leto put the remote down on the couch, and walked into the dining room.

“Haul, listen to mom, okay?” she said halfheartedly.

Haul rolled his eyes.

“Get in the car, both of you. We’re meeting your dad at the French restaurant today,” her mom said, gathering her stuff on the table and putting them in her purse.

Leto grabbed a bag and shoved her wallet, a light jacket and a book into her bag, along with her phone. Haul put on his sneakers without bothering to tie the laces, and ran down the stairs to the garage. Leto heard her mom mumble, “God, nine-year-olds!”

Leto slipped her sandals on and followed her brother. When she got into the car, Haul asked her, “Leto, why do you think mom and dad are taking us to a restaurant? We never go to restaurants except the pizza place near our house.”

“That’s not really true, Haul. Remember when we went to the Thai place in the city? And the Italian restaurant near your school?” she said, thinking back to when they went out.

“Yah, but that was for my birthday, because I wanted to eat Italian food. You won that basketball game when we went to the thai restaurant,” he replied. Leto frowned, thinking about what Haul had said. If they only eat at restaurants on special occasions, then why would they eat out today? She hadn’t done anything special since the last time they ate out, and neither had Haul. So why were they going to a restaurant?

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” said her mom, interrupting her train of thought. Her mom put her purse on the seat next to her, and started the car. While putting her seatbelt on, she added, “Leto, can you open the garage? I forgot to do it.”

Leto sighed, and got out of the car. Why was she always the one who had to do everything? Why didn’t her mom do it herself, or ask her brother sometimes? Leto pressed the button, and opened the garage. She got back into the car, next to her brother.

When they got to the restaurant, her dad was waiting. Her mom got out of the car, looking nervous.

“Hey, Haul. What happened today?” asked her dad.

“Well, I got an A on my math test, and I played with Victor after lunch, and then I had to do homework,” Haul rambled excitedly.

“You have homework? Already?” his dad said, looking surprised.

“Dad, I’ve had homework for like three years now,” Haul said, looking a bit annoyed.

“What about you, Leto?” her dad asked while checking his phone.

Leto began, “Well, um… I walked to school with — ”

“She yelled at me today,” interrupted Haul.

Leto rolled her eyes. “I didn’t yell at you, I just asked you nicely if you could please listen to — ”

“Leto, don’t be mean to your brother,” interrupted her father. Leto rolled her eyes again, annoyed. Why did people keep interrupting her?

“Leto, don’t have an attitude. Stop being such a ‘teenager.’ You’re only thirteen,” her dad said sternly. As a waiter came and showed them to their seats, Haul stuck his tongue out at her. Leto wanted to do the same thing back to him, but didn’t, knowing that she would get into trouble.

After sitting down comfortably in their seats and ordering the food, Leto and Haul’s father cleared his throat. “So Haul, Leto, um… your mother is pregnant,” he began.

“Yay!” screamed Haul.

“Shut up,” Leto whispered to her brother, smiling.

“But, um, the baby is, uh…” said her father awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Is it a girl? Is it a boy?” asked Haul, not listening to anything his dad said afterwards.

Leto smiled. She loved little kids, because they were so cute and innocent. Even though she knew she would have to take care of her annoying brother more, having a little sister would be worth it. She would be able to dress her up, and give her all of her old clothes. Even if it was a boy, she would have lots of fun playing with him. Even though she was still hoping the baby was a girl….

“Guys,” said her mother, “what your father is trying to say is that the baby has Down syndrome. And even though this is going to be hard, we have decided to keep the baby.”

Everyone fell silent. Then Haul asked, “What’s that?”

“What’s what, honey,” said his mom softly.

“What Down sym-syndr-drum?” Haul asked innocently.

“Abraham?” she said quietly, asking her husband to answer.

He cleared his throat, and said, “Um, well, Haul, Down syndrome is a disability that makes people have mental and sometimes physical problems. Some people always need to be watched, while others can go to school, and live a normal life. It depends on how bad the baby’s condition is. We don’t really know that yet, but we’ll see. If we give this baby the correct treatment when its young, he or she can live normally when they grow up.”

Haul looked stunned. Leto felt like she was having a nightmare, and she would wake up, and it would all disappear.

The waitress brought the food out, but they all sat in silence. Then Haul sloppily served himself some food, and began chewing loudly.

“Haul, close your mouth! You are so embarrassing,” Leto whispered, annoyed. This was all too much. What had she done to deserve this? All she did was help, and now this? Not that she didn’t still want a baby brother or sister. In fact, if it had been anyone else’s family, she would have thought that the parents were so brave to keep the baby. But why did this baby have to get Down syndrome?

“So dad, how did the baby get the Down symdrum thing?” asked Haul, before shoving another huge bite of food into his mouth.

“Well, when women get pregnant around the age of forty-five, the chances of the baby having down syndrome is pretty high,” responded his father slowly.

“Okay, well, I’m still getting a little brother, right?” said Haul.

“It could be a girl,” his mom said.

“I’m going to get a little sister or brother! Who cares if it has a disability? I get sick sometimes, too. It’ll get better if we take the baby to a doctor. So why is everyone so gloomy?” said Haul nonchalantly.

Leto wanted to scream, cry, and smile at the same time. Haul was right, of course. But he didn’t understand what Down syndrome really was. And he wouldn’t be the one who would have to do more chores. Leto knew her parents would ask her to watch Haul more often. They would reduce her ‘privileges,’ which most people called liberties. Leto didn’t know what to think. She was tired.

When the family finished eating, and went home, Leto immediately flew to her room, bag in hand. Once her door was closed, she took out her phone, and texted Nasryn, her best friend.

Leto: My life sucks.

Nasryn responded after a few seconds.

Nasryn: what happened?

Leto sighed, and answered.

Leto: My mom is pregnant.

Nasryn: that’s great! Why are u sad?

Leto: the baby has down syndrome

Nasryn: omg

Leto: I don’t know what to do!

Nasryn: just keep calm, Leto

Leto: I am freaking out! How does my mom think that she can handle a baby with down syndrome, when she can’t even handle Haul??

Nasryn: Leto, talk to to your mom!

Leto: what would I say? Tell her all my selfish reasons why I am freaking out about this baby?

Nasryn: u seriously need to calm down

Leto: but how am I going to do ANYTHING after the baby is born? Even now, my parents r like “Leto, put your brother to bed” “Leto, do the laundry” “Leto, go buy groceries at the shop”

Nasryn: THAT is why u need to talk to your mom! Tell her u can’t do it! Stand up to her!

Leto: my mom isn’t the problem. Usually, I help her because I want to. But when I don’t help her, Haul or my mom tells my dad. Then he’s just like, “Stop the attitude, bla bla bla”

Nasryn: then go and talk to your whole family

Leto: I can’t do that! Besides, this is supposed to be about the baby, not me

Nasryn: Leto, you have to talk to your parents. Is there any other reason why u are feeling anxious about the baby?

Leto: not really. I mean, I do want a baby brother or sister. But is the baby going to be okay?

Nasryn: you and I both know that your family is going to take great care of the baby.

Leto: I hope so.

Nasryn: Now go talk to your parents.

Suddenly, her father entered her room. Either he hadn’t knocked, or Leto had been too focused on her conversation with Nasryn to hear him.

“Texting again?” he said disapprovingly, as Leto turned off her phone. Leto knew that Nasryn was right. She had to talk to her parents about this. Leto went down stairs to the living room, where Haul was sitting and drawing.

“Nice drawing, Haul,” Leto said, surprised.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“Haul, can you call Mom and Dad, please?” she asked.

“Mom! Dad! Come here!” he called out, not looking up from the picture he was drawing. Her parents came to the living room, and sat down on the sofa. Leto sat next to Haul on the other sofa.

“We need to talk,” Leto said, gathering all of her courage.

“About what?” her mother asked.

Leto gulped, then began, “Well, um, I know that you’re very busy already, with Haul and — ”

“Oh yah, Haul, how was soccer practice?” her dad said, interrupting her.

“It was pretty good, except that Alex got hurt, because Jarek pushed him,” Haul said.

Leto sighed why did people always interrupt her? She cleared her throat then said, “ANYWAY, um, so I know that I should be responsible, and I like helping you guys out, but sometimes, it’s too much and — ” This time, and alarm went off, interrupting her. Leto groaned, annoyed.

“Oh, those are the chocolate croissants that I was making for tomorrow! Leto, can you go and take them out of the oven?” her mother said. Leto wanted to scream that she didn’t want to, but she couldn’t let the croissants burn.

When she went back to the living room, she started talking. She needed to let it all out without anyone or anything interrupting her. “I know that I’m the older sister, and that I should help you, Mom, and I like helping you. It’s just that I know that when the baby comes, you’ll be busy with the baby, and Dad will be at work, and you NEVER give Haul chores, and even if you do,” Leto paused to take a breath, “you only give him the easy stuff, like clean up your room or put your plate in the sink. And you don’t care if he doesn’t do it or if he says he can’t because he needs to go out and play. And usually I don’t mind helping you, Mom, but sometimes it’s too much. And — ”

“Leto, stop making the baby an excuse to not do some chores. Haul is younger than you, so he doesn’t have to do as much. He’s just a young kid, so stop comparing yourself to him. And don’t use your siblings as an excuse for having an attitude,” her dad said.

“Dad!” Haul and Leto said at the same time.

They looked at each other, surprised. Haul motioned for Leto to go first.

“Dad, every time I try to say that I can’t do this, that I want to go and play and not have to grow up too quickly, that I don’t really want to be doing housework all the time, you stop me. I need to live my life! You always say ‘stop being rude’ or ‘don’t have an attitude’ or ‘stop being such a teenager.’ You never actually listen to what I’m trying to say!” Leto said.

“And Dad, I’m not a ‘young kid’, ok? I’m nine. In two months, I’m turning ten. I can do chores, you just never tell me how! You treat me like a baby. I want to learn. I’m not going to be the baby anymore, but I’m not going to be the oldest either. Let me help Leto,” Haul said, emotionally.

“Haul, I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still my baby boy. It’s great that you want to help your sister. Clean your room, okay?” their dad answered.

“Dad, I already do that. You think I’m a baby. Look at the stupid art on the fridge. I drew that when I was five!” Haul said, clenching his fists.

“But honey, it’s so good!” his mother answered.

“No Mom. The people are stick figures, and the cat in blue! Look at what I can do now!” Haul said, showing them his drawing.

It was a beautiful drawing of a lake at sunset. The sky was pink, yellow, orange and purple. The lake had a reflection of the sky, but the image was rippled, because of the swans that were swimming in the lake.

“It’s beautiful!” gasped his mother. Haul smiled.                                                                            

“Please stop treating me like a baby, okay? Let me help Leto!” Haul said.

“And I’m not an adult yet. I don’t mind helping out, but stop making me do everything,” Leto said.

Leto’s heart was pounding. What would her parents say? Would they actually understand what she was trying to say, or would they think that she was being insolent? Would she get into trouble? Would she get Haul into trouble? What if they thought that she didn’t want the baby?

Leto cleared the depressing thoughts from her head. What happened now was completely up to her parents. She couldn’t do anything, so there was no point worrying about it. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Leto, stop — ” began her father. Leto took a deep breath.

“Abraham, stop it,” her mother interrupted suddenly. She had been silent most of the time, not really expressing her opinion. “Leto, I’m sorry we made you do so much. I never meant for you to have to be the adult already. From now on, you and Haul can decide how to split your chores. I promise I will listen to what you’re trying to say, although I can’t speak for your father. If you want to go play or something, just tell me,” her mother said.

Her father responded, “But Candace, she’s just trying to — ”

“Listen to yourself!” her mother said, interrupting him again. “Our daughter is trying to tell us that we’re not giving her a childhood, and you just choose to ignore her!” For a moment, the family sat in silence, and Abraham scratched his chin.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Leto, I’m sorry. I just thought that you were being a teenager. You’re my oldest child, and I’ve never had a teenage kid before, so I don’t really know what to do. But that shouldn’t mean that you have to be an adult. So, I’m sorry. And Haul, I guess I don’t want you to grow up so fast. I mean, it seems like just yesterday that you learned to talk! But I know that you’re not a baby anymore, and I need to let you learn and grow. “

Haul and Leto smiled at their dad, and said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Then Leto looked at her mom, and said, “Thanks, Mom!”

 

EPILOGUE

One and a half months later…

“Leto, come here!” cried Nasryn. Leto walked over to where her best friend was standing, holding a sleeveless light pink fluttery dress with a dark pink ribbon.
“This is so pretty! Your little sister would look fabulous in this!” Nasryn said, as she put it into the shopping bag.

“Nasryn, she isn’t even born yet, you don’t know what she looks like. Besides, she’s going to have to wear onesies for the first few months at least,” said Leto with a smile.

Nasryn replied, “She can wear the dress when she’s allowed to.”

“Fine,” nodded Leto.

“Now come on, don’t you want to get matching t-shirts?” said Nasryn as she navigated her way through the crowd. They were at their favorite clothes shop at the nearby mall.

Leto followed her best friend. She felt light, a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Leto knew her new sister had down syndrome, but she also knew that it didn’t matter. The whole family would take care of her, and they would all love her.

Nasryn held up a wine-colored t-shirt with vines, which read “Forever Free.” “Want to get this one?” she asked. Leto nodded. Suddenly, her phone rang.

“Hello?” she said, answering it.

“Leto? Um… How do you wash dishes?” she heard Haul’s voice ask.

“Well, you rinse the dishes, and put some soap on if it’s really dirty… then you put it in the dishwasher,” Leto replied, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, okay. Come home soon, ‘cause I don’t want to do this alone. But don’t tell Mom I said that,” Haul whispered.

Leto smiled, “Okay, Haul. See you soon!”

Cream Puffs

        

“Okay everyone, get in the limousine!” Summer Jennings told her friends, quickly ushering everyone into the sleek black car.

Willow Darbee climbed in the limousine and looked in awe at her amazing surroundings. There were four separate snack bars, lounge cushions, massage chairs, fuzzy rugs, throw pillows, reclining chairs, and three TV screens. Summer had invited twelve of her friends to see a movie with her for her thirteenth-and-a-half birthday. Her real birthday was in August, so she was celebrating now in late February. Of course, they would all be travelling to the movie by limousine, Summer’s preferred form of transportation. Willow and Summer were in no way close friends, but they had a lot of mutual friends and didn’t hate each other, so Summer had invited her. As they all sat around, talking and eating, Summer started to describe the movie to her friends, saying that it was called Cream Puffs, and was about things mysteriously disappearing. Willow thought this sounded like a pretty good movie, so when they arrived at the theater she was pretty excited to watch it.

“Lucinda? Why are on earth are you getting popcorn? It’s awful for your teeth. You’re going to end up looking like an old toothless hag if you eat popcorn,” said Summer rudely as they were heading to the theater.

Lucinda rolled her eyes and walked away from Summer to talk her best friend, Molly, offering absolutely massive bags of popcorn to everyone at the party except for Summer. Lucinda and Summer had always hated each other ever since kindergarten, when they were dressing up and role playing. Summer was the queen, so she made all the decisions for who played what role. She told Lucinda she couldn’t be a princess or anyone in the royal family, but she could be a rock if she really wanted to. Lucinda was extremely aggravated by this, and she drew with markers all over Summer and Summer’s cubby. Then, when the teachers came Lucinda pretended Summer did it. That was the beginning of their enmity.

Over the years, Lucinda and Summer’s hatred for each other had grown immensely, but they had always had to invite each other to their birthday parties because their parents were friends, and they had a lot of the same friends. Pretty much everyone knew at this point that the two of them hated each other, and Lucinda and Summer were just fine with that.

Lucinda and Willow were pretty good friends, but Lucinda could be extremely rude sometimes, so they didn’t spend a whole lot of time together. Willow’s best friend was Eliza Kenter, but she attended the school Willow used to go to, Lepper Prep. Willow and all the girls at the party attended Orlan Academy, an all-girls school in Hartford, Connecticut. The girls settled themselves in their seats just as the previews were beginning, Lucinda and Summer still fuming at each other. Willow was seated between Lauren Ender, a sweet girl who was constantly losing all of her belongings, and Lindsay Pinser. Lindsay was fairly nice, but she tended to be very judgmental. One time, when Willow had sneezed, most people had said “Bless you!”, but Lindsay had stared at her and said “Okayyy….” as though she had just done something incredibly weird and unusual.

The first preview in the theater was for a documentary called Everyone Dies, in which everyone died. Willow had distinctly heard Lindsay say, “Okayyy….” when this trailer was playing. The next one was for an action movie called “Let’s Go!” where there was a lot of action. The next few were for comedies, thrillers, or coming-of-age movies. Finally, Cream Puffs began. The first scene took place at a school where all the girls were running around, skipping, laughing and getting along. Very unlike Orlan Academy, Willow thought to herself. But then, in the second scene, things started mysteriously disappearing, and everyone started getting mad at each other. That seemed more like Orlan Academy. There was someone at the school who was stealing everyone’s stuff, and whenever they took something they left a Cream Puff in its place. Willow thought this seemed pretty ridiculous, but it actually worked in the movie. All of the characters were so excited when they saw the cream puff that they ate it, and it took a while for people to realize things were missing. When they finally did, everyone started turning against each other, and falsely accusing girls of stealing their belongings. Then, all the girls were invited to a fancy party where jewels were stolen, and the thief was discovered.

It was at this time that most of the girls in the theater had started spacing out, dozing, or texting. The dialogue was so dull and the plot so strange that it was very hard to pay attention. Willow was playing chopsticks with Lauren, Lucinda and Molly were texting, and Lindsay was taking selfies. (Which was very strange, because you couldn’t even see her face in the dark, slightly creepy movie theater.)

Only Summer was still watching the movie. Poor Summer had thought that maybe this party would be a chance to redeem herself. The rock incident, the comment about Lucinda’s future life as a hag, and many other instances had made many of Summer’s “friends” think she was mean and annoying. And she definitely could be at times, but she thought maybe this would be a chance for her to start over. Now, though, no one was paying attention to Summer on her half birthday, or the movie she had chosen. Willow noticed that Summer seemed a bit upset, so after they had left and were driving back to their various houses she sat with Summer in the limousine.

“Hi Summer!” Willow said cheerfully as she sat down next to her. “Thanks so much for inviting me to your birthday party! It was so fun!”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” said Summer. “It was actually my half birthday, though. And I bet it would have been much more fun if not for that awful Lucinda.” Summer whispered this last part under her breath. “She’s just horrible! And I can’t believe she ate popcorn! I mean, how stupid can a person be? Lucinda never fails to amaze me,” said Summer. Whenever she discussed Lucinda she looked as though she had a very unpleasant smell under her nose. Summer made rude but occasionally accurate comments about Lucinda throughout the rest of the limousine ride, Willow nodding her head every once in awhile.

***

The next day at school, strange things started happening. The first odd occurrence was Lucinda’s shriek. Lucinda could be quite the drama queen sometimes, but she almost never screamed quite this loudly.

“Lucinda, what’s wrong?”

“Lucinda, can I help you?”

“Lucinda, is everything okay?”

All the girls rushed to her side to see what Lucinda was yelling about. She was standing in front of her locker with a look of horror and confusion on her face. Willow was surprised at Lucinda’s look of confusion, for she usually acted as though she knew everything and made it seem like she always understood what to do. Lucinda almost never looked confused though.

“Well,” said Lucinda, taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself, “I got an olive green and white striped leather jacket last weekend, and I wore it to school today. I got a ton of compliments, by the way. Well, I was going to get it out just now, but it’s gone! All that’s there is a teddy bear holding a heart that says ‘I’m sorry.’ And that jacket was really expensive!”

All the girls gasped, shocked that anyone would steal something. Willow’s head was spinning. This seemed an awful lot like the movie: something goes missing and another thing is left in its place. But why would anyone do something like that, and who? It must have been someone who saw the movie, Willow thought to herself. They must have gotten the idea when they saw it. Who, though? Could it be Lucinda herself, and she was just trying to get attention or somehow blame it on Summer? No, somehow Willow didn’t think it was her; she seemed so truly upset. What about Summer? Summer had hated Lucinda since the day they met, and maybe she was trying to get revenge. It honestly didn’t seem like Summer though. What would she even do with the jacket? If she wore it, everyone would know she was the thief, so it probably wasn’t her. Willow pondered who it could be as she walked into the bathroom. She was distracted from thinking about it as she heard someone sobbing in one of the stalls! Willow was taken aback by this, and wasn’t sure whether to ask, “Are you okay?” or to pretend she couldn’t hear. She decided it was probably best to ask if they were okay. She did, and through their crying Willow managed to hear, “Yeah I’m fine, thanks for asking. Don’t worry, and please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Willow awkwardly. She decided to leave and just let the girl be. That was the end of the second strange occurrence. Willow thought the voice sounded incredibly familiar, but didn’t quite know who it was. They sounded so sad, and almost nervous, that it was hard to tell who they were. In a way they almost sounded as if they were trying to change their voice. Could they be crying because something of theirs that was very precious to them had been stolen? And could they have been trying to change their voice so Willow wouldn’t know it was them? Did they even know Willow, or that she was the one speaking? She assumed they knew her, since their voice sounded so familiar.

As Willow walked back to her classroom to get her books for her next class, she realized how badly she needed to use the bathroom. She walked up to the science classroom, put her books down in a seat, and ran to the bathroom as fast as she could. Her teacher, Mrs. Undergen, was very strict and enjoyed handing out unfair punishments if a student was late to class. Willow ran back to the science classroom after, but unfortunately Mrs. Undergen was already waiting there, shaking her head.

“Willow, I must admit I am extremely disappointed in you. You are usually such a good student, and now? You are fifty-one seconds late to class? Really? Since this is your first time being tardy, you will only have to do two extra pieces of homework.”

“I’m so sorry, thank you so much for your generosity,” said Willow, trying to sound as sincere as possible. She sat down in her seat next to Lauren and throughout the class quietly complained to her about how much she hated Mrs. Undergen, and told her about the missing jacket. Lauren seemed shocked at this and said, “But who would ever want to do that? Obviously they’d be caught, and everyone knows how strict the punishments are. Also, they’d have Lucinda as an enemy for life.”

“That’s true,” Willow whispered back, “I really don’t understand it.” Unfortunately, Willow said this last phrase rather loudly, and the whole class heard.

“You know what else you don’t understand?!” Mrs. Undergen asked, clearly extremely annoyed. “Proper etiquette. You arrive late to class, now you’re talking while I’m talking? I’m quite disappointed in you. Three extra homework assignments for tonight.”

Willow sighed. This was going to be a fun evening.

***

That afternoon, Willow went to swim practice where she got to see her friend Eliza. Willow had recently joined the swim team, which was great because she had gotten to see Eliza a lot more.

“Eliza, the craziest thing happened today at school! You know that girl Lucinda? I think I’ve told you about her. Well, today, her special leather jacket went missing, and a teddy bear holding a heart that said ‘I’m sorry’ was left in its place!”

Eliza gasped. “That’s so weird! Who do you think stole it?”

“I don’t know, but I’m trying to figure it out,” said Willow. “And the weirdest thing is that when I went to Summer’s birthday party, we saw a movie where things were being stolen, and cream puffs were left in their place!”

“It must have been someone at the party,” Eliza said decisively. “They definitely got the idea from seeing the movie.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. But, someone might have told the thief about the movie, and then they got the idea. That makes the whole thing even more complicated,” Willow said with a sigh.

Willow thought about who the thief could be throughout the whole night: before, during, and after finishing her three difficult science homework assignments, plus all the other homework.

“Yay Mrs. Undergen,” Willow grumbled when she had finished all her homework, fairly late at night.

The next day at school, something else went missing. Molly, who was usually always happy and smiling, looked very upset, so naturally everyone rushed over to her to interrogate her about what had happened. Most people assumed the mysterious teddy bear thief had struck again, and they were correct.

“My phone case was stolen!” exclaimed Molly, after everyone had asked her what had gone missing. “I keep my phone in my backpack, in my desk, and my phone is still there but the phone case is gone, and now there’s a tiny teddy bear holding a heart that says ‘I’m sorry’ that definitely wasn’t there before. And I got the case only a few weeks ago!”

Everyone within ten feet of Molly gasped and asked questions. Now that there had been a second theft, Willow was even more determined to discover the thief, but she didn’t want to be too obvious about her investigations. She decided to simply ask questions and do her best to notice things around her and make observations about the thefts. Willow had always been a very cautious person ever since was five years old, when she was sitting on the roof of her family’s boathouse in the country with Eliza. It seemed very safe because they were sitting just right outside the window, and their parents had approved it saying that they could stay there for a bit as long as they didn’t go any farther. Willow and Eliza were making friendship bracelets, and one of Eliza’s beads rolled down the roof, toward the very edge.

“I’ll get it for you!” Willow had said cheerfully, climbing to the bottom of the roof.

“No! Willow, we’re supposed to stay up here!” little Eliza had said, furrowing her eyebrows worriedly.

“Oh, don’t worry!” said Willow. “I’ll be fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She reached for the bead, and fell off the roof. Eliza screamed and was so scared she crawled to the bottom of the roof to see if Willow was okay. Then Eliza fell off too. Willow was so upset, and felt that she was the one who had hurt her friend. They both had to get ten stitches on their arms, and ever since then Willow has been much more cautious, and has taken an annoyingly long time to make any decision.

Willow’s next class was English, so she gathered her books and left for class, still wondering who had stolen the items. She was a bit inclined to think it was Summer, since she hated Lucinda, and Lucinda’s best friend was Molly, but she thought Summer was too smart to do something like that, since she would have realized that Lucinda and Molly would probably think it was her.

During English class, Willow sat with Lindsay, and it occurred to her that maybe it was Lindsay. She did have an obsession with phones, so it made sense that she would want it to look as nice as possible. Also, whenever anyone else got something new, Lindsay always wore an expression of deep disgust and jealousy on her face, especially since, as she had mentioned many times before, Lindsay’s parents were very strict and didn’t believe in buying her what they called “non essential products.”  

“Lindsay,” Willow whispered as quietly as she possibly could. (She didn’t want another Mrs. Undergen incident.) “What’s your favorite color?” Lindsay looked at Willow oddly. “What?”

“I said,” Willow told her exasperatedly, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Um, I don’t know,” said Lindsay. “I guess maybe blue.”

“Me too!” said Willow. “Do you like, for instance, olive green?”
Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “No, it’s nasty. Why are you asking?”

“Oh, just doing a survey,” said Willow. The real reason was because she wanted to discover if Lindsay liked the olive green color on Lucinda’s stolen jacket. If she didn’t, though, why would she have stolen it? Could she have known why Willow was asking all along, and had lied on purpose? And could Lindsay have been the girl crying in the bathroom?

Willow pondered all these things in her next class, art, but she was distracted by a moment by the adorable bear Lauren was painting, and the beautiful puffin a girl named Katherine Linner was painting. Willow looked sadly at the demented looking goat she had just finished added a pink stripe of watercolor paint to. She had never been a great artist.

***

The next day at school, there was a third crime. Katherine’s beautiful painting of a puffin had gone missing! When everyone asked her about what had happened, Katherine said, “Well, I put it in my desk yesterday all wrapped up in the brown paper, but I forgot to take it home because I slipped on some newspaper and got distracted, and then I had to clean up the newspaper, and then I went to the bathroom where I heard…” Willow had stopped listening to the story, Katherine had a tendency to talk on and on and on about anything she could think of, and Willow just wanted to her to get the point. Fortunately, three minutes later, she did.

“… and now my artwork is gone, with a — ”

“Teddy bear holding a heart that says ‘I’m sorry,’” everyone finished for her. They all knew by now the thief’s habits.

In her next class, Math, which was conveniently also in her homeroom, Willow sat next to Lauren and said to her, “Three things have gone missing in three days! This is really getting out of hand.”

Lauren nodded her head. “I totally agree. A few people told the teachers, but they said the items had probably just been misplaced for some reason. Even though they said it was against the rules to go into someone’s desk, they said that the teddy bear was a sweet gesture, but I don’t know how they explained the ‘I’m sorry’ part.”

Lauren went back to her math worksheet and seemed very intent in adding up the numbers. Lauren’s family wasn’t able to pay their rent, and she had been trying to figure out exactly how much money she had and what houses they could afford, so she was now very concerned with becoming amazing at math.

After what seemed like a never-ending math class, Willow was about to rush to the water fountain (her infuriating teacher Mr. Quininin hadn’t let her get water) when she slipped on some newspaper. That’s funny, Willow thought to herself. Katherine had mentioned she slipped on some newspaper too.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Willow knew exactly who had been stealing.

***

Ten minutes later, during her break period, after writing and rewriting drafts of what she was going to say, Willow was ready to accuse the thief. She marched straight up to her and said, “Lauren, I know it was you. You were at the movie, so you got the idea from it, but changed it slightly. You were the girl crying in the bathroom two days ago, because you were upset about your family not being able to pay the rent, and you felt awful about stealing the jacket. You did it so you could sell it and your family would have more money. Then in science class, you acted like you didn’t know about the jacket having gone missing, but I remember now that you were there when Lucinda told everyone. Then, yesterday, you were the one who stole Molly’s phone case so you could sell it. And you kept on leaving the teddy bears because you love bears, which I figured out yesterday during art class. I’m assuming you were planning to sell your painting, but you also wanted to sell Katherine’s. Katherine mentioned she slipped on the newspaper. Your desk is right in between mine and Katherine’s and your newspaper from yesterday must have fallen off your desk onto the floor. I slipped on another one of your newspapers little while ago, and noticed it had a bunch of ads for apartments in it. You were looking for a new house for your family.”

Lauren was crying. “I feel awful. I just wanted my family to have more money. When I first heard we were going to move out, I tried to get a job but everyone said I was too young and irresponsible. Next, I went to my grandmother and grandfather’s house, and was going to tell them we were going to have to move out. They don’t speak to my parents since they hate my dad. They don’t think he’s wealthy enough. My dad’s parents are dead, so I thought maybe we could move in with them. It turns out, they had been moved to a nursing home and hadn’t told my mother. I thought stealing was our only hope. I promise I’m going to give everyone back their stuff, and own up to it, right now. I haven’t sold it yet, and I haven’t damaged it, or anything.”

Willow gave her a big hug. “It’ll all be okay Lauren, don’t worry. You were just trying to help your family.”

Lauren sniffled. She walked into the principal’s office and bravely told her everything that had happened. The principal was very nice, and understood that Lauren had good intentions. Her punishment was only to own up to and return everything to Lucinda, Molly, and Katherine, and the principal was going to send an email to her parents. If Lauren did this again, she would be suspended.

Willow went home that night relieved that almost everything was going to work out. She told her mom, dad, and younger sister Penelope everything that had happened.

“What should we do to help Lauren’s family?” Willow asked them.

“I really don’t know,” her mom said. “Maybe we should just let them figure this out on their own. I know Lauren’s parents, and they like to be very independent in what they do.”

Willow’s dad nodded his head in agreement, and so did Penelope even though she had no idea what they were talking about.

“I guess so,” said Willow. She still wished there was a way to help.

***

The next day at school, Lauren returned everything and apologized again and again. Lucinda, Molly and Katherine were all very understanding, and everything went back to normal. Lauren, who was so pleased she wasn’t in bigger trouble couldn’t help smiling all the time. It turned out, there was another reason she was so happy.

“Willow, guess what?! I sold my painting for $300! And my mom got promoted at her job, so we have enough money to pay our rent!” Lauren told Willow, clearly overjoyed.

“Lauren that’s amazing!!” exclaimed Willow.

“I know, I’m so happy!” squealed Lauren. “I’m just wondering, but how did you figure out it was me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Willow breezily. “I guess I’m just that cool.”

Lockdown

I grab my backpack, put on my shoes, and walk out the door of my apartment. It’s Friday, the day before the stress-free weekend. As I walk down the hallway, I hear the words, “Hello, Aaron.” I spin around and see my neighbor, Mr. Vasquez, leaning against one of the walls in the hallway, a sly smile spread across his face.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Vasquez.” Mr. Vasquez lives in the apartment next to us. He always seems a little odd, like he is always distracted by something in his head when I’m talking to him. He lives alone and doesn’t come out much. He never orders food to his door, and always wears black when he goes outside, even in the blazing hot summer days. To make some conversation, I ask, “Where are you going?”

He hesitates, and then says, “I have to run a few errands.”

“Oh. Okay, sounds like a fun Friday!” He laughs slowly. I’m late for my bus, so I wave goodbye and then walk out.

At school, I put my bag in my locker. I walk to homeroom and read. The bell rings, and I go to math. After math, I go to science. After science, I go to writing. A typical day. Boring, really. And to top it off, there is always mind-numbing homework to be done at home.

The bell rings for lunch. I go to the cafeteria and sit down with my friends.

“Hey Aaron,” Sammi says. Sammi and I have been friends since first grade. We could always count on each other.

“Hey,” I say as I slide into my seat. “Did you finish the social studies project for last period?”

“Yep. I even added a kite to Benjamin Franklin’s model. This diorama deserves to get an A.”

I grin. “I bet. Thanks for doing that, Sammi.” That’s when I feel a vibration in my back pocket. I take out my phone and turn it on. I get a text from an unknown caller.

“Hi.”

I figure it must be a friend from school who I don’t have the number of, so I say:

“Hi. Who are you?”

I wait. No reply. I feel a bit uneasy, but the person probably got caught up in something. I put my phone into my pocket again and open up my bag. I take out my sandwich and take a bite.

I go back to my locker after lunch to get my stuff for social studies when I feel the vibrating again. I close my locker door and take out my phone. There is another text.

“I am coming to kill you and your little friends. Your school is Aberdale Middle, right?”

I freeze. I don’t think this is another classmate anymore. I start running towards social studies, but halfway there, I am interrupted by another text.

“I’m here!”

My palms start sweating. I run faster. It could be a hoax, but just in case, I want to show it to Sammi. I enter the social studies room. Kids are in groups of two, putting the last few touches on their projects. I run over to Sammi.

“Hey, Aaron. Do you like the kite? Do you think there’s anything-”

“Sammi,” I say. I am shaking.

“Are you okay?”

Panting from running, I take out my phone and show her the texts. She stares at it for a few seconds.

“Um… Aaron, I think this guy is just trying to trick you. Maybe it’s just a kid from school.” I nodded.

All of a sudden, the intercom sounds. The principal, in an urgent tone, practically yells,

“Lockdown. Teachers, this is not a drill. Lockdown.” Everybody goes over towards the closets, which are unable to be seen by the door. Our teacher, Ms. Wilson, covers the window on the door with a piece of paper and locks it. She tries to look calm, but I can tell she is scared. There is a panicked vibe in the room. We all sit down on the cold floor edging towards the wall. Everybody is silent. We wait. Sammi sits next to me, mouthing the words, “Oh my god,” over and over again.

A minute later, I hear someone banging on the lockers. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” A familiar voice screams. “ALL OF YOU!”

A chill goes down my spine. Sammi looks at me, her eyes wide. I can’t understand why I know that voice. It comes from a grown man. A girl starts crying.

We wait, listening to the guy yell and bang the lockers. The sound of breathing in our classroom is ragged.

There’s a banging on our door, which makes everybody jump. I curse under my breath.

“I’M GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU!” The voice screams.

Another kid starts crying. And one screams, “No!” I am terrified. I am too young to die.

We all look at her alarmingly. She cries harder, her face florid, and puts her head on her hands.

I look at Sammi. Her eyes are closed, and she is rocking back and forth. I touch her arm lightly. She opens her eyes and looks at me. I give her a sad smile. She sighs.

The man is still banging on the door, screaming. I wonder how this guy even got my number.

Then I have a thought. Maybe it is my dad.

He cheated on my mother when I was nine. My mom, even though she hated him, gave him my number to talk to me. But I was so angry. I felt like he didn’t love me anymore. So I never added him in my contacts, and never, never picked up to his numerous calls. Finally, when I was around eleven, he never called again. Since then, I’ve forgotten his number and moved on in life without him.

At this moment, the banging on the door stops, and moves to the lockers. The man moves towards the other doors. I wonder how the other kids feel. I feel guilty. Guilty that I never talked to my dad, guilty that I don’t love him anymore.

It is all my fault.

I hear sirens outside. I breath a sigh of relief. Someone lets out some gas. Nobody laughs. Usually, they laugh and laugh when someone farts, but today is different.

After about thirty seconds I hear the words, “Hey! Hey! Put your hands up!” It is a cop. I guess the killer obeys the officer, because the officer doesn’t say that again. Instead, he says, “You’re coming with me.” I hear the clang of the metal handcuffs. There is no more sound.

A minute passes. Then another. There is no more banging or yelling. Everything is silent.

Finally, the intercom sounds. “The lockdown has been lifted,” says the principal. Everybody breathes a sigh of relief. The girl who started crying first, hiccups.

“Please wait until your door is unlocked. You may exit the building at three o’clock.” I look at the clock. It’s already last period. I don’t notice the bell, even though it is dead silent in our room. I am thinking about other things.

That night I watch the news in the living room with my mom. I tell my mother all about the day, but I leave out the part about dad. She doesn’t like to talk about him much. She is shocked that the school has that limited of security and decides to watch the news to find out more.

We have been staring at the TV screen for more than three hours. Finally, there’s a picture of my school on the news. The female reporter says, “At around 1:25 PM today, a murderer went into Aberdale Middle School and terrorized kids as they waited in their classrooms for the police to come. Police have identified the killer and have arrested him.” A picture pops up of a middle-aged man, walking out of the school towards a police car, his arms being held together by handcuffs. The man’s hair is short and black, slicked back by sweat. His skin is russet brown.

So if it isn’t my father, who is it?
I gasp. I know who it was.

Mr. Vasquez? Why would he do this? I am stunned. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes until I see nothing but sparkles. I take a breath and keep watching to get more information.

“This man has been on the FBI’s most wanted list for a long time now. He’s gone incognito and moved from Arizona to New York. His real name is George Nassos. He has a mental illness and has murdered many. If you have any other information on this man, please call the police.”

I cannot believe it. I was living next door to a murderer. And the way he looked at me this morning… A chill goes down my spine for the second time today.

Later that night, Mom and I call the police and tell them everything we know. We tell them about him never really coming out much, his made-up name, and his oddness around us. The police are very pleased and thank us profusely.

At around midnight, I am in bed playing Flappy Bird on my phone when an unknown number calls. Thankfully, it isn’t Mr. Vasquez’s (a.k.a., George Nassos’s). I hesitate and accept the call. “Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Aaron?” The voice says.

“Yeah…. Who is this?”

“It’s, uh…your dad.” I gulp.

“Hey.” There is an awkward pause.

“So, um. I heard about the killer in your school. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I pause. I didn’t think he cared about me anymore. After all, he cheated on my mom, moved to California, and stopped talking to me. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“That’s good. Were you scared? What happened?”

I tell him everything. The texts, the banging, the yelling. Then he tells me he misses me.

“Really? Because it seems like you don’t care anymore.”
“Squirt, of course I do. I love you to pieces.” I can actually hear the affection in his voice.

I sigh, “I miss you too, Dad. I miss you too.”

Dishonored

March 1923, Tommy Malone walked down the dimly lit Brooklyn street, the dirt street soft with the heavy rainfall. Tommy stopped his trudge through the mud and hid from the rain under a drooping awning. He reflected on his day at work as he lit up a cheaply made cigarette. It had been, as always, a simple day at the factory. Everyone’s coveralls had been caked with the black grease of the machines, and the drunkards of the factory were on edge, every second seeming like an eternity due to the prohibition on alcohol.

He closed his eyes and he drew from his cigarette, then dropped it and squashed it with his muddy boot. He continued on down the street, adjusting his trench coat and bowler hat every couple of seconds to keep as dry as possible. After what seemed like months, he arrived at 2120 Hopkins Street. Walking up the concrete steps, Tommy stared at the cracked, rotting walls, deciding, “This is hardly even a life, but it’s the closest to one I got.”

All the way up, he balked at the sounds of despair that permeated throughout each floor before finally arriving home.Tommy, relieved to be home at last, proceeded to the large brown door, before noticing that it was cracked open.Without hesitation, he pulled out a heavy object from his pocket, a large revolver, loaded with ammunition. Tommy peaked in through the crack of the door. A large figure sat at the kitchen table, seemingly in waiting.

“1…2…3,” Tommy whispered, he kicked down the door and BANG!!!!

The figure at the table roused himself and ran from the table to the bedroom, locking himself in. Tommy lunged towards the door and slammed his fist shouting, “WHOEVER YOU ARE GET OUT NOW!”

The man behind the door answered quickly, saying “Tommy…T..T…Tommy, it’s me, your old pal Nick.”

At the mention of the name, his best friend before he had been shipped to Europe to fight, Tommy kicked the door down, carelessly breaking the lock before giving his old friend a hug. “I thought I’d never see you again, man!” Tommy cried with relief and excitement.

Nick sighed. “Man I thought that when those cops jumped you, you would be off to prison for life. But then I hear from a buddy that you’re back in town, after fighting in the war, so I knew I had to stop by.”

“Well it was prison or Europe. The right one’s pretty obvious.”

Tommy sat down at the kitchen table with Nick, after almost five years of separation. “I would get you a drink, but we all know the circumstances.”

The mention of the prohibition lit up Nick’s eyes, and he almost immediately said, “Well…That’s why I came here, I got an idea.”

At the mention of an “idea,” Tommy knew that it was another of Nick’s famous schemes.

“Man…I dunno, I mean I got an honest job, an honest life really. I can’t just jump right onto your schemes. Even you should know that they’re dumb anyway.”

The word “dumb” made Nick chuckle. He laughed to Tommy saying, “Come on, this is a good one. This is what we’re gonna do-”

“You just always think I’m on board, don’t ya?” Tommy interjected.

“I just know you won’t turn this one down, man,” Nick replied, his mood turning weirdly serious. “Well I got this cousin, Giovanni, he’s a taxi driver out in Kentucky. Well, he met this girl, Darla, and it turns out that Darla’s brother is into Moonshining. My cousin married Darla and he’s moving back here. I heard from him that Darla’s brother, who’s Randall by the way, that he’s pretty eager to set up some stills here in the city to get brewin’, so I’m thinkin we meet up with Randall, and we set up some stills together out here.”

“Nick…It’s time to go. I’m not going back to crime. It got me into a muddy trench in Europe dying of dysentery and bein’ shot at. I already took that choice, and prison ain’t any better.”

Tommy got up and ushered Nick to the door, but he fought stating, “Even if you do get busted, at least you’ll eat three meals a day, sleep in a warm bed every night, and if you don’t then we can be the biggest bootleggers in this city.”

Tommy pushed Nick out the door, looking into his eyes stating, “I’ll sleep on it.”

Nick jumped with joy shouting, “Trust me man, you won’t regret this! Meet me at Smilin’ Jack’s Pancakes next week so we can work things out.”

Tommy replied, “I haven’t slept yet,” before slamming the door on Nick.

Tommy walked to his room before hearing Nick shout one last thing through the door. “You won’t regret this man.”

Tommy looked at the floor, and reflected saying, “Beats this life.” He closed the door, and slept on it.

***

A week after Nick’s visit to the apartment, Tommy skipped work to visit Smilin’ Jacks. It was what many would call a “Greasy Spoon Restaurant,” nestled between a couple of factories in Brooklyn’s industrial district, but despite that, the food was better than government ham and cheese every day.

Tommy dressed up his best that day, wearing his trench coat and bowler hat over bits of his uniform from his army days. As Tommy walked up to the restaurant, he saw its occupants, factory workers: men and women covered in thick black grease, with calloused hands, wearing heavy boots. At least I’ll fit in. Now, where is Nick?

As Tommy walked into the restaurant a bell rung and a heavyset man in a oil stained apron appeared. “Welcome to Smilin’ Jacks, how may I help you?” he asked in a voice rattled by grunts.

“I’m lookin’ for Nick Dimaggio, he been here at all, with anyone?” Tommy responded, hanging up his hat and coat on a rack.

“Yeah, they came not too long ago, look in the back, round the bend,” he responded, trudging back to the kitchens.

Tommy didn’t give any thanks, and he walked, as told, “to the back, round the bend.” In the last booth of the row, Tommy saw Nick and his company, A man that was startlingly similar to Nick, heavyset with thinning brown hair, as well as a man with outgrown red hair, greased back into a mullet. The red-haired man had wild eyes, and he had a thick mustache peppered with droplets of black coffee. Tommy walked up to him and Nick looked back, a grin growing across his pudgy face.

He got up, giving Tommy a hug saying, “Sit down, sit down, meet the opportunity.”

Tommy sat down next to Nick, with the latter introducing the men to him. Giovanni, the man who appeared to be Nick’s cousin, stretched out his arm to shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” he said with the same accent that every Italian had in Brooklyn.

Next the red-haired man wiped off his hands, before stretching his lanky arms to shake hands. “I’m Randall, good to finally meet you,” he said with a very strong mountain accent.

“Now let’s get down to business,” Nick explained, eager to explain his proposition. “Now we all know what the stupid yuppies who run this country did about booze…They banned it, as if it were as harmful as the smoke that pours outta the factories. We all got talent, we can make some serious cash here if we work togetha.”

“Nick…Can you get to the point already?” Tommy sighed in boredom.

“Alright, alright…Now I’ve been hearin’ from some of the guys that some people are brewin their own booze, from right here in Brooklyn. I heard they’ve been pulling in some serious cash, and I’m about done with livin like a pig. It’s time we did the same. Randall, you say you’re the best brewer out in Kentucky. You think that you can do ya thing, so we can sell it just like the guys I heard about?”

Randall looked up from his plate of pancakes and swallowed the rest of his coffee, then answered, “I’m sure I can scrounge up somethin’ to make stills out here, it’ll be strong as hell, it’ll be booze.”

“Good.” Nick responded “Now, Giovanni, you got your cab company out here in Brooklyn. I want you deliverin’ shipments of juice to whoever wants it. You also make sure that they pay for it too. We’re not givin’ away our alcohol for free. So, you down?”

“Course cousin, you can count on me,” he responded, with a proud voice.

“Now what I’m gonna do is pay off cops, make sure our operation is safe. I’ll also work out the deals with clients,” Nick claimed.

“Now wait Nick, whatta ’bout me?” Tommy asked with surprise in his voice.

“Now you Tommy…well you’ll be runnin this thing. I know you learned a lot in the army, and I’m sure you could do betta than any of us. I also want you on security. See if you can contact any army buddies. If we can get a serious gang on our side. Honest cops will think twice ’bout tryin’ to mess with us.”

“Well then,” Tommy boomed, expressing his new role. “Let’s work things out. Randall, I want you to start makin’ stills. Also see if you can get anyone willin’ to work with you, teach them your trade. You, Giovanni, go to your cab company, find anyone willin’ to get their hands dirty delivering the booze. Also get some cars that can hold crates full of bottles. Now Nick, I need you to find a place to set up operations. I don’t care what you have to do to get it, just do it. Make sure it’s got space, and that it’s not too obvious. I’m gonna contact my old buddies in the army, see if I can get some of them to be the muscle. I’ll also get firepower, so I’m on that…Are we all clear?”

The group exchanged glances at each other, and they nodded slowly.

“Well then, let’s get brewin’.”

***

In less than a month the group had almost everything squared away. They had their base, an old factory in the part of town no cop dared visit. Randall had got a few guys off the street who showed promise, old brewery owners and vineyard workers, who accepted the job due to lack of work. They had built five stills, and they had all the chemicals and crops to make a strong moonshine. Giovanni’s cab company had plenty of willing criminals in its ranks, who all went out and stole enough trucks to make deliveries at anytime. Tommy had kept up his end of the deal, and the gang had plenty of muscle to defend shipments and deals from any customers or cops stupid enough to tread on them.

Tommy looked out to the factory floor from an old catwalk, when suddenly Nick ran up to him, pure joy in his eyes.

“Tommy!! I just got a called by some yuppies on Long Island. They heard from someone that we’re brewin big time booze, and they’re willing to pay 40,000 for 200 crates.”

The sound of hearing what Nick said made Tommy jump in excitement too. He yelled down from his catwalk to the moonshiners at the stills saying, “Hey boys, we need 200 crates in the next three days, get workin’ double time now!!!”

The brewers also yelled with excitement, and Tommy saw how their pace immediately increased after hearing the statement. He then looked to Nick saying, “Call them back, tell them that we’ll meet them in three days, and tell them to choose a location for the meetup, okay?”

“Yes sir buddy, I’m on it,” Nick answered with excitement, running back to the office.

Tommy looked down to the factory floor again. He saw the brewers brewing, the taxi drivers on standby for any minor deals, and the security on guard for any threat to their operation. For once… Nick had a good idea. Looks like it’s about to pay off. Tommy walked off the catwalk into the office, he sat down at his desk, and began to plan their first big deal.

The dark warehouse of the nameless, small Long Island town, was illuminated by old oil lamps. As the five large cabs pulled into the small yard outside, Tommy looked out the window and saw the clientele. Five silhouettes stood next to what appeared to be a large truck. Nick saw his concern saying, “This is gonna go right, trust me, I know.”

Tommy looked in his direction. “I know man…I’m just a bit on edge…this is a big deal.”

The cabs parked in random directions and the numerous gangsters got out. As Tommy stepped into the humid air he shouted to one of his nameless goons saying, “Get a sample for the clients.”

Tommy and Nick walked side by side into the warehouse, towards the clients.

“Hello…I’m Mr. Carteret,” said the middle silhouette as Tommy and his gang approached. The dim light from the street lamps gave way to a brief look at his face from Tommy.

“Show us the cash sir,” Tommy said in a gruff voice, facing the client.

One of the gangsters with Carteret stepped up to Tommy up saying with a cautious voice, “Don’t talk to Mr.Carteret like that.”

Tommy looked the muscular man in the eyes saying, “I’m sure you want booze too pal, calm down if you really do.”

He stepped back at the slight mention that he might not get any. As he did, Tommy looked eagerly at a suitcase held open by another of Carteret’s goons. Tommy quickly took the case and handed it to Giovanni, who stood behind Tommy, next to Randall. “Count it,” he said, not expecting to receive an answer.

“Now let’s get down to business Carteret,” Tommy said, grabbing a crowbar and cracking open the crate, revealing the moonshine.

“I’m sure it will be good,” Carteret claimed, grabbing the bottle from the crate.

Carteret popped off the cap, then sniffed it. He didn’t say it, but Tommy saw the wrenching look that grew across his face. Carteret silently took a sip, and relentlessly spit it up, dropping the bottle.

Tommy and his gang erupted into laughter. Tommy knelt down besides Carteret as he threw up from the unbearable mixture in the mouth of a man who drank soft liquors. Tommy gloated in his face saying, “What were you expectin’, frickin wine?”

Carteret stood up, his mouth open from what must have been a sensation of pure fire in his mouth, and remained silent.

“I hope you and your family enjoy it. BOYS!!! GET THE REST FROM THE CARS,” Tommy said before shouting to his goons.

Tommy faced Carteret, but said nothing, Carteret embodied everything he hated, the rich minority of the country. At least his money will go to good back home.

The silence of the scene however, was suddenly broken when Giovanni came running back shouting, “TOMMY!!TOMMY!! THERE AIN’T 40k IN THE CASE!!!!”

The thought of being cheated entered his head, Tommy grew furious. In an instant, he ripped a revolver from his pocket and grabbed Carteret, pushing the barrel against his head. The remainder of Tommy’s gang all pulled out the weapons as well.

“YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD CHEAT ME? WELL YOU’RE WRONG, CARTERET. GIVE ME THE REST OF THE MONEY RIGHT NOW OR I’LL BLOW YOUR BRAINS ONTO THE FLOOR!” he shouted into Carteret’s ear.

“It doesn’t have to end badly Tommy…I’ll give you the money I swear…Just…Just Please…Let me go!!!” he shouted in retaliation.

“LET GO OF MR.CARTERET!!! DON’T SHOOT…DON’T SHOOT!!!! LET US SEE THE MONEY OR WE’LL MAKE SURE YOU DON’T LEAVE ALIVE!” The screams of the gangs to each other filled Tommy’s head. The tension was high, and Tommy aimed the barrel at one of the goon’s heads.

“1…2…-”

“Don’t shoot boy…please don’t…I’ll pay you…just drop your guns,” Carteret interjected over the screams of angry men.

Carteret’s goons reluctantly dropped their weapons, and Carteret reached into his pocket, and pulled out a billfold. Tommy snatched it out of his hand and walked away, stating, “You yuppies can never be trusted.” Tommy walked off to the cabs, telling a goon, “Bring them the booze.” Ringing filled his head, and when Tommy entered the car, he fell into a deep sleep.

***

“You can’t just give away all our cash like that Tommy, we worked hard for it and now you just gonna give it away,” Nick protested on the crowded street.

Months had passed by since the gang’s first big deal, and the people of Brooklyn were now feeling the results. The people of Brooklyn now saw Tommy as a sort of Robin Hood, as he was giving all his profits back to them.

Tommy and walked down an old dirt street with Nick at his side. He carried a large satchel, and inside were stacks of cash, enough to provide plenty of families with months’ worth of food. As Tommy passed by homeless children and desperate factory workers begging, he gave money to each of them. Throughout the journey, Nick had constantly protested, and as they walked down this final street, Tommy finally paid attention.

“Nick I’ve struggled with these people my whole life, they’re my people, and it’s time I did something to help them along.”

Nick had a shocked look on his face, as if he had been betrayed. He finally blurted out amidst the shock. “This was supposed to be our opportunity, not these bums.”

“You know what Nick…Like it or not we’re the same as these people, so you can go now”

How can Nick be so careless, we grew up the same as all these people here, and now he just acts like he’s betta than them.

“Fine…I’m done here Tommy. You’ll find me back at the factory…I hope you straighten up or somethin!!!” Nick shouted in anger at Tommy before storming off.

“Now Nick come on. Now you know–” Tommy tried to protest before pausing and shrugging.

Letting Nick walk off, Tommy continued down the street, passing out money to whoever was in need, carefree about how Nick could retaliate.

***

“BIG TIME BOOTLEGGER’S A NEW ROBINHOOD” is what NYPD’s new forensic detective Leo Ford read off of the newspaper he’d bought at a stand on 8th Avenue. Never thought it would be criminals who saved Brooklyn. He walked down the street. As he walked, his assignment and his bosses’ words rung through his head.

“We need to find out who these people are. We need any leads, and I know you’re the best to find them Ford…Go out, find anything for us, then report back,” was all his boss had said.

Ford continued down the long blocks of 8th avenue, the tall buildings blocking the bright May sky. Ford was on the hunt for any leads, and he knew where he had to go. He was on the hunt for the city’s scum, the drunkards, and outcasts of NYC society, because if there was one thing he knew, it’s that they were the key.

Ford knew all the places in Manhattan to look, and it didn’t take long to get his wish.

Ford found the nameless dark alleyway that was infamous throughout the upper class of Manhattan. It was lined with beggars searching for a fix and bloodstains from constant violence over the residents’ insatiable need of narcotics and alcohol. Time to make a mark on this city for good, Leo thought before stepping into the alley.

Despite the bright daylight, the alley seemed darker than the night sky itself. Rats scurried along the muddy ground, picking up bits and pieces of god knows what from the ground, the only real edible thing they could afford to take back to their dens. Coughing and crying rang out throughout the small den, the smell of disease and rot permeating throughout. Even Brooklyn can’t be as bad as this, Leo thought, as the idea of the hardship across the East River pulled at his mind.

That’s when Leo spotted it, the silhouette of a man, obviously spoiled drunk, with a bottle beside him, filled to the brim with what smelled like moonshine. JACKPOT!!! He shook the man from his shoulder, trying rouse him from his drunken stupor. Hungover, the man barely woke up before shouting out nameless, jumbled up insults that even Ford couldn’t understand. Still shaking the man, he pleaded for him to wake up saying, “Please wake up, if you do, I can promise you a hot meal and a warm bed.” This was what ultimately roused the drunken man.

Stumbling around the dark alley, he claimed, “Les go now” before trying to walk off. Following him was easy as could be for Ford, but getting him to a diner where they could talk was the hardest part. It was as if the alcohol had made him a two-year-old again, who struggled to walk as it gathered its bearings. It got to the point where the drunken man slammed  into corporate executives and blue-collar contractors as he walked down the crowded street to the nearby Tick-Tock Diner. Eventually, after a grueling attempt, Ford stumbled into the diner, with the beggars arms sprawled out on his shoulders. “Booth for two,” Ford called to a bored waitress, who instantly escorted them to a booth with a view of the street.

“What will it take for you to talk?” Ford asked the man.

“A cup of black coffee, with the irish breakfast and a side of toast and pancakes.”

Glutton, Ford thought, but he reluctantly pulled out a wad of cash and called the waiter over, paying for the feast that the beggar requested. As the beggar stared out the window in anticipation of his upcoming feast, Ford called to him saying, “Now I have questions for you. Answer, and I won’t tell them to cancel the order.”

“Ask ahead.” He replied

“I saw that you had a bottle of unregistered alcohol, where did you get it and from whom?”

The beggar’s eyes widened before shaking his head saying, “No…I can’t answer-”

“Just do it man!” Ford shouted to him, angry over his denial.

“Alright, alright,I got it from Nick Dimaggio, he and his crew are set up in Brooklyn…My buddy told me he was sellin’ so I used my cash from beggin’ and I called him. He told me he split with them, but sold me his extra bottles.”

THE KEY!!! I need to find Nick, he can lead me to the source.

“Do you have his address, or anything else I can use to find him?” Ford asked with a sense of urgency in his voice.

“I do, but it’ll cost you extra,” the man claimed, haggling his way into more cash.

Ford, enraged at the scheming of the man, threw fifty more dollars into the man’s face.

A smile spread across the man’s face. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Ford. “Here you go, kind sir.”

Leo immediately stood up from his seat, and remembering the deal, he pulled 200 more dollars from his pocket.

“Find yourself a nice hotel,” he said as he rushed out the door.

When he stepped into the city air, one thing was on Ford’s mind: he needed to find a payphone. Walking down the crowded streets, Ford’s eyes scanned the terrain as a hawk would. Then, he saw it, a simple, rusty phonebooth. Not even stopping for cars, he ran across the street. He inserting one quarter into the booth and dialed the number. The old phone did not even ring as Leo waited in anticipation. Then, all of a sudden, a voice picked up stating, “Who’s this?”

“This is Leo Ford I work with the NYPD, and I want to cut you a deal.”

“Straight to the point ehh,” Nick claimed with a chuckle. “Well, what’s the deal?”

“I’m lookin’ into the case involvin’ illegal bootlegging around the city. I hear you worked with one of the top rings but left. Our precinct is offerin’ you 200,000 dollars if you give up the location of the ring, and help us in our raid,” Leo told him.

“Give me a second to think,” claimed Nick.

Tommy’s been my pal all my life. I know he cheated me by givin’ away the cash but I can’t just betray him……….Tommy needs to see that he can’t just cheat me. “I’m in, it’s at an abandoned factory in the industrial district, meet me there at midnight.”

Leo sighed a breath of relief. “ We’ll be there.”

Nick hung up the phone and Leo ran down the avenue to break the good news to his boss.

***

Tommy stayed behind that night. He was guarding the place just in case something happened.

He sat in the office, working numbers. Due to their latest big deal, their ring was pulling in thousands of dollars a week, and it was really helping the people of Brooklyn. Tommy was roused from his work by a voice of questioning.

“Tommy?” It asked.

Tommy looked up to see Nick standing in the doorway

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Nick? I thought you were done.”

Nick had an obvious look of sorrow on his face. “Man…I…I’m sorry.”

“Why is that?” questioned Tommy, now standing up.

“Cause of this,” Nick mumbled pulling out a gun and firing.

The bullet flew quickly, and Tommy couldn’t even react. It pierced his chest and he fell to the floor, blood gushing from his chest and mouth. He tried to put pressure on the wound, but he could feel the life seeping out, along with his blood.

“Wh…Why…Why Nick–” Tommy struggled to let out, in obvious pain.

“You cheated me Tommy…I helped you start all this, and then you don’t let me take my fair due…How do you think that’s fair?” Nick shouted to him in rage. “The police are comin’ and I’m gettin a large payout for bustin’ you, so I guess I can get my revenge first before this place goes up in flames.”

“Flames? Wha…What do you mean Nick?” Tommy questioned, fearful of the mention of flames.

“If I can’t have the cash, no one will. I’m destroyin’ your empire, and leavin’ nothin’ in return for any of your goons to rebuild with,” Nick told him, proud of his plot.

“You think you’ll destroy all we worked for Nick…Guess again.” Tommy said, raising his gun in the air.

“What are yo-” Nick shouted in anger before being cut off by the sound of fired shots. Tommy’s bullet flew through the air, and with a sickening crunch, entered Nick’s head and exited out the back.

As the blood spilled out of Nick’s skull, Tommy stood up, he exited the office onto the catwalk before, BOOM!!! One of the stills went up in flames. Then Tommy saw it, gasoline was spilled all over the floor, and flames spread all over the factory floor.

No I…I need to get outta here, screw the cash, screw the stills, he thought as he ran down the stairs. As Tommy reached the landing of the steel steps, the worst thing that could happen occurred. The fire spread there as well, to the point where the whole factory floor was in flames.

I’m trapped, what should I do what should I-THE WINDOW…I could use the window.

With blood gushing out of his wounds, he stumbled up the stairs, he walked into the office as it was plunged into a cloud of smoke. The air left Tommy’s lungs and it was replaced with black smoke. I need to get out……….I need to find the window.

Tommy stumbled around the office, choking on the impure air. He coughed in agony, feeling the walls. He felt and felt before feeling a panel of glass. Tommy pulled out his gun and fired, the sound of shattering glass making way to that of fierce thunder and a raging storm. Tommy stumbled to the hole in the wall, stepping into it. Glass shards pierced Tommy skin. He couldn’t even scream, but he pushed on, stepping out onto the ledge, the rain falling on his skin and washing away the thick red blood. Tommy stood in triumph before letting go, and falling off the edge.

***

Tommy woke up in the back of a wagon moving down a nameless Brooklyn alley. In his daze, he could barely hear. He tried to move his hands but they were stuck in irons that were chained to the wagon. Opening his eyes, he saw hospital staff and police officers sitting around him as the wagon dragged on. He looked up at them, unable to say words as he breathed out the last of the smoke.

One of the blurry figures noticed him. Tommy could now see the man. He looked to be a young man. He wore a police uniform, with a tag that said Forensic Detective. His name tag spelled out his name: Leo Ford. He was speaking to him but Tommy could not understand. But, ringing sounds left his ear, he heard one last thing.

“You’re going away for a long time, Mr. Malone,” was what Tommy managed to make out.

I should’ve never trusted Nick. Figures he’d get me into prison. I could’ve helped those folks without the booze, gettin’ them drunk wasn’t the right way…But hey, at least I’ll have three meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in.

Tommy let out a faint chuckle, and closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep.

Ghost Girl, Chapter 1

 

The cream colored yellow house stood poised at the end of the road, standing in a position quite unlike the other houses, which were an infinite labyrinth of similarity, their shapes and forms identical to one another. The very last house, although it did not seem to be shunned from the rest of the neighborhood like an outcast, was vastly different. While the remaining houses were small and simple, with four windows and a single door at the front, the last house had exactly seventeen windows and one door at each side. The so-to-speak, “normal houses” each contained a mailbox at the right side of the house, coated in black paint and marked with a golden two digit number. The final house at the bend in the road had a tendency to break the rules of the development, commonly known as Kings Point,  had an ocean blue mailbox with handprints of every family member and two crimson numbers marked near the opening of it. The mailbox also stood at the left side of the driveway, puzzling occasional visitors.

People rarely drove all the way down the cul-de-sac. Some were unaware that the house at 31 Kings Point even existed, except for one man driving along the boundless, newly-paved road at a quarter to midnight. His slick white Volkswagen avoided all streetlamps and the breathtaking crescent moon hanging low in the late night sky. He parked his car just before 29 Kings Point, attempting to avoid the eyes of suspicious strangers.

The man quietly stepped out of his car, the sounds he made, faint, as he closed the car door gently in his wake. It was cold for midwinter, and the leaves, scraping roughly against the road beneath his feet, were swept into the air and blew around him in an exhilarating burst of wind. But this was no time for admiring the beauty of a silent snowy night. No. He had to push the rusty gears embedded in his brain to get them running again. He could not focus on the eerie nature surrounding him. He had to snap out of his daze. This man had a job to do.

After walking up the steep hill, his legs throbbing, his pudgy reddened face contorting in pain, he reached his destination. His target. His endpoint. The climax of his storybook. The untimely demise of his wicked rival. The end of another’s chapter, but a whole new beginning for the victor. The man could just taste his win on his ruby red lips. He could smell his delight, suck on his vengeance, as if it were a mint.

The man eventually reached the steps to the house, the glossy doorknob shimmering in the beam of the porchlight, moths flying amongst the microscopic cobwebs. He closed his eyes, taking it all in. This was the path he was taking. The man’s fate lied in the hands of none other than the man himself. This selfish, cruel man was invading another family’s life, staining their own fates, their own dreams and destinies.

No, the man thought, shaking his head to bring about his senses. This is not about what they want. They don’t have a say in this. This is what I want. This is what I need to do. This is what I should’ve done a long time ago.

“This is my time,” he said aloud, sucking in an uneven breath, his lips parted in the shape of an “O”. “This is my time,” he repeated, more sure of himself. “In five minutes, this will all be over, and I will be a mended man. My broken stitches will be sewed. I shall breathe again.” He let the words sink in, letting the word “breathe” hang in the air and blanket the darkness. It seemed to turn all the neighborhood to stone, frozen in time.

Was it right? Was it right, to pluck at the heartstrings of the young and innocent, to grasp their lives in greedy hands, to hand their souls over to the master of Death? Was this what he had become? Was this who he was?

The man blinked twice and shut the voices up inside his head. They were useless. He could feel the doubt, the guilt, the hesitation closing in, leaving cold chills snaking up his back. He could not give in to that. He couldn’t. Not so soon. Not so suddenly.

Slowly, with no regrets, the man turned the knob and entered the mansion. The plan was set. It had to be done.

The solid oak door shut behind him, the man cringing at the screech it made across the carpeted floor. He tried not to focus on his loud entrance, but instead tiptoed across the hallway and into the den. The man gasped as he opened a pair of glass double doors. He stood there, his mouth agape at the sight, then decided it was best to enter rather than sightsee. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, moving along from the classics to modern fiction. Small chairs fit for one person stood in the corners, some with newspapers folded on the cushion.

“A library,” he breathed, cupping his hands over his eyes, sliding them down over his cheekbones.

The man wandered over to a rickety table where an old record player stood, ready to be played away. Burning with curiosity, not caring who would hear him, he blew the specks of dust off the disc and slowly brought the disc to life as it spun faster and faster.

To his surprise, his favorite John Denver song, “Leaving On A Jet Plane,” filled the den with music, a guitar strumming in the background. Tears stinging his eyes, the man began to hum the sad serenade, a song he knew by heart.

All my bags are packed/

I’m ready to go/

I’m standing here outside your door/

Already I’m so lonesome I could die/

When he reached the chorus of the song, the tears he had held back choked his words, making the lyrics unsteady yet beautiful.

So kiss me and smile for me/

Tell me that you’ll wait for me/

Hold me like you’ll never let me go/

Never let me go. The words cut through him like a sharp blade. They persisted through his body, stinging and picking at his blackened heart, bruised from hate, scarred from a craving of vengeance.

Evelyn,” he murmured, her name even painful to say. He had betrayed the lyrics to the song, for he had let her go. He remembered the day he left her, her bouncy bobs of curly blond hair straightened, some wisps adhering to her tear streaked face. Her perfect, doll-like face full of sorrow. The man saw her bloodshot eyes, her smile gone forever, but her four words still haunted him, words that would follow him to his grave, perhaps beyond.

“I still love you,” she called to him from the sidewalk, gingerly rubbing her pregnant belly. Her words were full of hope and courage, like someday the man would return. Evelyn had given him a second chance. He could return, and if he did, all things from his first to last days with her would be forgiven.

He never did come back, however. Gambling and drinking had taken him away from his life, his real life, and to his despair, Evelyn died two months later in childbirth, her son, his son, along with her. She was almost thirty-one.

The man wept, burying his face in his hands, wanting to wail like a child, maybe like his own child would have done. His past had all to do with him. It was all his fault that his wife and son were dead, and that he was too caught up in his addictions to barely notice his family slipping through his fingers.

He and Evelyn could have been happier together, maybe could have raised a larger family in that cottage beside the woods. Evelyn could have finished up her writing courses at graduate school. She could have gotten her master’s degree by the end of the year, even with a baby to raise. Evelyn could have even decided to pursue her dreams even further, just like she wanted, and the man knew she’d worked so hard to become a published author.

In a way, when he left her, it was like he killed Evelyn. Her spirit, her love, her dreams, her happiness. Her son. Their son.

The man wiped the tears away, a waterfall cascading down his cheeks. Reluctantly, he meandered into the family room, where a wrap-around leather couch sat in front of a large flat screen TV. He walked up to the mantle, studying every single photograph. One was of his enemy’s wife cradling an infant in her arms. He smiled at Kristina, seeing a bit of resemblance to Evelyn in her. A ping of jealousy surged through him, remembering his feelings for Kristina Thomas.

She was the only one there for the man when no one else was. She, too, like Evelyn, believed in second chances and helped him recuperate from the drugs he had abused himself with. Still, he was wrong about Kristina. Soon after, her college friend, James, proposed, and the two married under a canopy of cherry blossom trees, all in full bloom for the early springtime.

The man turned away from the picture, unwilling to look at the child in Kristina’s arms. That should’ve been his future with Evelyn.

After searching through other rooms, the man finally came to the conclusion that the family wasn’t home. Dismayed, he was about to beeline for the door when he heard the sound of a grand piano from upstairs. The man stopped in his tracks, spinning around on his heels to face the staircase. He listened once more for the sound of the piano, for the keys to be banged, creating a mighty crescendo. A sly smile spreading pervasively across his face, the man creeped up the winding stairwell, being cautious not to make a sound.

He eventually reached a narrow hallway, where he could hear the piano’s gorgeous melodies ricochet off the walls, echoing throughout the entire house. The man pressed a cold ear to the wall, trying to follow the sound until he reached his destination. He skidded to a stop, discovering the source of the music. He listened carefully, hearing Mozart through the crack in the doorway.

The man was surprised to find an eighteen-year-old girl in the room, perched like a bird on the piano bench, letting her long fingers dangle over the keys. So this must be Sara, he thought, thinking back to the child on the mantle, and suddenly, the pieces of the complicated puzzle came back together, uniting once more.

His crystal blue eyes softened the more he gazed at Sara. He felt almost guilty about what he had to do, but then, the words that stabbed the navy blue night came back to him, emphasizing the point.

This is my time.

Sara turned around as soon as she finished her last note, falling off of the piano bench in fear. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes shooting lasers at the man.

Her voice came out meek but angry. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” She wasn’t afraid to look him in the eye.

The man, speechless by how brave she sounded, did not answer at first, his utter shock depicted on his face like a splash of colors to a painting.

Sara huffed, her words spoken with less stutter. “Look, sir, if money is all that you want, you’ve come to the wrong place.” She took a step back towards the window, her body hunched over.

The man chuckled to himself. What she told him was a lie. He knew her parents were extremely wealthy people, what with James being a businessman and Kristina a lawyer.

“Sweetheart,” he began, his voice patronizing. Sara stiffened. “I’m not here for your money. I’m not here for anybody’s money, actually.” The man ran his hands through his hair in mock frustration. “Good God, why does everybody assume the silliest of things these days?”

He waited for Sara’s reply, but nothing came.

“I knew your mother,” was all the man could get out, wanting to stump this young girl.

The crease on Sara’s forehead eased back, though not enough to change her tone. “And how did you know my mother, may I ask?” she snapped, her arms crossed over her chest. She backed away from the window.

The man decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. “Well if you must know, Miss Thomas,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Before you were born, I was going through a rather difficult time in my life.”

“I can imagine,” Sara scoffed, the sarcasm punctuated in her voice. Her eyes demanded more information.

“I had some serious drinking problems, not to mention my gambling tendencies. I was using it as a distraction from reality. My wife had just died in childbirth, making me a childless widower.”

Sara stopped glaring when he mentioned Evelyn and his dead son, but she continued to stand her ground. The man carried on with his story, learning that Sara had nothing to add.

“Anyway, Kristina…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, your mother, noticed me one day, I don’t recall how, but she took me in, giving me the chance to start my life over.”

“Yes,” Sara replied, her words more smooth and empathetic. She smiled at the ground. “She’s given second chances to a lot of people.”

The man nodded in agreement, forgetting about why he had come to Kings Point in the first place. “And she did change me. Gave me a new outlook on life, actually. She has a heart of gold, your mother. A true saint.”

Sara blushed, beginning to feel more comfortable with his presence. Maybe this man wasn’t so bad after all. He seemed kind and loving, especially when he talked about Sara’s mother. They seemed so close.

“But your father led her down the wrong path,” the man said cooly, his voice composed.

Sara’s face drained of color, and she took a step back. There was something wrong about this whole conversation. She tucked her chestnut brown hair behind her ear. “What do you mean?” Her hands clenched into fists.

The man took a step towards her. “I was in love with Kristina for quite some time–”

Sara cut him off. “What about your wife? I thought you were still in mourning. I thought you loved her.” Her legs trembled from underneath her. She wanted to run, wanted to hide.

“Will you just listen?” the man shouted, startling the teenager. Even though he wasn’t right next to her, he towered over Sara. “I loved your mother, maybe even more than Evelyn. It was James that interfered. He didn’t appreciate my past or where I came from. I was there the day he proposed to Kristina in her office. I was distraught. The traitor. Took my one chance away from me.”

“My father is a great man!” Sara snarled, her power rushing to her. This man was not to be trusted. This man was relentless, regarding the people she loved most in the lowest form of respect, trying to make her surrender to his opinions.

“If only you knew your father like I did, Sara! You don’t know anything about him, so don’t even try to defend him.”

“Oh I will!” Sara said, her shouts bouncing off the walls. “Especially against someone like you!”

The man breathed heavily through his nostrils.

This is my time.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the object he was looking for.

This is my time.

He pushed Sara harshly against the wall.

This is my time.

“Let me go!”

This is my time.

Sara kicked and thrashed, but the man held her firm, pressing a hairy hand into her shoulder blade.

This is my time.

“You can’t do this,” Sara rasped, tears welling up in her eyes. “This isn’t right.”

This is my time, this is my time.

The man quickly realized this girl wasn’t talking about herself. She meant Kristina.

This is my time, this is my time.

He clutched the knife in his hand, and without a second glance, pushed the knife into Sara’s chest. When he finally released, Sara shrieked and fell to her knees. Blood pooled down her stomach, hitting the ground like raindrops.

“HOW COULD YOU?!” she screamed, compressing the wound with her bloody hands. “AFTER ALL SHE DID FOR YOU, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY HER?”

The man looked back at Sara, who was crying not from the pain, but for her mother. For his betrayal.

“I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!” Sara coughed, choking on her blood and vomit.

The man bent down to face her, lifting up her chin, so she could look him in the eye. Sara did not try to look away. “Oh, don’t you worry, Miss Thomas,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

The man twisted the knife into her chest a second time, and Sara crumpled to the ground, the blood she lost making a circle around her. She didn’t fight or protest. She didn’t beg or plead for mercy. Instead, she watched the man shut the door behind him, locking it from the inside for good measure.

Sara tried to crawl on her hands and knees to reach her iPhone, but remembered that she left it downstairs in the kitchen.

“I’m really going to die tonight,” she whispered, withdrawing her hands from the wound, letting it bleed out on the carpet. Sara winced in pain, wanting to turn back the time to two hours ago, when her parents were just about to leave for their friend’s dinner party. She dreamed of them running back to the house, sensing that something horrible had happened to her. She imagined them bounding up the flight of stairs, two at a time, to her little music studio. Her mother would rock her in her arms, telling Sara that she was going to be okay. Her father would already be on the phone with 911, stroking her hair with one hand and holding the phone to his ear with the other.

But that wasn’t what was really going to happen. It wasn’t even bound to occur. Sara’s parents were half an hour away from Kings Point, unaware that their daughter was brutally stabbed and severely close to dying.

Sara laid her head down to the floor, crying for her own loss. No one could save her. No one had seen the man come in and barge into the room. She would not be spared. Her parents would always remember February 16, 2014, as the day their daughter was killed by some stranger she didn’t even know. And who was the man anyway, and why was he out to kill her?

Sara tried to shield these thoughts as her body stopped shaking from the impact of the weapon. She closed her brown eyes, thinking about what Heaven would be like, if she even deserved to be up there. With her body shutting down, Sara felt Death close in on her, and in one swift motion, Death extracted her soul out of her body and carried it up to where it belonged.

End of Chapter One.

Spider Story

I step forward, my eight ugly legs carrying me closer and closer to the centaur. He can’t see me yet, and I know I don’t have time to worry about dying, but I can’t help but fear the large weapon the horse-man is holding. He could easily slice me in half with that thing. I glance over at Hunter, looking for the same nervousness in his eyes. Instead, I see confidence way more than anyone should ever have in a situation like this. I don’t particularly like the man all he wants is power— but he’s my only hope. You see, he promised me that if I helped him take over this castle, he would do everything he could to turn me from a spider into a human. And that’s all that I’ve ever wanted. The question is, will he still help me once he has what he wants?

I guess there’s only one way to find out, I think, moving my focus back onto the centaur. He and Hunter are facing off in the middle of a field just outside a large castle that seems to be slowly falling apart. There are a few trees around the edges of the area, including the one I’m hiding behind. But it’s really not that nice. I wonder why Hunter wants it. I don’t think it has anything to do with the centaur. As far as I know, he’s just a guard…

Focus, Pablo, I think, forcing myself to run over our plan in my head. Once Hunter’s staring battle with the centaur is over, they’ll begin to fight, with Hunter mostly on the defensive. But the minute the centaur thinks he is winning, I’ll come from behind and hit him over the head with a rock. Or something like that. I shiver at the realization that within a few minutes, I will have murdered someone. But being human is worth it, I remind myself.

I would do anything to be human to be respected, accepted, loved. As a spider, no one ever dares to come within five feet of me, and people only ever talk to me if they wish to ridicule me, to send me deeper into a hole of loneliness. Or if they want something from me, like Hunter does.

Suddenly, I hear a loud grunt, and I realize that the fight has started. The centaur is sprinting in Hunter’s direction, weapon first. But Hunter pulls out his sword and holds him off, the metal glinting in the sunlight as their weapons meet. The centaur swings his weapon at Hunter again, but he blocks the attack. Next, he tries to hit Hunter’s head, but he ducks just in time. The next attempt slices through the sleeve of Hunter’s jacket, but he is left otherwise unharmed, so he decides to attack, but misses, and the centaur takes the opportunity to strike. His weapon nicks Hunter’s leg, who jumps out of the way to avoid major injury.

They have been fighting like this for a few minutes when I notice that Hunter is steadily moving backward on the bright green grass and that the centaur’s swipes are moving closer and closer to his body. I know this is where I come in, but for some reason I can’t get my feet to move.

Something has me cemented in place fear, maybe and I can’t seem to do anything but stand and watch uselessly as the centaur creates a deep, bloody, gash in Hunter’s chest. The human collapses onto the ground, and all my hopes collapse with him. And it’s all my fault. I guess there was no way around it I was destined to kill someone today.

Trying not to look at the bloody corpse on the ground, I slowly move from my hiding spot. What should I do now? Should I approach the centaur? Should I just leave? But before I can decide, my eyes lock with the centaur’s frightened ones. I don’t know why, but as he slowly starts to back away, I call out to him.

“Wait!”

“What are you?” he asks, clearly trying to keep his voice steady. I feel something in my stomach sink upon hearing his question, but I can’t really blame him. Giant spiders are pretty uncommon.

“I’m Pablo,” I say. I see him look around nervously, so I continue. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just need help.” He looks surprised, and a little relieved, but I can tell he’s still on edge.

“What do you want?”

I pause for a moment. “To be human.”

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks. “I’m sorry… what?”

“You see, I was supposed to help that man” —I look over at Hunter “kill you. He said that if I did, he would do everything in his power to turn me into a human. But I couldn’t do it, as you can tell,” I explain, slightly embarrassed.

“The man’s a liar,” he states. Interested, I snap my gaze over to meet his.

“You know him?”

“No, no, of course not,” he says, but I can tell he’s trying to cover something up, because he’s talking a little faster than normal and won’t look me in the eye. “He just… um, doesn’t seem like the type of man to be honest, if you know what I mean.”

I’m really curious now, but I don’t show it.

“I’m Gus, by the way,” the centaur informs me.

“Okay, uh, nice to meet you,” I say, feeling slightly awkward. What now? I don’t have anywhere to go my entire future was riding on this plan. “So, bye, I guess.”

I slowly walk away, feeling hopeless and alone. But I mean, what did I expect? I just told the guy that I came here to kill him, why would he help me?

“Wait didn’t you say you needed help?” Gus asks, and I turn back to face him. He clears his throat. “I mean, do you have some sort of back-up plan?”

“Not exactly,” I say, not wanting to get myself in any more trouble. “But you really don’t

He cuts me off. “Well, maybe I can help you.”

Thomas

Note to Readers: This piece is a tribute to my younger brother Thomas, who sadly passed away at the age of seven in the year 2011 due to neuroblastoma cancer.

I am Thomas. I have been in New York for two years now. I moved when I was ten, and now I’m eleven. Along with myself, my sister, mom, and dad came to New York. My sister’s name is Anna. She is thirteen. My mom is Dianne, and my dad is Phil. We moved from Canada. Yeah, that’s right. You know, that country with all the bears and beavers? Nice country, eh? I’m sure you’re wondering if I like to play hockey? Well, of course I do! I’m a better goalie than Carey Price!

I’ve always been the oldest guy on my teams, and I’m about a foot taller than everybody else. I feel like a giant. Why am I on these teams if I am better than Carey Price? It’s because of all the time I spent in the hospital back in Canada. And, maybe I’m not quite that good! But eventually, I will be. You see, I missed tons of school and most of my hockey practices. Actually, I missed out on the five years of my life when I was sick. It was all thanks to a stupid six-letter word: cancer.

When I was three, my dad took me to the doctor after I had been complaining about a sore knee for about four months. My parents thought it was just a soccer injury, so they didn’t take me in to get it checked out right away. Of course, even if it was just a soccer injury, it probably wouldn’t have hurt to take me in anyways. But no, it was not a soccer injury, it was not a hockey injury, it was something worse. Way worse. I was diagnosed with stage four neuroblastoma cancer. What that is, I can not say, I barely understand it myself. All I know is that it’s extremely rare, especially in children. I was confused. All of a sudden, I’d be going into the hospital all the time, and people would treat me way differently. I fought this cancer for two years. I practically lived in the hospital. It was my second home. I didn’t like it there. I knew I would have to get a couple shots or a scan that involved a giant machine that beeped like crazy every time I went in. But I got used to it after a while.

It’s always been irritating how everyone who knows me and my story treats me differently than they would others. I’m fine now, and yet I’m still being taken care of by everyone. That was one thing I was so excited about when I heard we were moving to New York. I knew it was going to be very difficult, and it would take some getting used to, but there were many things I was looking forward to. One of those things was meeting new people. I had always heard that New Yorkers were very passive aggressive. I soon learned that I was blinded by my very Canadian lifestyle. If someone bumps into you accidentally in the streets where I lived, you would soon be bombarded with thousands of sorries. That’s right, I said so-rry.

My sister would always make fun of me when we had to get flu shots in the fall. I would sit down and watch the nurse slowly put the needle in my arm. I would be smiling, completely calm. My uncle fainted every time he got a shot. Lots of people thought I was brave for being able to sit there and be fine with everything. But I had no choice. I knew there would be lots more to come.

The first bunch of blood tests I got really freaked me out. Who actually likes getting shots or their blood drawn? I mean, I don’t particularly like them, but when I had to go to the hospital at least once a week to get shots, I had to become okay with them. But not everything. Some things are just plain weird! Once, they had to put this weird tube inside my chest that would be hooked up to a machine so that it would be easier to get the medicine inside of me. It is called a “broviac.” I don’t really remember when I got it, which is probably a good thing. The important thing is that it was going to help me and help the doctors. And it did. It made it so much easier when I had to sit still, for what felt like forever, and have to be attached to a pole with bags of medicine hanging from it. Basically, if I wanted to go anywhere, I would have to carry this huge pole around with me.

This medicine is quite a common one. It’s called “chemo,” or “chemotherapy.” I have to say, after all I’ve been through, having to be put on chemo was one of the worst things. It makes you feel horrible. I would get so nauseous and tired. It makes you feel like you have the flu, but it never goes away. And the worst thing about it is that it causes hair loss. Every time I was put on chemo, my hair would fall out again. There was one point where I was so upset about having no hair upon my head, that my dad shaved his head to support me and show empathy. It made me feel happy that he was trying to let me know that I was not alone. But I still hated it. I became the king of hats. I had about thirty different toques.

At my school, I’d be the only one who was allowed to be wearing one. I was getting tired of people always telling me to take my hat off before the teacher saw, or something else indicating that they didn’t know about my situation. After a year or two of this, my mom decided that it might be a good idea to talk to the school and see if they could change the dress code. It was great because I was now not the only kid in the school wearing a hat!

We lived in Calgary, which is a fairly good sized city. When I say that, I mean that it was big, but not too big. It was small, but not too small. In our neighborhood, most people knew each other. My school was a public school, so in order to get in, you had to live in the district of the school. So mostly everyone at the school lived in the same neighborhood. I would see my friends on my way to school. After all, it was only two blocks away! Sometimes, I would walk to school with my friends who lived on the same street as me. “18A Street” was its name. It’s a cul de sac right in between 18th and 19th. The school was on 18th street, so seriously, it was super close.

I had a couple friends who lived on my street. Sam, Alex, Kyra, and Isabel. They were better friends with my sister, though. Sometimes in the evening after we’d eaten, my sister and I would go play outside with them. Sometimes, even Ian and Grant came out! We would run in the middle of the roads and play hockey. So much hockey. Sometimes, when it was just Alex and me, we would run around chasing each other and coming up with silly names to yell. I called him “Chicken.” I don’t even know why. One day, I just said “Hey, Chicken,” and it stuck. He called me “Donkey.” Again, no idea where that came from.

With all my visits to the hospital, I fell out of the loop at school. I was sad because I felt left out, even though people tried to include me. I was barely able to read, and my printing was almost impossible to understand. I still spoke like a toddler. All of my teachers were really good and supportive. They helped me get caught up. It just drove me crazy sometimes. My friends would all be talking about Benjamin’s sick birthday party on Saturday, that I missed thanks to an appointment where I had to lie in this futuristic-looking machine that took a bunch of x-rays and photos. Oh! I almost forgot! I also got seven shots in my right arm.  Ah, cancer is stupid!

Speaking of cancer being stupid, there was an incident with some of my friends that was really annoying. It was after school had ended one day. My friends and I were playing tag on the playground and the field. Actually, to this day, I don’t know what the game was. It was like a strange mix of tag, dodgeball crossed with a snowball fight, and European handball. I’m not exactly sure why, but my friend threw a chunk of ice at my face. Maybe he was more interested in having a snowball fight. But I’m telling you, this wasn’t snow. It was like a full-on piece of ice. And it had rocks in it. My parents had to take me to the hospital. It hit me right under my eye. He flung it towards me as if throwing a frisbee, double the force. The chemo I was on was making it very dangerous for me to do anything that could get me hurt. If I got a cut, and I was bleeding, I would have to go to the hospital right away. It’s because I had low platelet levels. Platelets are basically the red and white blood cells that require bone marrow to develop. If someone has low platelet levels, and they get a cut, it will bleed, and bleed, and bleed. You can actually die from this, so my parents were always making sure that I wasn’t playing any games that involved throwing knives, or anything of that sort. Basically, just anything that could get me injured, or even sick. Being on the chemo and developing low platelet levels made any small, mild cold, a deadly one. Chemotherapy is one of the many treatments that affect bone marrow and platelet counts. We actually had to cancel a trip to Hawaii because the doctors said it would be dangerous for me to be in an active environment. Usually in Hawaii, we just relax. Well, my parents do. My sister and I, we go swimming all day and play games with other kids we meet.

I’ve always loved our trips to Hawaii. I can tell that my sister and parents do too. Since it’s about a seven hour flight to Maui, we don’t go very often. And by not very often, I mean that we go once a year. But, because of that, we get to stay for around three or four weeks. My sister tells me that she feels like our trips to Hawaii are her favourite things to do! Our upcoming trip will be even better! It turns out we will be going at the same time that one of my best friends back at home will be there with his family.

I am also looking forward to our trip to Palm Springs. We bought a house there recently. It’s huge. It’s bigger than our place back in Canada! That place was four thousand square feet.  I loved that house. Before we moved and put our house on the market, my parents let my sister and me throw a party for all of our friends and family. I wish it would have been in the summer, though. We had a particularly nice and big backyard. It had a hot tub in it. We had a lot of fun hanging out in that backyard. Let me remind you, typical summer weather in Calgary is not very warm. Maybe 28 degrees celsius as an average daily temperature. 30 if we were lucky. Also, Calgary summers tend to be quite rainy. In the evenings of most summer days, we would get a quick thunderstorm. But anyways, back to the party.

We decided that we would have our party mainly in the basement. Our basement was a nice size. We had a great entertainment area there. There was a bar, a pool table, and a bunch of signed hockey jerseys hanging on the walls. If you walked past this, you would reach the movie theatre. No, there was not an actual theatre in our basement! But it was a huge TV. About eight feet tall, twelve feet wide. Actually, it was one of those projector ones. We had a separate room with about seven different systems for the TV. My parents would hate it if anyone went in there! But for the party, we thought we’d just order some pizza and put on a movie. Something relaxing and fun.

I wish I hadn’t remembered so clearly everything that happened. So many different medications and gross treatments. My doctors had me take this medicine that my parents would put in this weird, vial-type thing. They’d have to squirt it into my mouth. Now, let just make this clear, the stuff was revolting. I knew I had to take it, I knew it would help me, but that didn’t make me any more eager. Everyday at four, my parents would sit me down at the counter. In front of me, they would place my iPad. While my dad filled the tube with the medicine, my mom put my favourite show on. I was quite tired of it, considering how much time I spent watching it. Okay, now you’re probably wondering what it was that I could watch no matter how many times I’d seen each episode. Alright, I’ll tell you: I loved to watch Spongebob Squarepants. I actually think that the show is ridiculous and idiotic, but I find it very entertaining. It makes me laugh and makes me feel happy. So there I’d be, watching Spongebob with both of my parents standing beside me. My mom would take the tube full of cream-colored medicine and tell me to open my mouth. I’d do as told, and she would place it at the corner of my mouth. Then, she would insert the medicine into me. Every time I had to take it, I would have to resist throwing up. A couple times, probably the first few times I had to take it, I couldn’t take the horrible taste and texture. I wasn’t used to it. I had trouble swallowing it. I’d end up throwing up all over the place, forcing my parents to rush around cleaning up after me.

Unfortunately, there were many things throughout my experience of being a cancer patient that caused me to throw up. My sister often witnessed this. When she was old enough to understand what was going on with me and why I was throwing up, she developed a fear of throw up. It sounds a bit silly, I know. But it is a real fear, and I’m not one to judge. Any time we are watching a movie involving someone puking all over the stage while performing, or something of that sort, I have to warn her. She’ll close her eyes tightly and cover her ears. I feel bad because if it weren’t for me, she may not have developed this irrational fear. But honestly, if I apologized to her for that, she’d probably hit me over the head with a hockey stick.

Also, I would like to explain a bit about my diagnosis of stage four cancer. There are five stages of cancer. Stage 0 is when the cancer is in place, but hasn’t spread to nearby tissue. If one is diagnosed with stage 0 cancer, there is a good chance it is curable. Then, there is stage I, when there is a small cancer or tumor, but it has yet to spread to nearby tissue or to the lymph nodes. This stage is often called early-stage cancer. Then, there is stage II and III, which indicate that the cancer or tumor is larger and has spread to nearby tissue and lymph nodes, but not the rest of the body. Finally, there is stage IV, which is when the cancer has spread to the other parts of the body. This is the worst stage of cancer. And I was diagnosed with it. I was immediately one of the top priorities at the children’s hospital.

I remember one of the first things I had to get done after I got my broviac. It was horrible. I was on chemo, so I already felt like I had the flu. I was nauseous and exhausted. And then, I had to go in for a cat scan. Over time, my parents and I decided to call it “the doughnut,” which made it a little bit easier to talk about, I guess. Or maybe that’s just what they thought. Anyways, I had to go and lie on this table thing. Then, they would put this weird, blue dye-type medicine stuff in through my broviac. I’m not sure what it was, but what I do know is that it makes it easy to see the cancer. Actually, I don’t really have much of a clue about its purpose, but I knew that it was necessary and important. But it made me feel even worse afterwards. Often, the doctors would have my parents take me to Dairy Queen because they knew that was one of the most unpleasant procedures I would get on a regular basis.

Sometimes, I had to get blood transfusions. I hated those too. Basically, I would have to sit in the small hospital room with this giant machine right beside me. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad, and it wasn’t painful. It was just annoying and extremely boring. I literally couldn’t move. I had to lie there in a very uncomfortable bed and not move. And, after a little bit, the room started to smell horrible. You couldn’t escape the smell. My dad would always have to be there so he would sit in a chair, awkwardly watching. He always brought in a bunch of oranges that he would peel in the corner of the room. The orange peels would make the room smell a little bit better, but not much.

Like I said earlier, I was diagnosed at the age of three. It was in my knee. I fought the cancer for two years until I was five. By then, it had gone away. I was cancer-free. I was so happy. Though I was young and didn’t understand much of what was going on, I knew it was a good thing. About a month later, my parents sat me down at our family dinner. Everyone was there. My family living in Medicine Hat even drove up to see us. After we had eaten, my mom made the announcement. She said that I was sick again. The cancer was back. At that time, I could tell what everyone was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing. Was it ever gone? Why did it come back? Will it ever go away?

This time, when I was diagnosed, the tumor was found behind my left eye. It looked like I got punched in the face, for real. Actually, that’s what I told all of my friends. At first, they thought it was kind of cool — as first graders, it would make sense. But after having a black eye for over two weeks, people started to doubt that that’s what had happened. Eventually, I had to tell everyone the truth. Then, I was treated the same as I was before. People treated me as if I was unable to do things. Things that I could do completely fine. The cancer was stage IV, so it wasn’t any better in that sense.

***

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like if I hadn’t survived. My family would be devastated. Well, at least I hope they would! Whoops, I probably shouldn’t joke about this. I knew there was a possibility that I wouldn’t survive, but I tried to keep hope. I knew that hope was key for someone like me. But I also know that if I hadn’t survived, it would have been all over the news. Maybe not everywhere, but definitely Calgary and maybe some smaller towns nearby. That’s because it’s quite rare for young children to die of cancer. Especially since this type of cancer is extremely rare for children, and adults too, for that matter.

But all of these weird procedures and being on chemotherapy, well, they worked! I survived. I surprised so many people. The doctors, my friends, my family, everyone who knew me, actually. But most importantly, I surprised myself. I didn’t know what was going to happen. No one ever talked to me about the bad stuff. Only the good. I guess they thought they would be helping me in some way, I’m not sure. But that just left me curious. Some things I picked up from everyone being around me. When I was doing better, people would act completely different than when I was not. I could tell when something was up. My parents told me that even the doctors didn’t think I’d exceed two years. I knew I had to stay strong. I was quite young when I went through all of this, so a lot of things related to my illness were very confusing to me. I had no idea what half of the procedures actually were! I was told they were necessary and they would help, so I went with them. And in the long run, it was totally worth going through it all.

Now is the fun part. Now, I get to move on with my life. I get the chance to restart. Nobody knows my story, unless they work for my mother, who by the way, is pretty cool. She’s a CEO of this awesome digital marketing agency called “Critical Mass.” Her office is pretty cool, too. And, because of her job, my sister and I were able to get into an amazing school in Greenwich Village. It’s called “LREI.” “LR” for “Little Red School House” and “EI” for “Elisabeth Irwin High School.” It’s a private school, and it’s very progressive. I like it. I think my sister does, too. But it stresses her out a lot. She gets like three hours of homework each night. She tells me that her old school in Canada gave, like, no homework at all. She understands that going to this school is going to make it easier for her to get into a good college or university, but school is definitely not her favorite thing right now. I think it’s fun. But if I could change something about it, I’d add a hockey team.

I’ve made a lot of great friends, and I’m happier now that we’re here. They all know about my struggles in the past, but nobody really makes a big deal about it anymore. My sister told her class one day, and the next day, the entire school knew about it. Apparently, the teachers are a bit gossipy. But they’re all so nice. Overall, my life is so much better now that we’re in New York. I got to take my sick life and put it behind me. I even talked to my family about not speaking about it and treating me like it never happened. They understood. We all moved on together.

The Pull

As I spread my wings to capture more air, the crisp October wind flutters the feathers on the end of my tail. A squawk escapes my beak, signaling my flock to turn. We curve across the sky like a majestic arrow. I’m flying point.

I am Sona, the first female leader of the Fortis-Volant gaggle, and close kin to our original ruler, my birth father. He is the one who named our group, after something he heard in the language of the walkers. When I reach the end of my term, it is my responsibility to christen our flock. But that problem will only arise once I have successfully led the gaggle to The Pull and back. I clear the thought from my mind and shift left.

Nudging in the same direction as me comes the second-in-line. His name is Relk, and he would have been the one to occupy my position if my egg was faulty. He lets out a throaty honk, and we fully shift position. A twinge of envy thrums in my heart as he places lead and directs the group. It’s more uncomfortable along the edge, as the wind that slides off Relk’s wing bounces off my side. I press in tighter.

“Sreeris!” I squawk out.

My sister peers over at me from her position. When she sees my discomfort, she nods her long, slender neck and swaps places with me. Now to Relk’s right, I hover in closer to him so he can hear me.

“Relk.” I hiss. “Turn the flock away from the wind. If we ram straight into it, we’re going nowhere.”

He gives me an annoyed look, but obliges, and the rest of the gaggle seems to relax the tension in their wings. I glare at Relk. If he doesn’t learn to fly true before it’s his turn, he’ll be in trouble.

A sparrow whips by my head, distracting me for a second. I watch the brown blur whiz through the air, loop-the-looping until he tightens his wings and drops down to earth in a breathtaking dive. Just before he hits the leafy canopy below, he opens his wings and soars. He’s mocking us, I know, so I ignore him and stare down at the scenery below.

Canada isn’t the most interesting of places. From the air, the only thing anyone can see is green and brown. Trees and shrubs and soil. In the place of The Pull, there are sandy beaches and sparkling waters, and all the walkers wear bright feathers. They travel in noisy swarms, honking and squawking without saying anything, and scattering paper that smells like old food all over the ground. Sometimes, they throw the food, and that is the best treat of all.

I look down and see another color, one I didn’t expect until far later: white. I shudder and puff up my feathers. This is what we were worried about. It means that winter is approaching, fast, and we need to go before it swallows up our home. It came earlier than last year. That can only mean no good.

“Sona, Sona, do you see the white?” Sreeris babbles, a tinge of fear in her voice. Relk looks over at her, briefly abandoning his position. I narrow my eyes at him, berating him in my head.

“It’s worrying, Sreeris,” he says comfortingly. “But we shall be far away before the cold comes.”

I start nudging to the front, ahead of time. It’s rude to cut one’s lead off short, but I am the leader, and he is not doing his job. Relk nudges right back out at me, extending his wings to push me back. How dare he disobey!

“My turn for point,” I say coldly. He stares at me, but with a dark look, he scoots left. I’ve scrambled the order, something no leader should ever do, and I feel my flock’s eyes burning holes in my back. But I shake them off and push onward.

“Sona,” Sreeris tries again, “what if we don’t escape the white?”

I feel myself smile. She would never give up on me. I rack my brain for an answer, and reply with, “We find a shelter. Those human farms are everywhere, we’ll be sure to find one abandoned. It’s not necessary, however. We’ll be there before winter comes,” I say as confidently as I can.

A frigid gust of wind blasts into me before I can finish, and I spin off balance. As I try to right myself, I collide into Relk who pushes me right back. The rest of the flock watches me, not reassured and unimpressed. My cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“Maybe we should rest. We’ve been flying all day. And I don’t think its best, in this case, to ‘follow the leader.’” Relk cuts in sardonically.

I stifle a honk of anger and turn to the gaggle. Noticing weary eyes and ruffled feathers, I reluctantly lead my group down to the ground. We swoop over the lush canopy, before alighting down on a grassy meadow. Sreeris seems the most happy out of everyone; she lets out a happy squawk before plopping down and snuggling into her feathers. I, too, feel relieved to finally stop flying, as I stretch out the ache in my muscles. But I wouldn’t admit it. Leaders are supposed to be ever strong.

As soon everyone huddles together, I survey our group. All five members are accounted for: Relk, Sreeris, Kalyna, Aijel, and of course, me, Sona. Kalyna and Aijel are the silent ones, the ones who always fly back while Relk and I grapple for the top spot and Sreeris babbles. Relk is bossy and arrogant, and seems intent on stealing my position as leader away from me before it’s his turn. Sreeris is by far my favorite. She’s my birth sister, kind, and sensitive, and would stick with me through anything.

“Sreeris,” I call out. She peeks out from under a wing. “Come on. I want to talk to you.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re tired? What do you mean, you’re tired?!”

“I mean, I’m tired!”

“Sreeris, I am your leader, come here right this instant!”

My good-for-nothing-sister ignores me, burrowing her beak under her wing. I huff and curl up on the ground, tucking my feet neatly underneath me. Winding my graceful, long neck to settle my head on my back, I let out a sigh and let my beak squish into my velvety, soft feathers. My glistening eyes close, and darkness settles over me.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” I open my eyes, feeling as though I had barely just closed them. Sreeris stands above me, beaming down at my bedraggled form. I bounce to my feet and steady myself, glaring furiously.

“Looks like our leader didn’t get the chance to get her beauty sleep,” a mocking voice bites from across the meadow. Relk sneers at me, preening his feathers. He would be the one to instigate our flock, getting up so… up so… unreasonably early just to taunt me! Aijel stares at Kalyna in that special way of his, and she returns the look. I feel a prickling feeling on the back of my neck. It alway seems that those two are somehow communicating.

“So, we shall head out now?” I try to sound important.

Sreeris beams, nodding her head frantically. “Yeah! I can’t wait to fly lead!”

I fall quiet, staring at her. Relk smirks and turns his back.

“Excuse me?” I ask my sister softly.

“Relk said that you said I could fly lead for most of today! I’m so, so excited!” Sreeris

honks happily. I shoot a venomous glare at my fellow flock-mate. He still isn’t looking at me.

“Why aren’t you smiling?” She asks, confused. “Aren’t you happy? I can… I can still fly lead, right?”

I take one look at her innocent, pathetic expression and break down. “Of course, Sreeris. Don’t forget to soar strong!” I let out a nervous honk as she laughs happily and waddles over to nuzzle Relk.

As we get into formation to lift off, I notice some clumps of white around the meadow. Despite the blazing sun, they refuse to melt, and it sets a chill up my spine. We have to leave soon. Winter is coming. I close my eyes and turn towards Sreeris.

I was originally destined to have two siblings. In fact, I was second-in-line to become leader before the cold happened. There was a third egg, older than me, who was also nestled close to me and Sreeris in the nest. It was supposed to be a brother, they tell me. One who would be brave and strong and complete the task of flying to The Pull better than I ever could. One who would follow my father’s wings. One who could take care of Sreeris and all her nervous babbling tendencies, and who would comfort me in the worst of times, whenever Relk bullied me when I was a chick.

Instead, the flock got me. The cold ignored my egg, but it shook Sreeris up enough to come out wonky. She doesn’t have the skill to fly. The stakes are too high.

“Aijel?” I ask, turning towards the bird. He flips his neck over to look at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re flying next to Sreeris, right? Okay, make sure she doesn’t screw up, and take over as quickly as you can,” I finish and dart over to the back of the V. I sigh. The back is only for the lowest class fliers. In fact, Sreeris would be here if I could trust her not to get in trouble!

Sreeris takes off. Lopsided, of course. Relk darts up to steady her and resumes his position as the second row propels themselves in the air, and finally, it’s my turn. Kalyna and I push off the ground, flapping our wings to catch some wind. I hate to admit I struggle a bit. Kalyna gives me a sort of funny look, and I glance away.

“Okay, Sreeris!” I yell forward. “Once you’re high enough, catch the thermals. That should bring you a little ways, and then from there –”

“Let Sreeris handle it herself!” Relk shouts back at me. He’s grinning. “She’s a big girl.”

I fall back a bit in shock at being spoken to in such a way. And he’s wrong. Sreeris is not a big girl, she’s totally incompetent no matter how much I love her. I can’t believe I ever agreed to this…

After that, I fall silent, biting back scathing remarks. My sister is just as bad as I thought she’d be. No, she’s worse. Her wings tilt the wrong way, she’s smashing against the wind, and neither Aijel nor Relk has offered to switch with her! They must be against me as the leader, it’s the only possibility. So I screw my eyes shut and try to ignore those traitors, the mocking of Kalyna’s looks, and my sister’s horrible, horrible flying.

Ignoring must take much more effort than I originally thought, because I soon grow fatigued. Nobody else in our gaggle is complaining, however, so I just keep flying. After a while, I can’t take it anymore, and I turn towards Kalyna.

“Aren’t… you… tired?” I huff. She gives me a look and shakes her head.

“Exhausted already? We’ve barely flown!” She’s glaring now. “Horrible, isn’t it? When you’re horribly fatigued, but your leader keeps pushing you more and more? She’s at the point of the V, after all, so she gets to make the decisions. And you have to follow the leader, no matter what, or you’re left at the mercy of the wind.” She turns away, seething, and guilt writhes in my chest.

I thought flying back would be much more easier than the front. The leader, after all, is the one who has to avoid smashing into the wind. But there are no thermals in the back, no little gusts of warm air that can help me soar easily. When Relk and Aijel manage to catch one, I am left flapping after them desperately. Whenever I slip out of formation, a gale of frigid wind sends me flying.

We forge on for about an hour before Relk notices my state.

“Oh-HOH? Is our little leader tired?” he mocks. I glare at him, and real concern slips over his face.

“Sona, we’re barely over halfway done!” He drops down beside me, and Kalyna gladly surges forward. “And why aren’t you in position? If you break out of the V, you have a whole sky’s worth of air slamming into you from all sides.”

“Look, I’m tired, okay?!”

“We need to rest,” he says importantly. “Flock! Fly down!”

I yawn and follow everyone else. We’ve barely reached the ground when I start snoring.

It’s dark when I wake up. The stars flicker like lightning bugs in the sky, and the moon is swathed in clouds. I feel alone and frightened, until I hear the gentle snores of my flock-mates, at the other side of the clearing. Shame burns within me. I guess no one, not even little Sreeris, wanted to sleep beside me.

“Our flock would be better if my brother was here,” I admit to myself, bowing my head. “He would be respected, the perfect leader. Everyone would get equal roles, and he would know how to fly in every position.” I flop down and glare at Relk, he’s fast asleep and curled next to Sreeris.

Something crackles in the leaves next to me, and my breath catches in my throat. Terror rushes through me, and I go stiff. There’s another crackle — footsteps. But not goose footsteps. They’re bigger. The thing murmurs something, and I recognize the sound instantly.

Walkers. I relax my tense body, because walkers are harmless. They’ve never hurt me or my flock. I stare at my gaggle, wondering if I should alert them. I decide against it. They would just get mad at me for waking them up. I bristle. Because everything is my fault, isn’t it!

“Thar theer arr!” A walker says in a quiet hiss. Their language is unintelligible. “Neese en fat, hua-hua-hua.” He chuckles.

“Un shoot weel tak them down, jess oo wait. Plump en juicy, goosey, goosey.” More laughter. I don’t understand a word of it. They must be telling jokes.

Something clicks. I open my eyes. That doesn’t sound natural. Suddenly, a thought comes to mind. I’ve heard stories of walkers with sticks that shoot fire. A nearby gaggle once told me that if the fire hits you, it will burn a hole straight through your entire body, and the walkers will carry away your carcass to… devour. I’ve always thought these so-called hunters were a myth. I hope I’m right. Another click, and I jolt my body backwards.

“BAM!” Something explodes inches away from my face, and I leap. A scream rakes out of my throat and the rest of the flock is to their feet.

“Walkers! Walkers with fire sticks?! Hunters!” Geese can’t run, so I jump and start flying. I don’t get anywhere before another something explodes, whizzing by my tail. I’m in the air before I remember my sister.

“Sreeris!” I yell. A scream answers. The hunters aren’t playing games anymore, and fire comprised of silvery pellets rains down on my flock. Aijel and Relk are already long gone, but Kalyna and Sreeris are still down there.

“Sona! Help!” Kalyna shrieks somewhere below. I flap above the clearing, waiting a second too long.

“Luk! Thar enether goose! Shoopt! Shoopt quickly!” A silver something whizzes by my tail, smacking against the feathers and whirling me into a nearby tree. The leafy fronds swallow me up, and I’m caught helpless in the branches. All the hunters are focused on me now, and they send their fire flying. The pellets sparkle in the air like deadly stars, but the tree is protecting me. I writhe free and take to the air, my throat raw from screaming.

“Kalyna! Sreeris!” I shriek. A tiny body pinwheels into the air. I recognize it as Sreeris, and my stomach lurches as I see her left wing drenched with crimson.

“Kalyna? Kalyna, where are you?!” Nobody answers. Still, I linger in the air until I hear a heart-throbbing wail. I feel bile burn my throat.

I don’t look back for my fallen flock mate. The only thing I can do is press close to my sister and try to steady her. I can see Relk and Aijel ahead, their anxiously waiting bodies illuminated by the moon. It’s full, pure and white, glowing like a halo in the sky.

“Oh, Aijel.” I sob, looking at that all-too-familiar, unreadable face. But I can see his eyes. They’re searching for his sister.

“Sona! What happened to Sreeris? Is she okay? Where’s Kalyna?” Relk says with a gasp. I almost begin sobbing. I need to be strong, a leader.

“I — It was hell down there,” I say in a wavering voice. “No fire burned me, but it got Sreeris’ wing, and I don’t know how fatal it is. There was no time to check, I just had to get out of there with my sister. K — Kalyna didn’t make it.” Aijel stiffens as I finish, his unreadable expression slipping into pure terror. Then, anger claims his face. A dark, cold fury like nothing I’ve seen before.

“Oh, Sona, I’m so sorry,” Relk says sincerely. “We’ll have to rest soon, and check up on her wing.” Sreeris is growing faint beside me. “We’ll have to rest in the forest though. Can’t risk… them finding us again. Sona, will you lead?” I shake my head.

“No,” I say stubbornly. “You and Aijel do point. Make sure Sreeris is okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll fly back.”

This time, I ignore any ache I experience. Everytime I glance over to my side to ask Kalyna if she’s holding up, I remember she’s not here and feel my heart drop to my talons. Aijel isn’t speaking to me, but Relk and I have momentarily put our differences aside due to our concern for Sreeris. I never realized before how much he truly cared for her. It almost makes me sympathize with him. Almost.

“Relk!” I say. “There’s a small patch of grass down there in the forest. It’s surrounded by trees. Resting place for Sreeris?” That’s another thing. Whenever we discuss a place to take a break, we always tag on, “for Sreeris” to clear up we’re not doing this for each other.

“Mmm… no. There could be predators.”

“Our time is running thin, Relk! Do you want my sister to collapse out of the very sky?”

“Fine. We can take a brief rest.”

Relk swoops us down.  As I plop to the earth, I immediately turn to Sreeris, who has fainted. Relk leans down to tenderly preen her feathers, and Aijel waddles off to the far corner to grieve.

“Oh! Oh, Sreeris, look at how you’re breathing. And bleeding!” Blood trickles down a hole in her side, staining her feathers crimson. Thankfully, the situation is a lot less dire than we originally thought. Her wing is uninjured, promising that if she survives the wound, she will be able to fly again.

As Relk fusses over Sreeris, I graze on some of the surrounding vegetation. Hunger always follow stress, and I’m currently starving. As my sister comes to, I nibble half-heartedly on a tender grass sprout.

“Sreeris? Sreeris, you’re okay!” Relk rejoices. I waddle over to her as fast as I can, letting out a squawk of joy.

“What happened?” she murmurs, twisting around to face me. “Is Kalyna okay? Sh — she was down with me… promised we’d come out together…” She yawns, and her eyes tear up. “I was about to promise her back when there was fire in my side, and sticky liquid started filling me up inside and coming out my eyes so I couldn’t see. I just kept flying, but the fire was burning me, and then I heard her scream that she was exploding, and then…” She shakes her head. “I don’t remember the rest.”

I sigh and let my beak run through her silky-soft feathers. As Sreeris falls back to sleep, this time snoring, I cleanse the blood from her body.

“Sona,” Relk says, staring at the sky.

“What?!” I snap at him. He looks at me, startled, before narrowing his eyes.

“I didn’t want to tell you this before, but now that you’re being so rude, I won’t hesitate –” I snarl. He hisses back, and continues.

“We’ve been flying off track.” Silence.

“What?!”

“I said, we’ve been flying off track!”

I stare at him. “That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not. Funny, I think that’s the first time this has happened. You really screwed this up, didn’t you Sona? Completely butchered your mission.” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “Your father would be so disappointed-”

“Shut up!” I scream, flapping my wings threateningly. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” He turns away, so I must be mistaken when I think I see a flicker of shame cross his face. I march to the other end of the clearing and plop down. Something akin to guilt wallows in my stomach, but I ignore it. I close my eyes, still seething, and drift uneasily to sleep.

Sleep is such a beautiful thing. It heals your broken body, it washes away your fatigue, it hides you away from the problems you have to face in your waking hours. I relax myself as I drift off. At least now, nothing bad can happen to my flock.

There is the soft sound of trotting footsteps somewhere to my right and the feeling of being watched. I burrow my head deeper under my wing. Another footstep, closer to me.

“Sreeris…” I mumble, my voice muffled by feathers. “Sreeris, I don’t wanna wake up.” I stretch. The soft morning sun shines its gentle light over me, warming my night-cooled feathers. Crickets chitter in their cheerful choir. A slight breeze whooshes through the leaves, imitating the sound of the ocean. All of it wraps around me like a heavenly peaceful blanket.

A yawn splits open my beak, and I sleepily let my head emerge. Blinking bleary eyes, I find myself face-to-face with…

In a snap, all my drowsiness has disappeared.

“AUGH!”

A snarl rips from the beast’s velvet muzzle, and he leaps. I feel razor-sharp claws rake over my stomach, and downy feathers fly through the air like dandelion seeds. A ghastly pain spreads through my torso, but I can barely feel it. My eyes are focused on the beast’s dagger-like teeth, as he opens his mouth and lunges at my throat.

“Sona? SONA!” Somebody yells. I whip my head and the fox’s mouth snaps right where my neck used to be. In desperation, I kick out my webbed feet at its unexposed belly and flail my body as much as I can.

Somebody launches himself at the fox, and manages to tackle it off of me. The horrible weight lifted, I writhe to my feet and awkwardly flap out of the way. Somebody else leaps forward.

“Sona! Come quickly, you’re hurt.” Sreeris honks desperately, flapping her right wing. It’s ironic that she is now the one to protect me. I turn to face my saviors.

Relk is at the strongest I’ve ever seen him. He thrashes at the fox, clawing at its eyes, and pecking sharply at its skull and ears. Aijel nips at the beast’s crimson tail. They both saved my life. Much as I dislike them, I have to join them. It’s only fair. After all, I am the leader.

“Relk! Watch out!” I yell a warning as I fly at the fox. Relk ducks out of the way of my talons as I land on top of the creature that almost killed me. With a final scream, the fox shakes me off and darts into the shrubbery. All three of us hunch together, panting.

“Okay,” Relk states, straightening. “That’s done. Sona, any injuries?” I inspect my chest. The feathers have parted where I was clawed, and angry red marks streak across my skin. They sting horribly. Still, the wound is nothing compared to what I could have had.

“None.” I assure him. He nods and turns towards Aijel.

“Aijel, any — ”

“No.”

“Okay, then. It seems we have rested enough to start traveling again. Is everyone okay with this idea?” I wince. The assurance in his voice, the way he speaks, he sounds like a true leader. It almost hurts.

Everyone declares themselves awake and ready to face the day, even Sreeris. She is cheerful as ever, still conversing with her same bubbly tone, even with a hole burned in her side. The bleeding has stopped, meaning the fire probably glanced off her in such a way, it didn’t dig in deep. The wound is neat, which is good. A perfectly round red hole.

“So, shall we lift off?” I say dully. I’m still staring at Relk. He just seems so confident in himself! When you’re directing a ragtag bunch of geese, it should be impossible to be that self-assured. But he is, and it gives me a sinking feeling in my chest.

“Yes, let’s.” He confirms. “You’ll be flying front, I assume?” The statement is like a blow to the heart. Does he really think, right off the bat, that I would be spoiled enough to automatically fly in the most important position? Does he think I’m just a stuck-up leader? I puff out my feathers indignantly, trying to recover a few scraps of pride.

“Of course not!” I honk angrily. “I’ll be flying back. Aijel needs to learn how to avoid flying against the wind.” Aijel gives me a look, not an angry one for once, but more… confused. Relk actually smiles.

“Sreeris, your wound is okay?” I ask my sister. She nods, a stoic look in her eyes. Sometimes, she seems the strongest out of us all. AIjel shifts into position behind Relk, as quiet as always. But I can’t help analyze him, and the grief of losing his sister still lingers in his expression. I shake off my thoughts and ready my wings.

“Flock! Get ready to fly in three! One, two…” I realize for a second how much my wings ache. But if I have to sacrifice them for the flock, I will. It’s my duty, after all. Relk launches off first. Then Aijel, and finally my dear sister. I am last to take to the air, and as the wind rushes through my feathers, a sense of elation I’ve never before experienced rushes through me.

Even when I’m not in the front, flying still feels amazing. I stretch out my wings to their full extent, and swoop to catch up with the rest of my gaggle. Sreeris is inches in front of me, teetering slightly because of her injury, but still soaring stronger then I never noticed she could. It almost gives me a sense of pride. That’s my sister, the girl who survived being rattled by winter, who learned to fly even with my poor leadership, and who pushed through a could-be-fatal injury.

Relk curves us against the wind as we fly, and it slides right off of our V. I don’t have nearly as much resistance as when Sreeris was leading. Once we’re high enough, he switches off with Aijel. I think it may be his first time being the point in his life! And… he’s almost as bad as my sister. Relk murmurs to him urgent instructions, and I make sure to make my voice heard.

“Lower your head a bit, so the wind doesn’t smack it!”

“Quick, quick… turn now!”

“Wait, not that way!”

“Perfect! Now, swoop upwards, there’s a huge gale coming! You won’t be able to curve around that.”

“Not downwards, you numbskull! Up!”

Relk quickly switches out with him in time to avoid the huge blast of wind. The rest of the gaggle follows. It’s stunning how capable he is. A flush of pride creeps through my feathers. I taught him that…

As we resume flying, Aijel and Relk continuously swap out for front. Sreeris even gets a few seconds to lead the group as well. I actually enjoy myself as I watch them fool around. The whole flock is laughing for the first time in days… no, weeks… No, they’re laughing for the first time since this mission started! Even Aijel spares a few chuckles. As we spread our wings and soar, I can’t help but remember my last assignment: I still have to name the flock. It seems impossible. We’ve been Fortis-Volant for what seems like forever. What name could possibly capture the essence of this group?

I think of the hunters that took Kalyna’s life and the crimson of the fox that nearly stole mine. I think of the red burn on Sreeris’ side and then, of the everlasting loyalty to my flock, a flame that can never be extinguished. And then a name emerges that is perfect for everyone. Perfect for Relk’s flaring stubbornness, for Sreeris’ dancing happiness, for Aijel’s burning grief over his sister. And perfect for me, too, in a way.

“Fire.” I whisper to myself. Fire is beautiful and deadly and relentless. “The Burning-Fire Gaggle.” It seems to fit.

A squawk escapes Relk’s beak, signaling our flock to turn. We curve across the sky like a majestic arrow. I’m flying back. We’ve been traveling for more than a month by now, and we still haven’t reached our destination. But we’re drawing close. This, I know for a fact.

Somewhere, mere miles away, the place of The Pull is peeking over the horizon.

The Master of Water

 

They said he could make water fall from the sky. He, in fact, could control the entire water cycle, where he could make sure that water was where it was needed and use it to fight evil when he wanted to. I should know because I am him. My name is Andy something-or-whatever, and I am the master of water. I just haven’t mastered it… yet.

I live in the mountains all by myself in a nice, little cabin in the forest up top. I grow my own fruit every day and take them down to the desert to sell. I am a vegetarian, so I can’t use the money to buy meat. Instead, I use it to buy little trinkets and sheets. I also like sand. It feels so weird to touch. But I got a guy. His name is Kermit the frog, and he’s a frog. After I buy my stuff, I eat my fruit and go to bed. I also spend a few hours training my water skills, but no dice. This is gonna take more time. But really, what’s my purpose? All I do every day is sell fruit and buy trinkets. Then, the next day, I sell fruit and buy trinkets. Then, again, and again.

Okay, so let me tell you about the desert. It is the worst place you have ever seen. It’s hot, there’s no water, and there are lots of killings. You can’t walk fifteen feet without seeing a dead guy. Why does all this killing happen? I’ll give you one word: gangs. Each gang runs its own business. I sell my fruit to all the gangs and do my buying. But how do all the other gangs get what they want? Raids. They all hate each other, so they’re not just gonna give others what they need and let peace be among the desert. I don’t like to buy trinkets anymore because I really hate Jym, the leader of the gang who controls it. I heard she also took control of the weaponry business, so now, she can pretty much kill whoever she wants.

***

Kermit had been raided. That was the first thing I saw when I went to sell fruits today.

“What happened!?” I asked in shock.

“It’s Jym!” he replied. “She stole all my sand! And my money!”

“Oh, she sucks. This is why I don’t buy stuff from her anymore! Do you know she has control over the sword business?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Ya know what? Someone should teach her a lesson!”

“Yeah,” I said. “Tonight, we should totally raid her. You’ll get your stuff back, and I’ll get a new sword. Or maybe, I’ll sell swords I steal from her.”

“So tonight, we steal-raid her and get our stuff back and then some.”

“But we’re only two people,” I replied.

“We’ll sneak in.”

It was set. That night we’d raid Jym.

***

“Oh, my god!” I said. “We’re gonna raid Jym! This is gonna be so fun!”

“Quiet,” said Kermit. “We don’t want her to know we’re here. If we get caught, it’s all over. And I’m selling you out.”

“Fair,” I said. We entered her gang town. Everything was pretty quiet. We saw a temple. “This is where she must be. Let’s go.”

“I don’t get it,” said Kermit. “I haven’t seen a single sword since we got in here.”

“They probably got them in the temple,” I said. We ran towards the temple. It was locked. “Gosh darn it, it’s locked!”

“A bone is very good lock pick,” said a voice.

“Oh hey, it’s Monk,” said Kermit. “He’s my master.”

“You have a master?” I asked.

“Yup,” said Kermit.

Monk opened the lock. “I just escaped,” he said. The temple was just one big room with a throne. It was vacant.

“No one’s here,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“No,” said Kermit. “We’re not leaving without my stuff! C’mon.”

Suddenly, the temple began to shake. The floor began to reel in towards the throne! Blackness was all we saw below. We all fell.

“GAAAAAAHHH!” we all yelled. We fell into a net. We heard laughing.

“HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!” It was Jym! “Trapped like rats!” The entire gang stepped out from behind the darkness! I saw something else. This gang had an overabundance of water. Water was something everyone desperately needed. They must have been hiding it!

“Show yourself!” Kermit demanded. She did. She had black hair and was only three feet tall! I heard she was 15. She was holding two swords.

“What should we do with them?” asked a man.

“We could all take turns stabbing them,” said Jym. I thought that was a horrible idea.

“We want answers!” said Kermit. “Where’s my sand!”

“You mean our sand!” said someone. “If we take something, it’s ours! We have done nothing illegal at all.”

“That’s what sucks about this place,” I said. “There is no law, or any organization of any kind! If there was, there wouldn’t be this much killing! And you wouldn’t be able to hide water from the other gangs!”

“That’s another reason to kill you!” said Jym. “You know our little secret.”

“If you kill us,” I said, “who’s gonna buy your little trinkets that I keep in my cabin.”

“Not my problem,” she replied. “Have at them!” I closed my eyes. They slowly came closer to us. Suddenly, I felt a raindrop. Then, another. All of a sudden, it started raining.

“No!” said Jym. “Not our clouds that we made. There are only a few of those every year! Get ‘em!”

“Stop right there!” said a voice. It was female. A little girl stepped out of the darkness.

“Koli!” she said. “Get her, too!”  

Koli took out a sword, which she used to cut us free. “Take these!” she said. She threw each of the three of us a sword.

“That’s nice and all,” I said, “but how do we get out of here!”

“I have a glider!” she said. “It can hold up to four people. Get on.” We all jumped on. She ran through the crowd and took off.

“Close the gate!” yelled Jym. The gate began to close. We went up.

“We gotta go faster!” said Kermit.

“Working on it!” said Koli. She increased her speed. The top was getting thinner. We had three, two, one, and it was closed.

We made it!

“Yes!” I said.

“We have to get back to Ama!” Koli said. “She’ll be thrilled to hear this!” We flew off.

Ama’s gang town was really nice. There was no temple, but everyone lived in huts. Ama’s hut was just the largest. There appeared to be a celebration of some sort. Koli flew down.

“We need to speak to Ama,” she told one of the guards. “This is important.” The guard opened the door.

“Come in,” said Ama. She appeared to be the gang leader. I think this gang specialized in tools. They were running low.

“This is shocking,” said Monk. “There is water in the temple of Jym’s gang. They have an underground base. Now they have control over all the weapons.”

“If they have the oasis, they’ll be unstoppable,” said Koli.

“What?” I asked.

“Water is the source most needed in this desert,” said Ama. “People would kill for it. Our forefathers were torn apart by it. That’s why there are gangs. Jym’s gang is evil. They won’t stop until they have control over all the gangs in the desert. And now they have all the weapons they want. If they have control over the oasis, they will be able to control all the gangs, even ours.”

“Why?” Kermit asked.

“Because this water is so desirable, all who seek it must serve the one who has it. That person must do anything he or she says for it. It’s actually the rule created by the water itself.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I said. “We can have peace. I am the master of water. I made it rain inside their temple.”

“You controlled the Jym cloud?” asked Koli.

“Yes,” I said. “At least I think I did.”

“Good,” said Ama. “We know the location of the oasis. Tonight, you will stay here, for tomorrow, we will journey to the oasis, and save this land. Another rule is that all voyages and long walks must start at dawn here.”

“Okay,” I said.

The three of us made sure we had a head start the next morning. We climbed the mountain. Wait. This was my mountain. I came down here every day.

“God, I just hope we’re going up this mountain early enough,” I said.

“Why is it we have a head start?” asked Kermit the frog.

“Because,” said his master. “I’m a monk. I sense something is fishy with them. Well, sort of. I just wanna keep an eye out. After all, they’re a gang too. They also have to fend for themselves.”

“But they want me on their side,” I said. “They want to bring peace to the world. There will be no more war, no more dead guys lying on the sand everywhere you look.”

“And that’s why I want to keep us ahead,” he replied. “To make sure that we do accomplish what you want.”

“Okay,” I said. “But let’s go. If they get to the oasis before we do, they’ll be all powerful.” We continued on. Soon, we would be at my cabin. We only had a few more miles to go. I just hoped to god they weren’t up ahead.

“How ya doing down there?” I yelled.

“Good!” Ama yelled.

***

My cabin in the forest. The summit wasn’t far.

“Hang on,” I said. “I have to get a few things from my cabin. I’ll be back soon. Just stay here.” I entered my cabin. I grabbed my pickaxe and rope. Then, a guy jumped out of the cabin and tried to strike me. Then, two other guys jumped out at me. I avoided them.

“Hey guys,” I said. “I gotta go.” I ran for the door.

“Oh no, you don’t,” one said. “Jym sent us to slow you down.”

“I know what you’re up to,” I said. “You plan to take control of the desert by getting to the oasis before we do.” I ran outside. “Guys! We gotta move! If we don’t get up top before them, we’ll be slaves! Well, I won’t. I don’t care for that stupid water!” I started climbing again.

“After them!” yelled a gang person.

“We have to go faster!” said Monk. “I have a plan. Climb sideways!” So we did. So did they. They climbed and climbed until they got to a ledge. They took a rest.

“Yes!” said Kermit. “See ya!” There was no way off.

“There’s no time to lose!” I said. “Keep climbing!”

We reached the top. The oasis was beautiful. “Yes!” I said. “We did it! Let’s wait. I’ll work on controlling the water.” I tried for five minutes. Come on, come on… nothing. “I can’t do it.”

“We only beat you by an hour and five minutes.” It was Jym.

“Were you waiting for five minutes to say that?” asked Kermit.

“Yes,” she replied. “I knew you were incapable of controlling the water. Push ‘em down.”

“Guys!” said Monk. “We need your help! Bring the giant bucket up, and we’ll fill it.”

“They won’t be able to help you!” said Jym. “We have weapons and trinkets. You have nothing. Prepare to die! Also, take care of them!”

“Protect the bucket,” said Koli. “We’ll take care of the rest. Attack!” Two gangs charged at each other. We took out our swords and buckets.

“Let’s fill this oasis,” I said.

“Get the buckets!” yelled Jym. Two guards grabbed our buckets and continued filling their main bucket. “Once this bucket is filled, it will provide infinite water.”

“No!” I yelled.

Ama and Koli arrived with the big bucket.

“Yes!”

They were charged at, but they were taking it pretty well. Jym had a duel with Ama.  

I think Jym said, “This is our water!”

“No,” Ama replied. “It is not. The thing is, that when I have the water, I will be all powerful and will rule the desert forever!”

“What?!” said Monk. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Now, you want the water for yourself?! No. It’s what you’ve wanted all along!”

“Okay!” said Ama. “Yes! I want it!”

“But why?” asked the monk. All the fighting came to a stop.

“I don’t feel like explaining anything to you!” said Jym. “We are taking this water, and all who crave it shall fall under my control!”

“I can’t believe this!” I said. “This is too much. I’m sick of this! I am done trying to restore peace to this desert!”

“That’s why we can’t share the water!” said Ama. “We hate each other! We hate all the other gangs in this desert! Even if it were possible to restore peace, why the hell would we want to?”

“Because our forefathers were torn apart by it!” yelled Monk. “Water is all something we will have in common! We won’t be hiding it at the bottom of underground cellars and what not!”

“Are we gonna listen to this?!” asked Jym. “Because I’m done!” The bucket was full.

“Give me that bucket!” yelled Ama. “I want to be all powerful!” They both took hold of it.

I had had enough!

“Enough!!!” I yelled. I was able to pull the water up from the bucket. “Since neither of you gangs are worthy of it, none of you should have it!”

“Yes!” said Kermit. “Destroy the water! I mean, throw it away!” Jym’s guards rammed into me. I dropped the water.

“No!” said Monk. Jym took the bucket.

“Now, let’s get out of here!” she said. They vanished without a trace.

“No, no, no!” yelled Ama. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“You’re right,” I said. “I was going to throw the water away, but then Jym’s idiot guards fricking rammed into me!”

“Cut him some slack!” yelled Monk. “My gut told me you weren’t being honest! I should’ve trusted my gut!”

“Oh, go die in a hole!” yelled Ama. “We shouldn’t have peace! It will only get us into boring lives where everyone is equal and treated equally!”

“That would be perfect!” I cut in.

“You three understand something!” she yelled. “Peace will never be able to happen! And now, Jym and her gang will control the entire desert!”

“No, they won’t,” I said with determination. “I have a plan, but you have to trust me! Okay?! Look. I’m probably the last person you want to listen to, but this could work!”

“Okay,” she said. “I want power, but if peace means stopping Jym, then not having it is okay.”

“We’re gonna make it rain, and expose her water.”

“We can fill the grand well,” said Kermit.

“I’m in,” said Koli. “Let’s do it!”

“Okay.” Monk asked, “How are we gonna pull this off?”

“If they don’t need the oasis water, they won’t have to be under the control of Jym and her gang. What we have to do is expose the water she has and dump it into the grand well. Then, we have to take the oasis water and dump it into the grand well.”

I could see Jym’s village. They were assembling everyone into the center of their town. It was now or never.

“Get on!” I said. We jumped on the glider and headed for her temple. Kermit shot a bunch of arrows. “Why’d ya do that?”

“I sent all villages a message. We would reveal a big secret at Jym’s village. We have to get there before she completes the ceremony and assembles everyone in the village. She will show one jug of water, and it’s all over.” Ama’s gang was in their village, preparing for war. They were making weapons.

An arrow was shot at our glider. It hit us.

“We’re gonna crash!” said Monk.

“We have three parachutes!” said Kermit. We all put them on and jumped. The glider crashed. We opened them and floated down to Percy’s village. (They make really good wheels. You should try ‘em.)

We got on a carriage. “To Jym’s village, and step on it!” I yelled.

“My senses tell me Ama’s gang is already there,” said Monk. We took off.

“Take us through the back,” said Kermit. Monk knew of this entrance to the temple. We went in. I looked up. The Jym cloud was above us. I made it rain a bit. Then, I heard cheering.

“Yes!” Jym yelled. “Now I have control over all the gangs in this desert.” We were too late. “Now, destroy all the other water,”  she said to a guard. “We have no use for it.” The temple pit opened. We fell in, but this time landed on our feet. No net there.

“Grab all the water possible and find a way out,” said Monk. Jym jumped down.

“Not so fast,” she said. “You’re too late. I am now all powerful!”

We grabbed all the water we could and made a run for it. Guards came after us. They destroyed all the other water kegs in sight. I dropped one. No! Jym threw an axe at me. I dropped all the water I had while trying to avoid the axe.  So did everyone else on my side. We needed a new plan. There was light.We ran up a slanted hallway to the outside world. We were exposed. We saw Ama’s gang fighting everyone. They could not do it alone.

“Get them!” said Jym. We ran and fought. Then, we scattered.

I ran through the streets with a mob of people chasing after me. I was then cornered in an alley. I tried to climb, but I couldn’t. Suddenly, I was shot up. A streak of water was coming out of both my hands. I went to the top of the building. I needed the giant bucket. I could now control small streaks of water freely, but not too much. Jym was with the bucket. I used water to fly to her, but I was struck down by a guy on a glider. Ama went up to the water bucket on the temple to fight Jym. They started dueling. Now was my chance. I shot up there and grabbed the bucket. I was wide open, however, and everyone started charging at me. I shot water at a few of them, but all it did was slow them down. I tried to lift the bucket with my powers but it was too strong. Kermit and Monk helped me carry it and we hopped buildings. I could use my power to keep us in the air, but that’s it.

“What’s your plan?” asked Kermit.

“I need to get the keg to the well, fast.” I replied. There was a way down. We needed Ama’s army to protect us or we weren’t gonna get very far. Jym still had power over the water and there for over everyone else (besides us). Ama’s army agreed to hold them back so we could get out of town. Ama and Koli followed us. We turned all the corners and were almost to the exit when suddenly it was blocked.

“Did you really think that we would just let you leave?” asked Jym. “I was working on something big. It’s called a flying vehicle.” It was so impressive, when I saw it. It was made of wood, it had a real propellor, and it was powered by people peddling in a cockpit. “Get in! All of you!” We took off. “Well, you’ve officially lost. I loaded the keg in the trunk, so you won’t have the chance to join me. You will die. Throw them out, when we get to high enough altitude.”

“Don’t do this,” said Ama. “A few hours ago, I was just like you, but now I have opened my eyes thanks to these three fine, young gentlemen. I have to thank you three for this, even though we won’t get what we want, I owe you a lot. Thank you.”

“Okay,” said Jym. “Let’s cut the small talk. Out ya go.” The door opened.

“Enough,” I said. The plane then tilted sideways. “You fell for it.”

“What?” asked one of Jym’s guards. “

“This,” said Monk. The oasis water broke through the trunk and fell out…

Right into the grand well.

“Yes!” I said. “Bullseye! The water doesn’t belong to you anymore. Any oasis water that is in the well is to be shared by all. It’s one of the rules of the oasis.”

“Right on target,” said Koli.

“No! No! No!” said Jym. “This isn’t over! I can still control the well and veto that law! It’s the law! Get out, all five of you!” She held a sword to my face.

“Okay,” I said. I grabbed the five of us, and we jumped. It was like skydiving, but without the parachute. We fell right into the well! That’s not everything. It rained across the entire desert. The water lifted us out. We went back to Jym’s town. Everyone was cured.

“How did you do it?” asked someone.

“Easy,” I said. “I controlled the water and took us to the well, so I could dump it there. I actually gave away my powers to form clouds and make it rain way more frequently. Soon there will be rivers, and lakes, and streams. Now Jym can’t control the well!”

Jym came down. “I’m really sorry.” she told Ama. “We should be friends and share everything instead of being forced to raid others.”

“You’re right,” she replied. “Let’s celebrate our bringing peace to the desert and our acceptance for each other!”

Everyone cheered. Yay!

I decided I would move to the desert and sell fruits there more easily. After all, it’s the best place you’ve ever seen. It’s beautiful, there’s lots of water, and there’s no killing. Why? I’ll give you one word: No gangs. So it’s two, but you get it. I’ll stop copying what I said earlier and say this is a world I can live in.

The Adventures of A Bird, Cat & Dog

         

Chapter 1 – Get that Crow

An orangey tinge fills the land, and puffy, pink clouds slowly tread across the sky. The sweet, rolling hills become hazy with a golden tinge. Sheep graze peacefully in the valley below. A gorgeous sea of trees above, it is quiet here. Nothing to bother me. Flying high above hills and valleys, I slowly and gracefully glide down to the farmland below, no one to be seen.

The shepherd and his dog tend to the sheep; the farm’s cat roams around catching mice and other pesky rodents. As for me, I am a crow. Considered an unwanted pest because my kind eats corn. So what? We have to survive somehow. I’m not going to eat a rotting mouse, that’s just gross. I’ll eat corn, thank you very much. Maybe if times are desperate enough, but for now I’ll stick with what the farm provides.

“Ey, Corn Head! Ged down from there! Yous ain’t allowed to eat dat!”

Oh no, that stupid cat noticed me. Great.

“My name is not ‘Corn Head.’ It is Will for the last time. And I am not eating your corn, Walter.”

“Don’t call me dat. Just ged off da corn,” Walter calls.

“No. I will not leave this corn.”

“Oh, I’m gonna get ‘cha Corn Head,” he sneers.

Oh no. Whoop, there he goes. Well, time to take off.

“Missed me!”

“Oof.” He crashes into the fence.

Stupid cat. Whoa! Up we go. I don’t want to fly into that tree. Oh hey, it’s Nix! Maybe he’ll get this cat off my trail.

“Nix! Excuse me! Hello, Nix!” I yell.

Nix ceases his herding.

“Oh hi, William, I didn’t see you there,” he calls back. “This is about Walter, isn’t it? I’ll take care of him.”

He appears to have read my mind. Oh thank heavens, that’s very helpful. This wears me out quite a bit. I look over my shoulder. Heh heh. Yes, get ‘em, Nix, go, go, go!

“AAAAAAAHH!!!!”

FWOOSH!

“Ugh, ow. Didn’t see that coming,” I mutter.

Aww man, I flew into a bush. I can’t believe I did that again. I almost flew right into the Dark Forest — that could’ve ended badly. I see Nix and Walter walking closer, they seem to be talking. I thought Nix was going to chase Walter away from the farm for good. I guess I thought wrong. They are muttering something about me. Why would they be? Maybe they are talking about my dashing looks. Or maybe they are talking about my amazing tricks. They’re coming closer. Oh, this doesn’t sound good. Nix looks mad, and oh, that wretched cat looks so smug. Oh geez.

“Uhh, hey guys,” I say nervously.

“William, come with me,” Nix growls.

“Eheheh, good luck, bird scum,” Walt hisses into my ear as he stalks away.

Nix and I walk deeper into the forest, as if we weren’t in far enough. Ugh, I bet this is about the corn. Nix gets very defensive about his farmer’s crops. Why? I don’t really know. Whenever he gives me this lecture, he always starts rambling about this thing called money. Money, money, money. When will Nix stop caring about human things and start caring about how hard it is for me to survive in the wild?

“Will, I don’t want to give you this lecture again. I have no idea how many times I have to tell you. Just please STAY AWAY FROM THE CROPS. You never listen. Why don’t you go scavenge or something? I think it would help my farmer stay in business if you left the crops ALONE. He needs money to keep his — ”

I cut Nix off. “Why should I care about all this money nonsense? You always go on about money this, money that. I keep eating his corn so that I can LIVE.” I sneer.

“Excuse me? Look, I care about you, Will, but please care about the man who provides your food. Without the farmer, you would have to look elsewhere, and elsewhere is probably farther away,” Nix explains.

I suddenly have this great idea. When Nix gets frustrated, he doesn’t really pay attention to detail. I could fly off into the woods and he would probably follow me, then I can teach him a lesson, show him how hard life is in the wild. Ah ha, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

“Okay Nix, fine I’ll go elsewhere to find food,” I say with a smug grin. “I’ll go forage in the Dark Forest.”

“William, don’t you dare fly off! I’m not done talking to you,” I fly farther into the woods. “Come back you filthy, flying corn stealer!”

Chapter 2 – Deeper In The Dark Forest

“Hey, you get back here! Don’t you dare run away from me, you bird scum!!” Nix is beginning to fade into the distance. We’ve been running for hours. I wait for him to catch up.

In the distance I hear, “Nix? Where’d ya go bud? Did yous chase dat jerk off? Hellooo?”

While I wait for those two to catch up, I look at my surroundings. The sun has set and leaves of gold, crimson, and auburn litter the ground. A river as dark as obsidian flows throughout the forest; it, too, is covered in golden leaves. A slight chill dances through the air. Twinkling crystals fill the wine colored sky. The trees appear to be in solemn wait, mourning the sun’s short disappearance. I hear leaves crunching — it’s Nix and Walter. They both look scared. Well, who wouldn’t be? Besides the residents of this forest, in fact, I live here. It isn’t too bad here; it really is quite fruitful.

“Where are we?” Walt asks quietly.

“We are in the Dark Forest, my home,” I reply. “Welcome.”

Walter and Nix exchange shocked looks. Nix’s expression immediately hardens.

“Let’s go,” Nix growls. “I want to find a good place to sleep.”

“I can show you a good place to sleep! I can even find some food for you,” I shout.

“No, you’ve helped enough. Come on, Walter.” Nix snarls.

“Well if I can’t help you, then I am going to tag along at least. Who knows? You might need me at some point,” I grumble.

We start to walk, leaves crunching under my feet. Wind ruffles my feathers. I look at Nix: his long, black and white fur flits in the wind. His ears are pricked and alert, his fluffy, black tail stiff. I have a feeling he’s worrying about being stuck in this place. He’s a brave soul, very confident in his actions. He is totally out of it right now.

Nix and I go way back. We’ve known each other for three years so far. I was a tiny chick when I met him, I was still learning how to fly. Later, I was flying with my murder, and something happened. I don’t remember what occurred, but I do remember being knocked down by a dead crow. I was trapped under its wing, both in the air and on the ground. Since I couldn’t move or wriggle out, I squealed and chirped for help. Nix had come and pulled the dead bird off me. He nursed me back to health and brought me back to his farm, and from then on, Nix and I had hung out quite a bit. I love Nix. I really hope he’ll forgive me for snapping at him…

I look over at Walter; his tail is tucked between his legs. His ears are plastered to his head. His striped, orange fur is puffed out. His green eyes are wide, and his pupils are huge. He is definitely not in his zone, jumping at every sound. Occasionally, he gives a small squeak. Walt is not exactly the most confident guy. He tries so very hard to act confident, but I don’t think anyone really buys the act.

I met Walter after I met Nix, we met in the field where the sheep graze. He was cold, wet, and hungry. No signs of living with a human, no collar, no nothing. We took him to the barn, and Nix brought him some food. I don’t really understand why he hates me even though he’s known me for a year. He is truly a good cat at heart, I know that. It’s just hard not to hate him. I guess it must have to do with his predatory instincts or something like that.

We walk farther into the forest in silence. There is a lot of tension in the air, and fear. Fear is emitting from the two farm dwellers, tons of it.

“Guys, what are we doin’ here?” Walter mumbles.

“Looking for a place to sleep. And maybe something to eat,” Nix says.

“Are we stayin’ long? I really hope not, this place is givin’ me the creeps,” Walt enquires.

“I agree, Walt. This place is also creeping me out,” Nix responds. “I don’t think we’ll stay long.”

The trees begin to thin out; silver streams of light slide through the gaps. The light brightens as we walk farther. The shining stars appear to shine brighter as the trees come to a complete stop, as if they are happy to have us among them. I stare in awe at the moon who provides the most mystifying light.

Nix walks to the middle of the clearing and stares at the beautiful painting that is the sky. Walter slowly pads over, staring at the sky as well. This is one of the reasons the forest is fruitful: it is full of life, berries, food, and gorgeous scenery.  Here in this clearing, the obsidian river thins into a creek and flows like silver silk. Stunning.

I stay at the edge of the forest, watching. I fly over to my friends and perch on a nearby rock. We sit together, staring, amazed by this scene.

I’m the first to break the silence. “It’s quite a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Yea, it is, ain’t it?” Walter whispers. “Why are we here? Dat’s one thing dat sticks out to me, though. It kind of feels like ‘oh here we go, let’s go run inta da forest and never go back to da farm.’ Is that why we’re here? Are we runnin’ away?”

No one answers. Nix and I exchange a look. I turn away — I’m not in the mood for this. I don’t really feel that bad, but I feel stupid now. I wanted to make Nix pay, but what am I really doing? I’m just leading my friends into danger. Soon, it will be winter, which is in a few days. I need to get them back. I shouldn’t have done this without thinking. This is my fault, and I have to fix it now. Let’s just hope I can get them out before it snows. I don’t really want to say anything yet, I think I’ll just go and suggest that we get some rest. I think we could use it. We have a long way to go.

Chapter 3 – The First Frost

I wake up and stretch my wings. I peer around, and my eyes become wide with shock. The leaves, the grass, everything is edged with sparkling crystals. Cold crystals. The chill is stronger. I fly over to the creek; it’s ice cold. I hop over to my friends. Their whiskers are covered in tiny crystals.

“Guys, wake up.” I nudge Nix’s shoulder. “Come on, you big, sleepy doofus!”

“Huh, waz happenin’?” Unsurprisingly, Walter is the second to wake up. He likes to wake up early.

“Nix won’t wake up,” I complain.

“‘Course dat big ol’ bozo won’t wake up,” grunted Walt.

“Wha?” Nix babbles. His head is in the air, but his eyes are still closed.

“Mornin’ sunshine. William here says yous wouldn’t wake up,” Walter snickers. “Ya look like a giant fluffball.”

It’s true though, his fur is all untidy. Grass bits and leaf litter are stuck in his long coat. His eyes are still closed. He’s not a morning dog.

“I’m hungry, where can we find things to eat?” rasps Nix.

I think about Nix’s question. We’re still in a part of the forest I know, so if I’m correct, there should be some edibles around. I can find nuts, berries, and practically anything for myself, and a good hunting ground for Nix and Walter. Let’s just hope we can at least get a little food. I think the frost has killed most plants, and most prey have hidden.

“Walter, you’re obviously fine with eating mice and rabbits, correct?” I question Walt.

“Ya know it!” Walter agrees.

“Nix, what about you? Would you hunt down, kill, then eat what you just killed?” I ask, addressing Nix this time.

“I suppose, I mean, I kind of have to. I can’t eat fruit or anything like that, I’m a carnivore,” Nix explains.

“Okay, so now that you two have confirmed that, I’ll lead you to a hunting ground. If I can find it,” I respond.

I fly low to the ground. We exit the clearing we had slept in. As we enter the forest, the chill becomes even frostier. I fly around trees and bushes; it gets warmer after a little. We near the hunting ground. Trees begin to thin yet again, but they are not cut short. The growth of bushes has stopped. Crimson, auburn, and gold flutter all around the area, the green grass is completely covered.

Walter takes a deep breath in.

“Smells like most of da prey scattered,” he comments. “I don’t know if we gonna have much luck, but we betta get to it. Whateva’s left is probably not dat big.”

“Walt’s right. I’m not sure if I’ll actually catch anything, due to my lousy hunting skills, but it’s worth a try,” Nix states.

“Okay, so the both of you are set. I’m not going to be staying to hunt, even though I can basically eat everything. I’m going to be foraging. I won’t be too far off. I’ll be at the edge of the hunting grounds, call me if you need anything,” I explain.

“Bye, Will!” Nix and Walt holler as I fly off.

“We will call you if we need anything!” shouts Nix.

I don’t have to fly very far, as I said. Berry bushes and walnut trees begin to appear as the trees become denser. I land close to a wild blueberry bush. I poke around it, scanning for any ripe berries. Most of them are shriveled up, another act of the wicked frost. I find about three good blueberries. I leave the berries in a small nook in a rock. I fly a little farther away from the hunting ground. Soon, I spot a clump of raspberry bushes. A majority of these leaves are as black as death. No plant is safe at the hands of the vile frost. I find only a few berries from the huge clump of bushes, maybe five or six. I bring them back to the rock. I continue my search, looking for nuts this time. I recall seeing a walnut tree before. I fly above the trees and look for the long leaves, long spindly stems, the huge branches, and of course, the clumps of walnuts.

I soon spot the walnut tree—this bears the most food so far. I search the floor for the small, brown nutshells. There are plenty of green fruits, they fill the air with a citrusy smell. Only very few fully matured nuts are on the ground. I pick up two of the large nuts in my beak and fly back to the rock to drop them off. I spread my wings and prepare to take off again when I hear the crunching of leaves under foot.

I turn around to see Nix and Walter. Their pickings are way slimmer than mine. They have only managed to catch a small vole and a boney-looking rabbit.

“Wow, that is way less than I expected!” I exclaim.

“I know, right,” Nix says putting down his vole. “I thought we’d get at least more than two scrawny critters.”

“Well, I told ya, whateva would be left wouldn’t be much.” Walt shrugs.

“Enough talking about our small catch. What’d you get, William?” inquires Nix.

“Yea, what did ya collect?” Walt asks, curious.

I look down at what I have. It’s not much, but it will keep me going for a little while.

“I have three blueberries, six raspberries, and two walnuts. It’s not much, and no offense to you two, but I have way more than you do,” I report.

“Oh, I’m not offended, it is easier to find plants and whatever it is you eat,” Nix agrees.

“I can safely say dat it would be easier to forage,” Walter comments.

“Let’s eat. We don’t have very much time left. The sun is already beginning to set. We’re going to have to find somewhere to sleep soon,” I announce.

Chapter 4 -The Badger

We are now starting to look for shelter. We have finished our puny meals. We walk and walk and walk. My feet begin to hurt. After three hours of walking, I start flying. The sun and moon battle for control of the sky. The moon slowly takes over the sun. The sky slowly begins to darken, from a beautiful, honey orange to a harsh, plum purple. We trot under the painted sky and sturdy, waiting trees. Leaf litter under foot gives off a strange, musty smell. The shining orb in the sky provides us with an enchanting light; it makes the spooky forest seem more magical.

“Hey Nix, come check this out,” I yell over my shoulder.

Nix pads over to me, Walt following. I have found a large hole. I don’t know if we can all fit inside, though.

“Um, I think that’s way too small,” Nix squeezes into the hole. “Walt, try wriggling in next to me.”

Walt doesn’t speak a word, he just attempts to shove himself into the hole. Walt slides in — it’s surprising that he fits. I slide in easily, but it’s a tight fit. I really don’t think this would be a sufficient sleeping place. I bet we look super squished right now. I’m not even on the floor, I’m on top of Walter.

“Dis is weird, man,” Walter hisses.

“Yeah, no kidding, my butt is so squished,” Nix grumbles.

“An’ poor Will isn’t even on da floor,” Walt adds.

“I do not think this is a good spot at all,” I admit.

“Okay, everyone out. This is really uncomfortable,” Nix sniffs.

We all try to scramble out at once, but we get stuck, and even more uncomfortable.

“This is not good at all,” I squeak.

“I can’t move,” Walter sputters.

“Okay, I’m going to get out first, I take up the most room. It’ll be easier when I get out,” Nix claims.

Walter and I wait as Nix scrapes himself out of the hole. It takes him a while, but soon enough, he scrambles out. Walter and I have tons of space to move around. Nix is one big dog. I flit off of Walt and let him crawl out. Then, I strut into the open.

“Well, that didn’t go very well. We should keep looking,” I comment.

No one objects. We continue to search.

***

“Huff puff huff… Can… we… please… stop walkin’…?” Walter breathes.

“Fine, we can stop for a second,” Nix sighs.

We have been following the creek for two hours now. Walter drags himself to the creek and takes huge gulps of ice cold water. Nix sits down and licks his sore paws. I decide to explore the area — I’ve never seen this place before. I hope we don’t get lost; I know most of the forest. I probably know this place in the daytime, but right now I have no idea. I think a nice badger lives somewhere around here; I’m really not sure though. I look around some more. I find an area that seems to elevate like a little hill. Near the base of the hill, there is a cave or hole of some sort.

I flap over to Nix, who is still licking his paws.

“Nix! Nix. I found a big hole or cave, it’s something like that, anyway. Back to my point, I think we could all fit in it,” I squawk.

“Show me.” Nix ceases licking his paws and stands up.

I lead him over to the big, open hole-cave thing. I look up at Nix. He looks shocked. This is the biggest shelter we’ve seen so far.

“Hey Walter, come look at this,” Nix says, eyes still on the opening.

“Why!?” Walter snaps.

“Because you should,” Nix retorts.

“Fine!” Walter shouts.

“Why are you so cranky?” I inquire.

“‘Cause I am, deal wif it,” Walt hisses.

“Just come over here,” Nix snarls, beginning to get frustrated.

Walter drags his paws as he sulks over.

“Look at what William found,” Nix says.

“Why should- oh, whoa,” Walt murmurs.

“I think it’s big enough for all of us!” I exclaim.

Nix pops in first. “There’s room for all of us!” he cries.

I flutter into the hole, then look up at Walter. He gives a small grunt and forces

himself in the hole. We all have plenty of space.

“It smells weird in here,” Walter mumbles.

Nix glares at him.

“But, we can sleep here,” Walt says, frightened.

Nix puts his head down on his paws and falls asleep. Walter turns away from Nix towards me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “This trip has just been so exhaustin’, I really hope we can ged home. I bet Nix does too, don’t ‘cha think?”

“I do, I mean he’s a been a great leader helping us through this trip. I agree, I hope we can get back to the farm,” I reply.

“Winter’s comin’. I can smell it. I don’t think wes gonna make it before it snows. So, I don’t know bud,” Walt whispers.

“Yeah…” I mumble.

“‘Night lil’ bird,” breathes Walter.

“Good night,” I murmur.

***

Rustle, rustle.

I wake up startled. I hear a strange, rustling sound. No one else seems to notice it. The sun isn’t even fully up in the sky yet. Not very much light filters into the hole.

Rustle, crunch.

“Walter. Walter! WALTER! WAKE UP!” I shout.

I end up waking up Nix and Walt. Nix falls back asleep right away.

“What?” Walter murmurs.

“Do you not hear that?” I whisper frantically.

“Hear what?” Walter asks.

Rustle rustle.

“Oh dat, it’s probably Nix. Guy fidgets a lot in his sleep.” Walter looks over at Nix.

I also stare at Nix.

Crunch, snuff.

Nix isn’t moving, he’s as still as a stone.

“Yeah okay, if dat’s not Nix,” Walter turns to face me, eyes wide. “Then who or what is dat?”

The rustling sounds begin to grow louder.

Snuff, grunt.

I feel air blow on my back; Walt seems to have felt it too. A low growl comes from behind us. Walter and I turn around slowly.

A monstrous creature, much bigger than Nix, stands in front of us. It is way taller on its powerful hind legs. Tiny ears, rounded, pointed and alert. Yellowish, deadly fangs, drool dripping from its huge mouth. Its face is scrunched up in a snarl, a white stripe down the middle of its face and small beady eyes.

“GRRROWL!” the creature roars.

Nix is suddenly wide awake. The huge animal lunges towards him. Nix scrambles away from it and hides behind Walter and I. This can’t be the end.

The Nightmare After My 16th Birthday

 

            

“Ouch,” I said as I bumped my head on the corner of my nightstand.

The clock read 6:00 a.m., and the sun was ever so slightly peeking out from the sky. I loved days like this when I woke up early and got to see the sunrise right out my bedroom window. It was summer, the best time of the year: no school, no rules, just my favorite thing in the world: softball.

[Pause.]

Hello world, my name is Autumn, and this is the story of something that happened in my life that changed it forever. I was just a normal teenager, living her life like a normal teenager would do, when all of a sudden, my life changed drastically. I don’t want to give too many spoilers, but let me just say that I never ever would have seen this coming. I live in Los Angeles with my mom, dad, and brother. And this tragedy happened a week after my sixteenth birthday.

[And back to the story.]

Buzzzz, buzzzz, my phone rang. It was my dad.

“Hello… Bailey?”

“Uhm, this is Autumn.”

“Hi Autumn, this is Brad. Can I please speak to your mother?”

“Yeah, is there something wrong… Where’s my dad?”

“Can you please put your mother on the phone?”

His voice sounded angry, but delicate at the same time. Like he just found out a shocking secret that he wasn’t suppose to know. Brad, my dad’s best friend slash colleague. Why would he call me on my dad’s phone asking for my mom? I sat, thinking about what could have possibly happened. They were both supposed to be gone the whole week on a business trip, but Brad would never call me just to ask to talk to my mom. I handed the phone to my mom, and as soon as she heard Brad and the light tone in his voice, she told me to go away.

I walked back to my room, stressed, scared, worried. I tried not to worry about it that much, but the thought in my head kept coming back. I got ready to go hang out at the mall with my best friend because I realized that I couldn’t wrap my head around this all day. Her name was Violet, and we’d been friends since kindergarten… Eleven years, holy cow. She was my other half and always had been. We did everything together, literally everything. Except, well, she got her license before me. Uhhh… I kind of failed my first test, so I was praying I’d be able to pass the next week.

By the time I was out my bedroom door, my mom was off the phone. I was so curious to know what the phone call was all about, but I was certain it’s none of my business. My brother, Noah, finally woke up and something about him seemed off too, but was he ever not off? I didn’t know what was going on with everybody that day but as of that moment, I really didn’t care anymore. I was out the door, ready to forget my horrible morning.

“Hey,” said Violet.

“Hey,” I said in a grouchy way.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing much… It’s no big deal.”

“Come on, It’s no big deal. You only say that when it is a big deal. ”

“Okay… my dad’s best friend called me this morning, and he seemed off. He called just to ask me to put my mother on the phone. It sounded like something serious happened.”

“I think I might know what that’s about. Last night, your mom called my mom. I overheard them talking, and when my mom hung up, she told me that your dad was in a deadly car accident and sent to hospital. I was going to call you, but my mom said that you didn’t know yet, and she told me not to tell you. I’m so sorry, Autumn.”

At first, I couldn’t believe what she had just told me, but I knew that she would never lie to me. Although, something about it didn’t add up in my head. Why wouldn’t my mom or brother tell me something this big? I felt hurt that my mom would tell her “best friend” before she would tell me, but I was even more scared of finding out the truth.

I hopped out of the car and stormed into my house. I slammed the door behind me as hard as I could to make sure my mom and brother heard me coming in.

“MOM!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

No answer. I started running around the house looking for her.

“MOOOOM!” I shouted again.

“Dude, stop yelling,” said my brother. “She’s upstairs.”

I ran upstairs to my parents’ bedroom. She wasn’t in her bed nor in her closet getting dressed. The last noticeable place I looked was the bathroom. I crept in, thinking she would be there and, to my favor, she was. There she was, sitting on the bathroom floor. Her eyes looked watery and red, and she had the most depressed look on her face. I sat down next to her.

“I want to know why Brad called this morning asking for you on dad’s phone,” I blurted out.

“Honey, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, but I didn’t know how.” She started sobbing.

She took a deep breath and continued.

“Last night your dad was in a really bad car accident. They took him to the hospital with broken bones and blood all over his body. They did everything they could to save him, but…”

Her body began trembling and her voice started trailing off. Tears rolled down her face, and I could now see that this rumor was true. I couldn’t believe it. My dad was dead.

I thought about this for a moment and wondered how this could even be true. I just talked to my dad yesterday morning and he seemed fine, but now all of a sudden he was dead. I didn’t really know what to do, how to act, what to say. And then it hit me, and it hit me hard. Tears rushed down my face faster than I had ever known they could. I just kept crying and I couldn’t stop. At that moment I had just realized that I would never be able to see the best man I knew talk or walk or dance ever again. Memories of us going to baseball games together and riding our bikes around town flashed through my head. I remembered when I was little, my dad would always go on bike rides in the morning, and one day I said I wanted to go with him and so he taught me how to ride a bike. And I remember trying out for a competitive softball team and I was so nervous and he told me I could do it and in the end I actually made the team. My dad was basically my best friend. Besides Violet, he was the only other person who always listened to what I had to say and always had my back. He never kept any secrets from me like my mom always does, and he took care of me like a dad should. I never got the chance to even tell him that and now I really hated myself for not doing so.

***

Doors opened and closed, and I could smell the scent of hand sanitizer all around. There were loud sirens in the parking lot and a quiet waiting room filled with frantic people. I did not like that; heck, I didn’t even want to be there. The only reason I even came was to officially say goodbye to my dad before we buried him. There was no point in even trying to talk to him when I knew he couldn’t hear me. He was gone, and he was gone forever.

“The Spencer Family?”

We all stood up and followed her. I hesitated because I was not sure if I was ready to witness what would come. But I guessed I was as ready as I could’ve ever been. We walked down a long, narrow hall. It was very quiet and there weren’t many nurses around. I guessed that was where they put people who didn’t make it, for their family. We stopped at the end of the hall and the nurse turned the knob to a white door. My mom and brother rushed in, but I decided to wait outside for a moment. I took a deep breath in then out, and I followed behind, closing the door after me.

I saw Brad sleeping in the corner, waiting for us to arrive. I turned my head slightly to the right and there he was, laying there as if he was sleeping. My mom and brother huddled around him crying their eyes out. I slowing got closer and closer until I could see his face: his emotionless, pale face. I started breathing faster and faster, heart racing. I could feel water build up in my eyes. I took one more step closer and held up my dad’s hand. I tangled his fingers with mine so that I was holding on and couldn’t let go.

“Autumn,” Brad said.

I turned around and he pulled out something. He handed me a bracelet, one that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was my dad’s; he only ever wore it when he was away from home. It said, “You will never be alone, never.” At that moment I started balling my eyes out but only because I knew that I would be alright.

         

A New Perspective

This story is about race. Well, actually, it’s about me, but it’s also about race. You see, race was not a real issue in my house. We never talked about it at the dinner table, and when it would come up on the news, we would simply ignore it. It never came up at school either. I lived with my dad and my sister, so we were a pretty small family unit and mostly had the same conversations about the stock market, politics, and school. Most of the time, my dad wasn’t even home because he had to work. He always had to work because he ran one of the biggest hedge funds in the country. Every time he planned something for the three of us, I would get a call, and he would say, “Honey, I have to work. You understand, right?” It was a bit disappointing, but my sister Blake’s lively personality more than made up for his absence. She’s the best performer at school and has a small acting gig outside of school too. She would regale me with over-exaggerated stories about her day and act out almost every single action.

At school, I was just another white girl, and I was treated normally. This brings me back to race. Sure, we had the occasional conversation about the Civil Rights Movement on Martin Luther King Day, but it’s not like any of us were paying attention. I went to a pretty small school occupied by mostly white people except for one Asian teacher. Everyone knew each other, and we were all friends. There was no need to ask those awkward first-time questions because we had all been at the school since kindergarten.

My life was perfect until my dad told me that I would have to switch schools for high school. He wanted me to have new experiences before college. So I began my freshman year at a local private school named Emerson. I was not too happy that I would have to spend the entire year with my head glued to a desk, trying to catch up.

When I walked in, I took a name tag and was immediately swept up in a large crowd of people. I had never seen such a mix of people. There were black people, Indian people, Latinos, and Chinese. They were all speaking in multiple languages fluently and seemed to be star athletes, judging by their muscles. I was amazed by the bright lobby and the nonstop flow of kids just walking in as if they were stars. There was a big television screen at the far end of the room that displayed a live video feed of all the kids walking into the building. I was so overwhelmed by the school, I ran up the stairs to my homeroom. It was on the fifth floor, next to a shiny row of lockers. I chose one and then entered the room. It was big for my standards and had a nicely sized whiteboard and projector. A tall man walked up to me and shook my hand.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Kravis, and you must be Sara. You can go to the back and introduce yourself.”

Before I could answer, he walked past me and hugged the student behind me. I went to the back of the room and immediately saw that the kids had racially grouped themselves. The white girls were sitting at one corner, and the black girls at another. There was a small group of Chinese kids sitting in the middle and a few Latinas next to them. They all had very exclusive looks on their faces. I naturally walked over to the white girls and sat down.

The girls laughed before one asked me, “What’s your name?” I told them my name was Sara. Another asked, “You are so pretty, what are you?” I told them I was white, but for some reason, they did not believe me. They simply laughed and walked away.

So maybe I lied a bit. I mean, it’s not something I really talk about. My dad is white, I’ve grown up around a completely white family, but there is one dirty little secret that we don’t talk about. When my dad was young, he met a beautiful Tunisian woman on his travels to Paris. They fell in love, and he brought her back to the states. But his family did not approve and forbade him from seeing her again. They would sneak around and have dates for years. She had two children (me and my sister) before she died from a terrible accident. We don’t talk about her because my dad is still embarrassed, and his family acts like it never happened. From time to time, I feel badly that my dad does not recognize my mother and therefore does not see a certain side of me. I’ve only seen one picture of her. So sure, one could say I am black, but I don’t consider myself black. I mean, I hardly interact with them, and their problems have never affected me. I am just not black. Plain and simple.

When I got home, I checked the mail and saw a letter from the Students of Color League. I was infuriated! “I am not black,” I shouted out loud.

My sister, who happened to be in the room, started engaging me. “What do you mean, you are not black?”

“I’m just not, I… no… yuck… no!” I was surprised with my sister’s question.

“You know what, I think you should go because I think it will honestly open your eyes.” My sister was totally being an adult right now.

“Since when do you identify as black?” I had honestly never heard my sister speak like this.

“I’m not saying I identify as black, I’m just saying that I have come to acknowledge that being black is a part of who I am, and I can’t just ignore it.”

My sister was getting really persistent and kind of annoying. But she made a convincing argument, so I went to my room and asked my magic eight ball if I should go. The magic eight ball said yes, so I decided that the next day I would go.

That night, I dug out the picture of my mom and stared at it long and hard. She was really pretty and had some of the most delicate features I had ever seen. She had honey brown skin and big, red lips that seemed to be perfect. Her hair was short and frizzy, kind of like mine. Sure, I look like my dad, but I am almost my mother’s twin when it comes to facial features. Except for my fair skin, it felt like I was looking into a mirror. I took the picture into my room and fell asleep with it resting on my heart. It was a deep yearning to know my mother and a certain part of me.

The next day, I walked into the room where the meeting was held and waited for the other members to come. They were really welcoming and really had an inspiring goal. They wanted to create racial equity and diversity within the school. I thought that was pretty cool, so I decided to stay longer than I had planned. We passed around a beanbag and gave a brief description of our background and why we wanted to join. When it came time for me, I paused before I started speaking.

“Well… I really don’t know what I am, you know? I mean, I was raised by all white people, but my mom was black, so I really don’t know. I came here to learn about myself and experience the real black experience.”

The rest of the kids looked at me as if I had said something wrong. The leader of the club broke the silence and addressed me.

“There is no one black experience. I mean, look around the room. Alicia is half-Vietnamese and was born in St. Lucia. She speaks Vietnamese, French, and English. She can make the best Caribbean roti you will ever taste and the best Vietnamese noodles, too. What about Graciela? Her mom is from Peru, and her dad is African-American. She grew up eating traditional Peruvian food as well as hot dogs from Gray’s Papaya. Look, we all have unique experiences, but we are all equally black. You should be proud of all the different experiences you have had and the ones that you will encounter in the future.”

I was awestruck. I had never met so many different people who were so proud of their many different heritages. We delved into a beginner conversation on the recent events that had been happening throughout the country. Several innocent black men had been shot by the police, and the Black Lives Matter movement was speaking out. They were outraged about the police brutality that had been going on. Many of the kids in the room shared their own personal stories about being wrongfully stopped by the police and racial bias or microaggressions that they had experienced. I felt like the odd one out because I did not have a story, so I just listened intently and tried to form my own opinions. When I got out of the meeting, it was as if a white cloth had been lifted from my face, and I had finally connected with my black side.

When I went home later that day, my dad was surprisingly there. He wanted to take my sister and me out for dinner, and we happily obliged. We went to Ristorante Morini on Madison Avenue near our house. It was as soon as we sat down that I remembered all that I had learned today.

I was so excited, I didn’t even think before I opened my mouth and blurted out, “What do think about the Black Lives Matter movement?”

My dad seemed stunned. He almost choked on his pinot noir. “Well… I… um… I beg your pardon?” He seemed to be totally caught off guard.

“I said, what do you think about the Black Lives Matter?” I was sure he knew what I said, and I waited patiently for an answer.

“I think they are a bunch of crazy, black extremists that resemble the likes of the Black Panther Party that was devised from the hatred of white people. It is an anarchy that wants to destroy the very foundation that this great nation was founded on.”

I was surprised by his harsh response. “But this great nation was founded by men who had slaves, slaves who suffered for over two hundred years.” I thought it was a pretty insightful retort.

“Yes, but does that mean they need to destroy everything that we have done, reverse the progress we made?” His face was getting red, and his palms were getting sweaty.

“But what if that progress was totally against us?” I was getting angry.

“Who is us?” My dad seemed shocked that I had referred to myself and Blake as black.

“I just thought you would be more sensitive to these things considering you have two daughters who are black.” I genuinely thought my dad was more open minded than this.

“I do not have two black daughters. I have two white daughters and I will not have you insult our family by suggesting anything else. I am not black, and no one I identify myself with is black! I want nothing to do with them, and I don’t want to hear another word about this Black Lives Matter nonsense!”

For the rest of the dinner, we sat in silence. I ate a plate of pasta that tasted like disappointment in my father. Disappointment that he is racist and refuses to accept his past and our future.

After the events of dinner with my father, I decided I needed to immerse myself in the league. I started having more in-depth conversations with fellow members and writing my feelings in a small notebook I bought from Papyrus. I wrote down my frustration with my father and his lack of empathy. As I continued writing, it turned into poetry. The poetry let me enter a different world, where I was in control, and I understood exactly who I was. As well as self improvement, I also wrote about current events and all of the opinions the league held on our nation today. I used my poems to inspire young children of color to speak out against the racism of the world and the horrible violence committed against them. The poems healed me, and I was eager to share them with my peers. So one day during a meeting, I got up in front of them and just started reciting lines.

“I feel black in my bones. I feel black in my heart. I feel black in my soul. Why should I be ashamed? Why should I hide? As the black drips off of me like fresh paint, I think about my new color. Does it fit? Is this really how I want to spend the rest of my life? Yes!”  

Some of the other kids were so inspired, that they asked if they could join me in making poetry speaking to the racism in this country. I was delighted and decided to make a project of it. I asked the head of high school if we could present them at a student assembly. I was so proud that I had truly found myself, I wanted to share it with the world. I wanted to get at the forefront of black power and the improvement of the perception of black people. Secretly, I wanted my dad to come and accept me. I thought that if he heard the beautiful art I was making with a pencil, he would change his mind about black people. I knew it was going to be hard to accomplish, but I was ready to climb this very tall mountain. The headmistress was delighted by the idea and jumped at the prospect of talking about politics with the students. My friends and I started practicing most days after school, while trying various types of iced tea at Starbucks and treats from Le Pain Quotidien. It was really fun, and at the same time, I was really getting to know myself and what being black meant to me, which was my first poem. It was really short, but it definitely opened my eyes.

“What does black mean to me? It means hope. It means power. It means never giving up. And most of all, it means me.”

As the weekend approached, I thought it would be fun to throw together a family dinner with my grandparents, aunt, and uncle. I would also invite my friends so we could give them a backstage tour and preview to our upcoming show that we had named Fierce. For the dinner, I hired a chef to come over and cook a simple, yet elegant meal. She made a carrot soup, a beet salad, a pappardelle, crispy French duck breast with mashed potatoes and swiss chard, and a vanilla cake. My family arrived first, baring lavish gifts and wine.

My grandmother glided into the room.“Sara! Oh honey, it’s so good to see you! You look great! How are you?” She had this kind of fake and proper voice that made me want to barf sometimes. It was almost like a mixture of Queen Elizabeth and Kim Kardashian. We hugged, and she presented me with a mink jacket from Dolce and Gabbana. I was not much of a high-end fashion person, but I graciously accepted the gift.

“Thank you so much Grandma Muffin. It’s gorgeous.” I tried to hide my sarcasm.

After some light chatter about flowers and debutante balls, my friends came.

“Hey girl,” said Sam, Jenaveve, and Ebony.

I was so excited that I was going to have some people with real personalities at dinner. My grandparents did not engage my friends one bit. They simply said “Hello,” and stared at them the entire cocktail hour, with their faces hiding behind wine glasses as if they were better than my friends.

When we finally sat down for dinner, the chef brought out drinks first. My grandmother was really chugging down the martinis. My aunt made sure to ask for the most expensive bottle of wine we owned, and when my friends all asked for soda, my aunt looked at them like they had just flashed her.

“Don’t you want something fancier?” my aunt asked Sam.

“Oh, that’s fine, I’m good with a Sprite.”

My aunt would not take no for an answer though. She just kept pushing. “Well, if you don’t know the names, or you can’t pronounce them, I can help you.”

Sam’s face suddenly looked as though a dark cloud was blocking the usually sunny face. “I just wanted soda, ma’am.”

I wanted to stick up for her, but I just couldn’t. My family wields a lot of power in this city. They’re rich, and if they don’t get their way, bad things happen. When my dad was little, he got a B- on a final Spanish exam, so they sent him to the war-stricken Nicaragua where he was forced to take care of a large farm for sixteen hours a day. With the hot sun beating down on him, he got heat stroke and had to be hospitalized, but his parents still made him stay for another month. So if I say anything to my aunt about the blatant racism she displays, I might end up on some war base in Syria, fighting for my life.

As the soup came out, my grandmother ordered even more vodka and started totally interrogating Ebony. “So Ebony, you’re such an exotic girl! Does your name mean something exotic in your country?” My grandmother was speaking very loudly and slowly, as if Ebony was stupid or something.

“Hey Grandma, chill!” I was embarrassed and trying to keep her from going overboard.

“Actually, I’m from New York, and my parents are too. They just liked the name because it sounded pretty.”

I could tell that Ebony was really trying to have a positive attitude. My grandmother, on the other hand, seemed really disappointed. She reached across the table and touched Jenaveve’s hand.

“Excuse me, young lady, do your parents work at our granddaughter’s school?”

“Shut up, Grandma!” I whispered to her and then kicked her leg under the table.

Jenaveve, who was talking to my sister, looked at my grandmother. “My parents do not work at Emerson, but I do know some kids whose parents are teachers.”

My grandmother looked puzzled, so she kept prying. “So how did you get into Emerson?”

Jenaveve looked astonished that anyone would ask that question, but she kept her cool and answered thoughtfully. “I filled out an application and went to an interview like everyone else.” She smiled at my grandmother.

“But how? I mean, was there some connection or assistance that you got? I mean you must have gotten something special.”

Jenaveve looked utterly stunned and quite embarrassed.

“I mean, let’s just be honest.” My grandmother looked around for agreement. “It’s just not possible to have these colored people get into such a prestigious school like Emerson. All they know is violence in the ghetto. It was the same with your mother!” My grandmother pointed to me and my sister. “She acted all sweet, but what she really was, was a gold-digging piece of trash that your father picked up from the street. When he first brought her home, I knew that we could not have that nonsense in the family. So I told him to toss her out, but he would not listen. Soon, she gave birth to you, and he finally got some sense and tossed her out like the trash she was.”

“That’s enough, Grandma!” I said to Grandmother. There were tears streaming down my face.

“Why don’t we get the main course going!” my uncle said, as if he just wanted to forget this whole conversation.

“No!” I said. “I will not stand by and allow you to speak to me like this. Just because you’re rich and white does not mean you can treat everyone else like garbage. You have done nothing in your life but tell everyone else how they should live theirs. The only reason why you’re rich is because your dad made a lot of money in the Gilded Age. You judge people and you don’t even know them. Jenaveve’s parents are amazing civil rights attorneys who argued for gay marriage in the Supreme Court! That’s more than you have ever done. It doesn’t matter if a person is black or if you have more money than they do. What matters is what kind of person you are, and you are a horrible person! You are a racist, homophobic, xenophobic woman whose name is Muffin! Your name is legit Muffin! I am just disappointed in you and all of our family for behaving like this tonight.”

As soon as I had given that speech, I felt lighter. A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had finally said what I needed to say to my family. Although I stood up to them, they did not apologize. They simply left. Altogether, they filed out of our penthouse, tight-lipped, not saying a single word. Then, my friends thanked me for the food and left as well.

My father sat in the armchair at the head of the table with a look of disbelief and shock on his face. He looked like he had seen a ghost. When I tried to speak, he simply raised his hand as if to shun me. “Don’t say a damn thing! Just keep your mouth shut, and give me a minute!”

So I stood there, staring at him for a while until he got up. With one swift move, he grabbed my poems from the table and threw them into the fire. I instinctively ran towards the fire, but he grabbed me and threw me on the floor.

“I have never hit a woman, but I might break that streak if you continue to test me! Go upstairs and go to bed now!”

I could not stop crying that night. I stayed up all night watching Grey’s Anatomy and trying to get over the horrors of last night. Fierce was in two days, and my poems were gone.  So I decided to sleep. I was so stressed, I just slept. I slept for two whole days. I was so emotionally drained, I couldn’t move.

When I finally came to, I realized it was the day for my performance. I threw on some random clothes and ran downstairs to grab an apple. I nearly knocked down my sister as I ran out the door. I hopped onto the bus and rode it up to Emerson. It was pretty hard to relax because I had to perform in front of hundreds of people. I started reciting my poems on the bus so that I couldn’t forget them. I honestly wanted to run for the hills, but I knew that I had to do this and that it would pay off in the end. My stomach was flipping up and down so much, that when I got off the bus, I threw up on the side of the street. Through the retching and heaving, I could hear the poems vibrating through my body. A voice inside my head told me that everything was going to be fine. So I took a swig of water, pulled my hair back, and confidently marched into the school. As I walked in, everyone went quiet and let me pass. I calmly walked into the theater and waited to be introduced.

Mr. Kravis introduced Fierce and we walked up onto the stage, slowly but surely. The tech crew had positioned three microphones in the middle of the stage, and we hesitantly walked towards them. We held each other’s hands and gave each other encouraging looks. As we stepped forward, blinding rays of light hit us, and we became the complete center of attention in the theater. When I got up to the microphone, all of my nerves seemed to melt away, and I started reciting.

“They call me white. They call me black. They call me mixed. But what am I? Am I not just a person that deserves recognition for being great? Am I not just a normal girl that deserves to be treated with respect? Am I not just a person that wants to be free from stereotypes and biases? So who am I?”

I finished so strong, that the entire crowd stood up and clapped. They whooped and hollered at me. I was so happy and proud of myself. As I scanned the room, I saw my father in the back. He was smiling and clapping for me. I couldn’t believe it. In that moment, I knew I was going to be okay. I knew that I was going to be able to work everything out with my family because we’re family, and family always comes around.           

The Magical Place

About two years ago, there was a teenager named Josh. Josh lived on a farm where all he would do was stay in the stall all day. He lived with his sister, Cassie, who was 16; Josh was only 13. Cassie was in the middle of taking cow milk into the house so they could drink it for dinner, when suddenly, Josh came running up to her.

“I want to milk a cow,” he begged her. “You do it all the time.”

“No, Josh. How many more times do we have to go over this? You’re way too young. You’ll probably mess up or something,” Cassie explained.

Josh always wanted to milk the cows. All he would do was pet the animals in the stall all day. No one really ever paid attention to him, not even his parents. Cassie was very popular in their small house, and everyone liked her. Josh felt lonely because all day, he would stay in the stall. And whenever he tried to talk to someone, they would ignore him.

Josh went into the house where he saw Cassie and his parents laughing, as usual. He hated this life, and he wished he could live in a big house and have more things, instead of living on a smelly farm. Josh went back to the stall; he did love to look at the animals. His two favorite ones were the chicken and the baby chick. The baby chick’s name was Charlotte, and the other one was named Reggie, which he’d named. Josh was distracted while he was playing with the chickens, when he overheard his parents shouting.

“I just don’t know if we can afford to keep our house anymore. We’re so poor, and we’ve used up all our money just to buy food.”
“Calm down,” his dad said. “We can always go on a budget, we can still have our house. It’s going to be fine.”

“Do you even realize how much money we have right now?” his mom shouted.
“We have more than enough,” his dad answered, eating a piece of bread.

“You don’t understand,” she shouted, coming towards the stall. “Josh!” she called out.
Josh looked up at his mom.
“We can’t keep the house, honey. We’re too poor to — I just lost my job, and we’ve been giving all our money away to the charity and buying loaves of bread.”
“No!” Josh said. “You can’t give the house away! This is where we live, where else would we go?”
His mom bit her lip and didn’t answer. She looked nervous. Josh knew what he was going to do: run away. He packed his stuff and all his toys without his parents noticing. He packed everything he needed. But while he was running, he stepped on something.

“Ow,” he said. He picked it up, and it was a tiny bottle. It said try me. “Well, this is weird, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.” He sprayed it on himself and everything got blurry. “Woah! What is happening?” he yelled.
He started spinning, and he couldn’t control himself. There was a loud bang, and his head hurt from all the spinning. He slowly opened his eyes.

“Is this heaven?” he asked softly. “Oh wait — what am I thinking? Of course I didn’t die.”

He stood and looked up. This place was amazing! He didn’t know where he was, but he was amazed. He was in a random place where there were two giant, white gates with little flowers dangling off the side. The gates automatically opened for him. He was so little compared to the gates. Inside, there was a humongous lake! It was the biggest lake he’d ever seen. He saw mermaids and dolphins, seahorses, and more. Josh sat down in front of the lake. He sniffed the air, and it was as fresh as the yummiest bakery.

“This is amazing,” he said. “That little bottle transported me here!”

A mermaid splashed Josh when he wasn’t looking, and she started laughing. Josh started to laugh too. He splashed her back, and they both did this back and forth.

“I never have had this much fun in my whole entire life!” he exclaimed. “What is this place anyways?”

“Oceania Mysty, of course,” the mermaid replied.

“Never heard of it. This little try me bottle got me here,” he said, showing it to the mermaid.  

The mermaid didn’t really listen, she just dove off. The mermaid looked really nice. She had rainbow colored, wavy hair with a light, pink tail. Josh felt like he was in complete peace. The soft, calm wind drifted slowly in front of his face. The birds were chirping. The sun was bright. The mermaids were laughing. He wanted to stay here forever.

While he was enjoying his peace, a mermaid tapped him on the shoulder. She looked the youngest out of all the other mermaids; she looked around 16.

“Hello, there,” the mermaid said. “You’re not from here. Are you trying to attack our land?”

“No, I don’t even know why I’m here. This little try me bottle randomly transferred me here… I really shouldn’t be here,” Josh said. “My parents must be worried about me.”

“Oh,” said the mermaid. “Want to come into the water? It’s as warm as a bathtub.”

Without saying anything else, the mermaid pulled him into the water instantly. He screamed, and his clothes were soaking wet. At least it isn’t cold, he thought. The mermaid was right, the water was really as warm as a bathtub. Even though his clothes were soaking wet, he started to enjoy the soothing water. He closed his eyes and gracefully drifted through the water.

“This is the life,” he murmured, giving the mermaids surrounding him a thumbs up.

The mermaid who was just talking to him came up and said, “Ya know, we don’t get a lot of visitors around here. I’m so glad that you can spend time with us.”

“Me too,” Josh said, spitting out some water. “This is like heaven — but better!”

The mermaid laughed. “Trust me, it’s not as good as heaven.”

“I didn’t get your name,” Josh said out of curiosity.  

“My name is Namie.” She happily greeted him with a pose. “And you’re… ?”

“Oh,” Josh looked down. “My name is only Josh. No one really likes me though.”

“Josh.” Namie smiled at the name. “Josh,” she repeated. “I like it.”

“You do?” Josh stepped back, and his jaw dropped open in shock.

“Oh, don’t be silly! Come on! Follow me!” The mermaid pulled his wrist farther into the water. The next thing Josh knew was he appeared in a humongous, dark cave. “This is the cave of secrets.” The mermaid showed him as he stared at it in awe.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Why is it called the cave of secrets?” He picked up a dead flower flowing his way. “It’s so plain.” Josh was right, the whole cave was pure dark with not a spot of decoration or happy colors.

The mermaid looked him in the eye. “I actually don’t know. No one really told me, we just… call it that… because…”
“Because what?” Josh asked immediately.
The mermaid shrugged. “I’d love to show you around this place more, come on! Let’s continue!”

“Wait — ” Josh caught her attention. “I really should be going, my parents must be calling the police by now!”

The mermaid looked down. “Oh, well, I don’t know how you’ll leave.”

Josh held up the tiny bottle. “Hey, this got me here, and it’s gonna get me back.”

The mermaid waved goodbye as he poured it all over himself — “WAIT!” she yelled, right before he disappeared. “Josh, you’re special. It doesn’t matter if no one likes you, you’re just… special.”

Josh smiled as she slowly faded away. His last word to her was, “Thanks.”

Josh appeared back in his regular small house, where he found Cassie sitting at the table, braiding her hair. She looked upset for once. Josh was hoping she would notice him. Josh just stood there for a minute, and a couple seconds later, he sighed and hid behind a plant. He regretted seeing his family now. Cassie didn’t even notice him when he was right there. He stuck his head out from the plant, and Cassie still was there. He continued to watch when he saw his parents approach her.

“We can’t find Josh, honey. We’ve looked everywhere!” his mom said. Her eyes were watering, and she couldn’t hold her tears back anymore.

Josh looked at her, sadly waiting for the right time to pop out. Even Cassie shed a tear, and she never cried.

“Well, I wish we could have told him sooner,” his dad said calmly, “that we do really care about him, and we have been so rude to him.”

Cassie chipped in. “I was rude too,” she admitted. “He can milk a cow if he wants,” she said sniffling.
The whole family was silent for a minute, just staring at the ground. Josh shed a tear out of happiness. Those were just the words he wanted to hear in his whole entire life! They really did care about him! He wiped the tear off his sleeve. He knew this would be a good time to come out because it was pure silence. He crept up from behind the plant and jumped out right in the center for them to see.

“JOSH?!” they all cried, screaming with excitement. One by one, they ran up to give him a hug.

“Where have you been?!” his mom said, panting with nervousness and crying all over his shirt.

“How’d you get home?” his dad asked, catching his breath. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”
“Do we need to call the medics?” his mom yelled, checking all over his body.

Josh laughed at how freaked out they were. “No, of course not!” He laughed uncontrollably.

His mom and dad looked at each other in confusion. “What could be so funny at this moment? We looked ALL over for you, searching high and low, calling the police, endlessly tracking you down, and you’re laughing?” his mom said firmly.

“What happened?” Cassie asked, looking worried.

Josh looked nervous. Should I tell them? he thought — Wait, no! They’ll never believe me!

“I just ran away,” he answered quietly.

Little did he know, when he was talking to Cassie, his mom found the little bottle on the floor he had used to transport to Oceania Misty. “Hmm,” she answered, reading the title. “Oceania Misty? Is this where you went?”

Josh looked at her in shock. “You believe in that place?” he questioned her.

His mom explained to him that many years ago, when she was a kid, she found the same exact bottle and transported to that amazing place as well.

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Josh stared at her in amazement. He finally admitted, “Yes, that’s where I went.”

His mom understood. “Just never scare us like that again,” she said, calming down.

The whole family promised they would always pay attention to him as long as he lived. They all did a group hug, and from then on, they were always happy.

Imaginationland

Finals. Hudson had stayed up all night studying for his chemistry test. Hours and hours on end, he had tried to memorize all he could to complete his goal of becoming the valedictorian. However, Hudson could not focus; all he could think about were the characters from his favorite books and movies. He pictured himself fighting alongside Luke Skywalker to defeat Vader, and going on all of the journeys with all the superheroes to help save the civilians. But no. Instead, he had to study for his final for hours and hours on end as he thought about boring formulas and useless equations that he would never use in his life.

Sunday, June 12, 2016. Hudson was extremely nervous. He knew he needed to ace his final if he wanted to be the student with the highest honor. Then, he received a text message that turned his life around.

Lauren: Hudson I’m sorry this is not going to work out. You never talk to me. All you ever do is play stupid video games and read books about fictional characters. You are just too childish.

Thoughts swirled around his head. Hudson felt trapped. He began to think about being in a world on his own with nobody around him.  He tried to distract himself from the message by grabbing his notes, but he could not think straight. He picked up the phone, but realized he had no other friends to talk to because his only friends were in his mind. Hudson ran to his bed and put his face into the pillow and cried. He knew it was time to make real friends and to start growing up. He ran to his desk and grabbed his laptop. He turned on the first documentary he could find and tried to start acting like the other kids around him.

Before watching, Hudson lay down on his bed, and he began to stare aimlessly at the ceiling as he realized that it was time to become an adult. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door opening. Hudson’s eyes darted to the location of the sound, and he glared at the dark, mysterious door with the sound of wind howling through the cracks. He began to think that he had gone crazy, as he had just seen a door pop out of nowhere. He closed his eyes for the next ten seconds, then opened them again, and he still saw this mysterious door. Too afraid to call his parents, he stood up and slowly headed for the door. Hudson then cautiously turned the knob, and inside, all he saw was empty space with a very narrow, white walkway that seemed to never end. He looked back at his bed and saw the documentary, causing him to picture himself all grown up and having his girlfriend back. But he shook his head and realized that he would be miserable not being the person he really was, so he decided to take a step onto the never-ending walkway.

Hudson was extremely nervous. He looked around and saw nothing but empty space and a narrow walkway leading nowhere. He believed he was walking toward his destiny, or maybe even a path to his past. He walked for miles and miles on end, then sat down and looked straight up. He heard a sound and jumped up and saw what looked to be a godly figure. Hudson cringed in fear as he saw this large man with a white beard and a staff that seemed to look like a lightening bolt. He walked closer to the man to a point where they were only a few feet apart from each other.

Hudson looked at this person, who seemed to look like Zeus, the Greek god. He was in shock. He wanted to ask him who he was, but was afraid to talk to this muscular, tall, and powerful-looking figure.

After staring into his eyes for a few seconds, the man said, “Welcome to Imaginationland.”

Hudson questioned himself for a second and thought that this man was crazy; he knew that there was no such place as “Imaginationland”. Hudson now looked away from him and realized he was walking on a pathway leading nowhere. He began to consider the idea that he was in a different world.

Hudson slowly moved his head back toward the man and shyly asked, “Are you Zeus?” Hudson was scared that this man may have gotten offended, but as the godly creature began to move closer to him, he saw a grin on the man’s face as he said one word.

“Yes.”

Hudson’s fear became joy as he realized he was in a new world with a character from his dreams. Zeus asked Hudson to follow him to the world where all the characters from his imagination lived. Hudson looked at Zeus and his joyful face turned to one of doubt. He began to think to himself that he was probably just dreaming, and that his mind was just playing games on him. He thought back to all the moments where he got teased for not acting his age, and to the time when his girlfriend dumped him over text, leading to him feeling depressed.

However, Zeus realized his doubt and anguish. Without realizing it, Hudson was in Zeus’s arms, causing him to snap out of his hesitation as Zeus exclaimed, “Let’s go!”

Zeus jumped off the pathway with Hudson in his arms, and they began to fly over the dark, bland, empty space. After flying for what seemed to only be a few minutes, but hundreds of miles, Hudson looked below him and all he could see was darkness, causing him to fear that he was travelling to a dark location. But then, he approached the largest gate Hudson had ever seen. He was amazed. He looked at the gate and saw his reflection in the pure gold layering, which towered 100 feet over his head. Glamoured by its beauty, Hudson went to touch it. At first, nothing happened, but then the gate shook; it felt like an earthquake, causing the gate to begin to open. Hudson saw a bright light, so he looked away as he was blinded by the brightness. Slowly, he turned his head back toward the gate and he saw all the friendly faces he pictured in his dreams. Hudson rubbed his eyes and noticed that in front of him were the friendly faces of all his favorite characters, such as Aslan the Lion, Gandalf the Gray, and Captain America. He ran into the world that seemed to be held up by white, powdery clouds and stood alongside his idols with a smile larger than his face. He looked around, and he saw a village which seemed to have been made out of golden bricks. Hudson felt free; he finally felt comfortable being himself. His favorite character was Captain America, so he asked him about all of his adventures and how his shield was designed. Then, he ran to Aslan. At first, Hudson felt dismay because he was standing a foot away from a sharp-toothed lion. But Hudson remembered that Aslan would never want to hurt him, so he ran up and greeted the lion.

Hudson met all the characters of his dreams and asked them more questions than they could even handle. He toured the land and noticed that all the people were living in harmony and joy, causing him to forget the problems he had at home. After journeying across their land, he was brought to a room. This was a dark room with no windows and room for only around two people. Then, walked in the king of the land, Aslan. Hudson looked into his eyes and saw fear.

Aslan said with a powerful voice, “We are under attack!”

Hudson dropped back in his seat as this was the first time he ever felt nervous while on the new land. He thought that everything would be adventurous and exciting, but he heard this horrific news and put his head in his hands and frowned.

Hudson then yelled, “Who is attacking us, and why?”

Aslan sternly replied, “These large, beast-like mammals that outnumber our population two to one!”

He then beamed his eyes toward the lion and cried, “Why was I brought to this land?”

Slowly, Aslan whispered, “You are the one who controls us. You created me and everyone else in my kingdom. Now, we call on you to come save us.”

Hudson felt powerful. He believed that he could now fight off the fact that he had to become an adult, and that he could live with the people he was surrounded by in Imaginationland. Aslan took Hudson to the highest point of the castle, but left him alone. It was up to Hudson to save the kingdom because he had the power in his mind to control the outcome of the battle. However, he could not focus; there was so much pressure coming from the people of the village that he could not think straight. Hudson peered over the walls, and he noticed the beasts crashing through the walls and attacking the homes of Harry Potter, Hawkeye, and Donald Duck. Hudson now felt angered, but determined. He cleared his mind and pictured Captain America ferociously attacking the beasts. Therefore, Captain America ran towards the invaders and fought off the creatures for as long as he could. Now, Hudson realized how powerful he was, so he sent everybody to fight the beasts, not realizing that he could not control all of his imagination at once.

Then, the beasts demolished every character that came in their way until they surrounded Hudson, as it was now only him left. He was frightened because Hudson thought he would be attacked any minute now. Then, the largest beast of them grabbed Hudson by his claws and held him up above his head. Hudson’s face was white, but he shook his head and remembered that he was in his imagination, so he could control himself. He broke free, causing the beasts to cry in fear because Hudson gave himself superhuman powers. Subsequently, all the vicious creatures retreated, so it was only Hudson in his own imagination. After protecting Imaginationland, Hudson sat down and pictured all of the creatures in his dreams coming back, and sure enough, Hudson was surrounded by all the heroes he loved.

Chants roared from the crowd as Hudson was congratulated for his bold and heroic accomplishments. Hudson then saw Aslan pushing his way through the crowd of people. With a sense of urgency, Aslan pulled Hudson aside and told him that it was time for him to return home. Without saying goodbye, Aslan and the other creatures walked off. Hudson was in despair; he did not want to leave. He knew that only here could he be his true self without getting judged. He cried in despair because he did not want to be set free from the teenage life that he had now become a part of. Then, Hudson saw a flash, and a door appeared, but this one was special. This door was white, and it shined brighter than a star. He walked towards the door in doubt, until he saw a message carved into the marble, reading, “Always hold on to what you love.” Hudson looked at the message for hours, trying to comprehend the meaning of the words carved on to the door. Frustrated, Hudson gave up and decided to just walk through the door and forget about what just happened. Anticipating that it would take him back to the opening gate, he took a step through the door. But this time, he ended up exactly where he started, in his room lying down on his bed.

***

Now, school was finally out, and Hudson had the whole summer to become an adult. He went, grabbed his laptop, and reopened the documentary that he thought he should have started a long time ago. Right before he hit the play button, he thought about the message he saw carved on the door that led back to his room. Hudson thought back to when the beast-like creatures were attacking his imagination and came to the conclusion that the beasts were the signs of adulthood that were bound to come. He thought for a second, then realized that he always had to hold on to his love of his imagination, and that he could not forget about what made him happy. However, he also came to understand that he was growing up and must become an adult. Hudson felt happy to finally expand his horizons while not forgetting about his love of his imagination. Finally, Hudson felt pride in being his true self.

The Silver Seraph

The king stood atop the crest of the hill. The king, Sentryil, was tired of the matter at hand. Goblins were, more frequently than ever, raiding the old kingdom. His kingdom. He was 578 years old and had been on the old kingdom’s throne for many years. The goblins meant to take it from him, and he wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

A dozen spellcasters stood on the ridge next to him. In front of them, 120 elven soldiers were arrayed for battle: 70 infantry, 40 cavalry, and ten archers. Sentryil was worried that they had too few archers, but his second-in-command, Natrelig, had assured him it was enough. Natrelig, who had been organising the troops, ascended the hill and addressed the king.

“Your majesty, the troops are positioned as ordered. Are there any other things we need?”

Sentryil responded, “I still think we need more archers. Archers are the key to an elven victory. Just five more will do.”

“We have enough,” his second-in-command assured him.

“I hope you’re right” replied the king.

Sentryil entered his leaf-green tent. He needed to do one thing before the battle began. He sat at his table and placed his scrying bowl in front of him. He knew it took a lot of effort to see into the future, but he needed to see this.

He spoke to the pure spring water. “Show me my son after the battle.”

The water swirled around and then solidified itself into an image. A young elf was dressed in an inky black robe. His head was lowered as if praying. Satisfied, Sentryil dispelled the image and walked over to his bed. He picked up his sword off the blanket and clipped it to his worg leather belt. He draped a shirt of silver chain over him. Lastly, he put his sheathed hunting knife onto his belt. Then, he walked out of his tent, ready for battle.

The king stood on the ridge once more, looking at the approaching goblin host. His dozen spellcasters were arrayed in a spearhead formation, with him at the tip. Sentryil drew his sword, which had a crescent moon imbedded in it below the tip, almost like a trident.

He pointed it at the goblins and cried, “CHARGE!”

The king’s sword stabbed a goblin through the ribs, staining his sword in black blood. The elven army plowed through the fray, cutting down many of the 250 goblins. The ten archers fired three rounds of deadly shafts into the goblin army. Sentryil hacked and slashed with his crescented sword, but then a goblin bruiser with a mace leapt in front of him.

The goblin wore leather armor the color of beige. He hefted his mace and swung, screaming, “Blood!” Sentryil parried and blocked, and then with one swift, graceful movement, he lopped off the goblin’s hand. The goblin screamed and wailed in pain, and Sentryil thrust his sword through his heart.

The king picked up the mace in his left hand, and caved in a goblin’s skull while stabbing another one with his sword. Around him, his spellcasters lay waste to the goblin ranks with magic blasts of ice, fire, energy, and lightning. One threw a stone inscribed with the symbol beneath a large goblin, and said goblin spontaneously combusted. One of the twelve spellcasters had already fallen to a goblin scimitar, and the rest were plowing through the goblins, but some were being separated from the group. Suddenly, an arrow flew into of the fray and struck the king on the left forearm.

The king uttered a short “OW!” but he staggered onward through the battle. Soon, the goblin commander was visible. He was a 5’8” goblin wearing a muddy, chainmail hauberk, and he carried a serrated shortsword. He also carried a longspear that glistened with a strange light. Sentryil gasped as he recognised the lance. It had come from the fallen city of Gondolin and had many magical abilities, the least of which was that it turned red-hot when it came into contact with goblin blood.

The royal magician’s guard had been largely separated from the king, but three of them still remained by his side. The goblin commander thrust the spear into one of the magicians, leaving him mortally wounded upon the bloodied ground. Then, he and another two goblins slashed at the king. Sentryil stabbed one of them dead, but the other two struck him. The half-elf screamed, but his mind was thinking something else: I really should have worn a shield. Blood trailed from his left forearm and ribs, where the goblins had struck him. Around them, the magicians held off the goblins, but were unable to reach their king.

The lead goblin laughed, “You are weak, and a sorry excuse for a king. I will enjoy purging this kingdom of you.”

Then, without warning, Sentryil struck. He swung his sword, but his wounds made him miss the lead goblin. His sword shattered the lead goblin’s sword, and the momentum carried it through the other goblin’s skull. The lead goblin took advantage of the opening in the king’s defenses and thrust the spear into the king’s heart.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” screamed Sentryil’s son Erevant.

Erevant had picked his weapons up from the armory and was heading to the battle. With him, he had thirty reinforcements: fifteen infantry and fifteen archers. He could see little through the tangled fray, elven cavalry leaping over goblins, archers shooting shafts into the fray, and he rushed to his father as he battled the goblin commander. And he saw his father fall. The king’s crescented sword and flanged mace struck the bloodied ground. As the goblins saw the king fall, they swarmed over his corpse, eager to loot him of his valuables. Erevant rushed the goblins, slashing them off his father’s corpse, and looked at his father’s fallen form. The king’s mail was rent over his heart and on the right side of his ribs. His mace and hunting knife had already been carried off by goblin looters, but his crescented sword was still clutched in his limp grasp.

Erevant picked up his father’s sword and addressed two of his men: “Take the king back to the castle and prepare him for burial.” As they carried of his father’s body, he shouted to the elves, “To me, spellcasters! Soldiers, charge! Avenge our king!” And with that, 110 elven warriors charged as one through the goblin enemies.

The battle was turned with Prince Erevant’s arrival. Twenty minutes later, less than thirty goblins still remained. The spellcasters had expended all their energy protecting the king from the goblin hordes, so they were of little more use in the battle. The goblins were fleeing from the elves’ wrath, but their leader wasn’t.

“Get back here, ya lily-livered, yellow-bellied cowards! We kill elves, not run from them!” he shouted at them.

Suddenly, a voice behind him said, “Well, you’re the one getting killed today.”

The goblin commander turned around to see Erevant standing atop a pile of goblin corpses. Erevant gazed coldly at the goblin who had murdered his father and leapt at him. They exchanged a few blows, stabbing, slashing, parrying, and twirling their weapons. Then, Erevant kicked the goblin in the stomach, knocking him off balance. With that, Erevant brought the crescent of his sword down on the goblin’s hand that held the spear.

There was a sharp KRAK! as the goblin’s hand broke.

“Ghahh!” he screamed as he cradled his shattered wrist.

Erevant picked up the goblin’s spear. He plunged the spear into the goblin’s chest as his father’s sword decapitated the goblin. The goblin’s headless body slumped on the spear, while the head rolled on the bloodstained ground. Erevant pulled the spear from the corpse and walked back to the castle. With his father dead, Everant was now the king of the old kingdom. He had a lot of work to do.

Erevant walked toward the birchbark burial site. All of those who fell in the battle, save for the goblins, were to be buried there. Elf after elf was lowered into the ground in caskets made of assorted wood: oak, alder, elm, but mostly yew, the wood of life and death. Finally, they reached the final elf to be buried that day: King Sentryil.

Erevant had dressed in an inky black, silk robe for the funeral. The king’s hair was bound in a silver circlet, and his sword lay across his chest. Coins, runestones, and jewelry lay beside him. Erevant bowed his head before his father’s grave. He knelt before the coffin and laid a medallion of a crescent moon on his father’s chest. The top was laid over the birch coffin, and was thus lowered into the grave.

With that, the priest recited the final verse of the funeral: “And as we all rise from the earth, we now commend the dead to the earth.”

Erevant began to walk back to the castle, and he looked up to the sky. He wondered, Where is my father now?

King Sentryil sat up with a start. Where was he? It was really bright. What had happened? He remembered the goblin’s spear, the instant of pain, and then everything went dark. He remembered a light in the darkness, and the brief image of the beautiful, moonlit forest. Then, he heard a voice speak to him through the blinding light.

“WELCOME.”

Two figures emerged before him — 9’ tall elves wearing robes of divine craftsmanship. Sentryil immediately recognised them and knelt.

“Corellon Larethian, Frond. I am honored,” spoke Sentryil.

Corellon Larethian was the god of the elves, and Frond had been the first elven king. The legend was that Frond had been raised to godhood by the elf pantheon. The spirits of the fallen kings and heros had been inducted into Frond’s halls if they were deemed worthy.

“It is rare for a hero or king to die in battle in the last life. I welcome you to my halls. You will be able to see into the mortal world, so your son will always have a guiding light,” responded Frond. “You will also fight alongside the gods and heros of this realm. We shall combat the gods of evil and monsters in glorious battle. This life is better than the last.”

“Well then,” replied Sentryil. “Let’s get started.”

THE END  

The Phoenix’s Death

I, Leera Fenikk, was a simple girl with a simple life, and honestly, I wished for nothing else. But much to my dismay, everything flipped upside down when Illu dropped into my life. Literally.

“AAAAAAUUUUGGGH!!!”

I heard a loud scream and turned around. “What on Earth…” A strangely-clothed boy had fallen into a pile of hay behind me. “…Happened?” I finished lamely.

“Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here?” we both asked in rapid-fire fashion.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go first,” I said. “My name’s Leera, and I live here, on a normal farm in normal Montana. And I also have normal clothes. So, who are you?”

The boy grumbled something and slowly stood up. “The name’s, uh, Skull, um, SkullCrusher!” he said excitedly.

I rolled my eyes. That was obviously a fake name. “So now, what clothes are you wearing?”

He looked over his apparel: a long black robe, a grey fedora, and some odd looking shoes. “There’s nothing wrong with me! What’s wrong with you?”

I had no words for him. “Well, explain that,” I said, pointing to the object in his hand, a huge tree branch with an unnatural curve. In his other hand, he was clutching a small mirror.

“Okay. So, this is my staff. Um, a little strange looking, to you at least, but that’s kinda understandable, considering that nothing is going right today. Where are you even from? A different world?”

I shrugged. I had no clue. “This is Montana. You know. America? And what’s this junk about another world?”

“And this is my divination mirror. Want me to read your future?” he asked, completely ignoring me.

I just gave him a nasty look (after I considered sighing, facepalming, and punching him in the face). “Thanks for trying to scam me out of my living. But no one, and I repeat no one, will ever get my money. I need it to help someone close to me.”

“Oh, do you want me to read their future? I bet I could show you a good outlook, or junk. Wanna bet?”

“No. Now leave. And get some actual clothes.” This was the most dignified answer I could come up with in a short time.

“I can’t go back. I have to wait for the spell to recharge.”

I laughed. “You kidding me? This is nuts. Magic doesn’t exist here! Magic is just from fairy tales and movies and the crud Disney shows us. Leave,” I demanded, still incredibly confused.

He shook his head. “Not now. I’ve told you that I can’t. So, I might as well show you your future or something. For free. Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a nearby log.

“I have work to do, alright? So no, I can’t sit down and listen to your ramblings about odd magic and going insane.”

But this SkullCrusher dude was already sitting down, staring intently at his cloudy mirror. Wait… cloudy? “Your mirror wasn’t cloudy five seconds ago! Get out!” I demanded.

I lived on a farm, and at this point in time, it wasn’t even open. This guy was nuts — clearly we needed to up our security measures.

He started mumbling a long string of chants that didn’t sound like English, or any known language. “What language are you—”

A huge flash blinded me for a second, and when I looked at SkullCrusher again, I was astounded to see his eyes had turned green. Hadn’t they been blue just a second ago? And why was his mirror’s face glowing?

“What’re you doing? Why are you still here? And for Pete’s sake, please dim the light from your mirror!”

“Your future is a dark one, and so is that of your loved one. You might not live to see the end of this year. You will get fatal wounds, fight monsters, almost die, and see some fantastic sights, while also meeting some pretty strange people.”

His voice sounded like a deep imitation of another voice. “Morgan Freeman?” I asked, but SkullCrusher started talking again.

“You must be careful, because sometimes people harm more than they can help…”

SkullCrusher’s eyes turned blue again. “So, how was that? For free, too! A bit cryptic, maybe, but surely you can’t get that close to the future and your destiny. Now, how was it? Dire, beautiful, maybe even filled with romance?” he joked.

I just shook my head in disbelief, trying to dismiss him. “No way. This stuff doesn’t even exist. Why are you here? Maybe this is just a really, really, really realistic dream!” I punched my left arm. “Okay, no, this is definitely real,” I murmured, rubbing my now sore arm.

“And now that I’ve told you your future, I can give you my name.”

Finally. I wouldn’t have to call him by that stupid fake name anymore.

He started fumbling around with something in his robe, and finally pulled out a dirty-looking business card. “Illu, wizard in training.”

I woke up a couple hours later. Oy. My head hurts. Everything’s been going haywire.

“I’m assuming I passed out,” I mumbled, shakily trying to get up.

“Hey, pal,” Illu said, ruining my “I’m sane” fantasy.

“This is not happening to me. This is not happening to me…” These crazy things weren’t actually happening. “Oh, you again. Why are you still here?” I asked groggily, still trying to figure out why this was my life and not some other poor unfortunate soul’s.

“Well, my master said that the spell to get back takes only five years to recharge! Is that a long time?”

It was my turn to facepalm and finally know something.

“Nah, five years is only…” I attempted to do the math in my head. “One thousand eight hundred and twenty-five days,” I announced proudly. Yes! I could math!

“Oh… that’s a lot longer than I initially thought. Well, Master is always good with these kinds of things. She can fix this.”

I shook my head, laughing internally about how clueless this Illu guy really was. “I’m pretty sure she ditched you.”

“Did not! She would never do that to me!”

“How can you justify that? Have you ever done something stupid to make her not like you?

“She’s my sister!”

Oh. That changed everything.

My brother died when I was little. He went to war in some country to help fight, and he died when an enemy soldier shot him. I didn’t really know what was going on then, but I cried when I knew he wasn’t coming back.

Now, all I had left was my sickly little sister.

She had some weird disease that almost no one had heard of before. Once, we found someone who actually knew someone who got the disease. He even gave it a name: Phoenix’s Death.

But the end was horrible.

The diseased person had died and their body had turned to ash instantly, almost like a phoenix. But this phoenix would never be reborn. Rather, they died too soon, in agony. It sounded otherworldly and extremely obscure, like something out of the fairy tale Illu probably jumped out of.

There were five stages:

First, the victim got these weird spots on their skin, like bug bites. No actual bugs caused these bites, but that was the closest thing we could compare them to.

Second, the person fell into an extreme depression and lost all will to live. They would be almost impossible to sway back to living.

Third, they hallucinated. Their words never made any sense, and were usually garbled by their dream-like nightmares.

Fourth, they felt extreme agony and yelled at random points in time.

Finally, the Burning, as the relative of the man with the disease had so ominously called it. The diseased person felt as if their body was on fire for twenty-four hours until they died of dehydration, no matter what was done to help give them fluids. And right now, my sister was on stage three, morphing into stage four. She was going to die in ashes like the phoenix this disease was so aptly named after.

Yeah, I used “sickly” a little loosely.

“Tell me how to fix this!” I demanded.

Illu snapped in my face, and I was finally out of my stupor. “What? Fix what?” he asked, annoyed.

I sighed. “My sister.”

After explaining the disease to Illu, he shook his head. “I don’t know what you could do. Have you tried putting her directly into water?”

Well, that was stupid of my family not to figure out. That seemed pretty obvious, like something we’d try as soon as we realized it was called the Phoenix’s Death and included a stage known as the Burning.

“ThanksalotIllugottagotellmyparents,” I was able to say, quickly, before dashing out of the room, turning wildly into a hallway and running into my parents’ room.

“MOM! DAD! I KNOW HOW TO SAVE ZURUKA!” I shrieked. My dad instantly sat up, and my mom yelled from the bathroom, “YOU’RE NOT KIDDING, ARE YOU?”

After explaining the plan, I gently scooped up Zuruka’s limp form. “You’ll be okay, little sis. You’ll be okay,” I murmured, more to myself than to my sister.

She didn’t open her eyes or anything, not even when we dropped her body into the nearby lake and pulled her back up, but something crazy happened.

My sister’s blonde hair turned cerulean blue, and her closed eyes opened to show that her brown irises were now ice blue. Even her naturally tanned skin turned extremely pale, pale enough to rival a vampire’s.

“WHAT DID THAT DARNED WIZARD DO?” I yelled in fear.

Her entire body emitted a blue light, and when the light was gone, her clothes changed into navy blue jeans, a royal blue hoodie, and cobalt blue sneakers with white laces and golden phoenix insignias on the backs.

“YOU’RE DEAD, ILLU! WHAT EVEN HAPPENED HERE?” I screeched, infuriated.

To be Continued…

The Great Anglo-Viking War of 987

Chapter One

A fleet of ships slid to a stop along the Ivory Coast. Viking warriors popped out of every hole and poured over the side in canoes that they used to row to the shore. They poured out of the boats and onto the shore and slaughtered the natives that ran toward their ever-twirling spears. “Það er það, menn, að búa til slóð og við munum mylja þessar sorglegt fíflum!”

The Viking army swarmed forward, like so many ants converging on a piece of bread. The grass-skirted natives ran before them, and the giant crossbows on the ships roared out in cacophony.

The war chief of the Igbo-Maszlek people sat in his treehouse. He enjoyed a cup of tea while observing the carnage below. He had known that this invasion would come for months, ever since his canoe scouts in the great seaworthy canoes had reported that superior ships were approaching the barrier islands, the last outpost of his people, before heading to the mainland. His outpost and cities in the barrier islands had been destroyed, and now the Vikings were coming to systematically mow down the Igbo-Maszlek capital. They would destroy all the buildings and kill every last man except for the war chief and the central chief.

A servant came by with a narcotic pipe, and the war chief prepared to take the herbs to see a vision from the Holy One. He descended to the stone temple, the only such stone building in a 1000-mile radius, and waved aside his acolytes at the door. He sat in the center of the heavily carpeted room, and the door was sealed. Narcotic smoke now filled the room, and soon he would see visions induced by the herbs of gods and kings of yore. With a deep breath, he set the incense and descended into the world of mind-altering. He met the bird-headed god Narasho, and Narasho told him to draw his people back. The Viking invaders were equipped with far more advanced Iron Age weapons, whilst his people were still stuck in the Bronze Age, and most of their weapons were made of wood. His people might be exterminated completely today, but they would rise again, be it in a year or a thousand.

He withdrew his people and had them surrender. Only his elite guards, armed with bronze swords, remained fighting. The Vikings’ least trained soldiers mowed down the Igbo-Maszlek elites with ease. Soon, only the war chief remained, and he alone had an iron sword. He fought off the Viking soldiers with ease and settled in for a long fight. It was only when the captain of the invasion force arrived that the Igbo-Maszlek war chief fell. All of his people were completely wiped out and thrown in the river.

The Vikings surged forward, crossing Africa in less than a year. The empire was rapidly expanding, and there was no hope for the European world. England was preparing to fall.

Survivor

Theodora, called Tedd by everyone but her parents, was lying awake. It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired. She was exhausted from her run to celebrate the beginning of spring break earlier that day. But she wasn’t sleepy, and she couldn’t get the thoughts of what she could do with her short-lived freedom out of her head. The only problem was that tomorrow, Tedd would have to go with her father to the hardware store to get a new fire alarm. Their only one was broken.

Tedd was thinking all of this when she heard a noise similar to the one that she had been hearing all night, but had dismissed as the wind. But this wasn’t the familiar whisper of the wind. This was a roar. She rose from her bed slowly, giving the noise time to go away. But it remained, even increasing. Tedd walked to the door of her room and opened it. She was struck by terror at what she saw.

Instead of the darkness of the night, the hall leading to her parents’ room — along with her brother’s — was lit by fire. This was not a small fire. This was easily four and a half feet tall, around her own height.
Logically, Tedd knew what she should do: scream for her family to hear her and wake up. But she could not summon breath from her lungs. The scream would not come out, just a pathetic whimper. And the fire drew closer to her, and she could feel its terrible heat on her skin. She ran, ran back to her room, throwing books in her backpack that she could sell and books that she could not live without. As the fire drew closer, as she heard the screams, Tedd frantically banged on the window until it cracked open. She jumped out of the window, barely feeling the pain of the cut glass and the fall, too terror-stricken to feel anything.

As Tedd’s world burned, the eleven-year-old ran on to her school, sobbing, but unable to stop, unable to save her family. She finally arrived at her school, charging up the hill. Now, she had nothing to distract from her thoughts, not even her books, for it was night, and there was no moon. And she started hearing the screams in her head, how they were drawn out before they ended, cut off by death.
Coward, she thought to herself. You could have saved them all, but you were too concerned for your own survival to do anything more than run. I hate you, me. I want you to die. You deserve death, for failing them.

But if she died, Tedd realized, there would be nothing left of her family, nobody to tell their story, to remember them, to fulfill their hopes. So she had to survive, which meant she could never, ever think of tonight again, or she would be torn apart with the memory of their screams.
In the field where she had played as a happy child, she made a plan for survival. Goal: Survive. Her first long-term priority would be to never be sent to Open Heart Orphanage. Tedd had heard all too much about that orphanage, about the abuse and starvation the orphans went through. Too many children who went to the orphanage never came out. Her second priority was school. If she was able to eventually get a scholarship to college, she would be able to work up to a job where she would be in a position to tell her family’s story and be heard. She would also have access to a dorm. But for now, she needed to survive, and for that, she needed money. And it was spring break… Yes. Tomorrow, Tedd would need to get a job.

Tedd walked across the bustling street, trying to pretend that she was all right. She winced with every step. Having lost her shoes in the fire, walking across the jagged surface of the street pained her considerably. She could only hope that she wouldn’t be hurt before she could buy shoes.

After what seemed like an infinite amount of time darting between busy crowds, Tedd finally reached the used bookstore. She had previously volunteered there, as part of a program at her school. The owner had been friendly to her before, and she hoped that he would be as friendly when she told him that she wanted money.

The bookstore, as usual, was empty at this time of day, although the owner and his one assistant were in there getting ready for the day. Tedd could just barely see them vacuuming the floor as she stood on her tiptoes to peer through the window. Taking a deep breath and summoning courage, Tedd knocked on the wooden door. She waited a couple of seconds as the assistant, a tall young woman called Carol, opened the door.

“Oh, hello, Tedd!” Carol said. “If you want to buy anything, you’ll need to wait about ten minutes while we get the store ready.”

“Actually,” Tedd replied. “I’m here because I was wondering if I could work here.”

“Oh,” Carol said, realizing that Tedd wasn’t talking about volunteering. “You’ll have to talk with the manager about that.”
“Can I ask him now?”

“Sure,” Carol said, stepping aside to allow Tedd into the doorway. Carol tapped the manager, a bearded man named Josh, on the shoulder. “Josh, there’s someone who wants a job here.”

Josh looked up. “Well, if it isn’t Tedd Smith!”

“Sir,” said Tedd, “I came to ask if you might want an extra hand around the store.”

“That would be nice,” Josh said. “But it’s … unusual, to say the least, to hire a — how old are you again?”

“Twelve,” Tedd lied. While no eleven year old would be seen as mature enough to work for money, twelve year olds were seen as slightly more responsible.

Josh paused for a second, unsure of how to proceed. “Actually …  then you might be more acceptable to our customers.”

“Look at how many books need shelving.” Tedd gestured to the endless stacks of books lying on the floor. “I worked for you for two weeks, so you know I’m competent. I won’t need any lunch breaks. And I wouldn’t ask for high wages.”

Josh nodded. “Let’s say five dollars an hour.”

Carefully, trying not to appear greedy, Tedd said, “Well, minimum wage is around seven dollars an hour. I was thinking more along that wage.”

“Minimum wage,” Josh argued, “is set with people who are independent in mind. You have parents to provide for you.”

Tedd wished that she could share the truth. Josh would probably not send her to Open Heart, but that was the thing: probably. She could not afford to take the risk of being sent there, no matter how small.
So she said, “How about we compromise on six dollars?”

Josh hesitated for a moment before nodding and sticking out his hand. Tedd stuck out her own and shook it.

Eight hours later, it was 4:00 PM. Tedd had worked hard, walking quickly away from every possible human gaze, afraid that they might see her bare feet or something in her face hinting at what she had lost. There had been close calls, but nobody had realized that they had an orphan in their store.
And Tedd had received forty-eight dollars. Maybe two days ago, she would have found some kind of thrill in having so much money, but now there was only the dull thanks. So now, she was headed to the shoe store. If any workers there asked why she had no shoes, she planned to say that she had lost them.

When Tedd entered the store, she didn’t wait for anybody to come up to her and look at her shoe size. Either her shoes would fit, or she would make them fit. She walked directly to the children’s shoe section, selected the cheapest ones that looked vaguely big enough, and bought them for thirty-four dollars, quickly exiting before the cashier could notice anything about her.

Finding an open bench, Tedd quickly sat herself down, stuffing the remaining fourteen dollars into her backpack as she slipped the plain brown shoes onto her feet. While she had had some limited feet protection with her socks, having shoes on felt much better against the pavement. And then, because she hadn’t had any food or drinks for twenty-two hours, her stomach rumbled ominously, and Tedd bent over in hunger pains.

Right then, she thought. I guess I’d better go get some food. Maybe Starbucks?

As she walked down the block, she noticed a slight decrease in the number of people. The streets were still busy, but not like before. People were probably going home — which brought up an urgent question. Where would her home be? Where was Tedd going to sleep? She could sleep in the city, she supposed, but that seemed like it would lead to getting mugged or catching a disease from the many, many people who spent their days there. Possibly the school campus? The fence was easy to climb, at least.

Tedd nodded to herself, deciding that she would check the school after she got food. She decided to have a grilled cheese for $5.25, leaving $8.75 left. Tedd then drank the rest of her water bottle’s contents, temporarily sating her.

Then, she began the long walk to the school. When Tedd arrived, the gate was closed, but she was able to easily climb through the small holes in the fence. She walked around the school, eventually selecting a small spot with hay scattered on the ground. Placing her backpack on the ground to use as a pillow, Tedd drew out Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, losing herself for a little while in Harry’s world.

She awoke from thirst and hunger. Apparently, half a water bottle around five hours before sleep wasn’t enough to satisfy her throat, which felt like a dry stone, and her stomach, which she had previously held at bay with grilled cheese, was joining in protest. Its growling was enough to awaken a nearby squirrel, which scampered off in fear of an unseen dog. Tedd decided that she could take the chance of Starbucks not being open yet and set off at a run.  

Thankfully, Starbucks was open, and Tedd was just about to purchase another grilled cheese, when the cashier asked her why she was alone.

“Because,” Tedd said, thinking fast, “My parents say that it’s important to learn how to buy things on my own.”

The cashier raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything more. Tedd quickly took the sandwich and paid, leaving her with just $3.50 in her backpack. She didn’t want to think about the real reason she was alone.

As the day wore on, more and more people asked her about her parents. Carol asked her why her parents weren’t picking her up or dropping her off.
“Well, my mom and dad have jobs farther out, and I can walk here,” Tedd said, trying to remain calm.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Carol said, nodding her head.

Tedd took a deep breath and went back to shelving books. At the end of the eight hours, it was four o’clock again, and Carol gave Tedd her forty-eight dollars, meaning Tedd now had $51.50 to spend. Tedd went as quickly as she could to Starbucks, buying another grilled cheese ($46.25 remained) and hungrily devouring it. As she walked to the school, she realized that tomorrow was the end of spring break. How would she make sure that she awoke in time for school, and in time not to be seen by any other students?

Tedd’s musings were interrupted when she felt a drop of rain on her head. She looked up and saw the darkest, bleakest clouds she had ever seen, ready to pour buckets of rain. Tedd ran to the school, frantically climbing over the fence. She ran all over the school as she heard the first crack of thunder and flash of lightning, too close together for comfort. Tedd didn’t know what she was looking for, other than a place of shelter.

Then, Tedd saw what she was looking for. It was a fenced-off area with a big, metal, rectangular box-like thing in the middle, but what drew Tedd’s attention was the stairs going down from it, hinting at a kind of shelter.

Even more frantically than before, Tedd practically leaped over the fence, running to the stairs down below. As she clambered down, she found that she was protected from the storm by the ground above. Tedd huddled there, alone in the darkness of the stairs for what seemed like forever, too terrified of the lightning to come out until the rain had completely stopped. By that time, it was well into the night. As Tedd walked up to the entrance of the stairway, she wondered how expensive sleeping pads were. Maybe she could get a cheap one at at L.L. Bean tomorrow.

Tedd returned to her thoughts on how to make sure that she was awake in time for morning. She decided to try and stay awake, and returned to reading her book, squinting at the pages under the moonlight.

As the sun rose, a tired Tedd went to look at the clock. She couldn’t get inside, as the building was locked, but she could look through the window and see that the clock said 3:30 AM. So that meant five and a half hours before it opened. It would probably be best if she remained here so that nobody could see her and wonder what she was doing. At least the sun meant she could more easily re-read the book she had only read ten times. Tedd stayed there with a gradually growing crowd of other children until the doors opened at nine o’clock. Then, a horde of children walked grudgingly towards the gym for the usual assembly.

As usual, Tedd paid no attention to the long speech, instead looking for her friend, Alyssa. Spotting her over by the door, Tedd crawled over.
“How was your spring break?” Tedd whispered.

“It was good. How was yours?”

Tedd hesitated. While she trusted Alyssa not to give her up to the authorities, there were plenty of kids nearby who could easily overhear them. So she said, “It was good.”

Alyssa frowned, noticing the hesitation. She knew Tedd well and could easily tell when she was hiding something. “Why did you pause just then? Anything bad happen?”

Tedd was about to respond when the bell rang, and the stampede began. Tedd grabbed her ragged backpack and dashed off to homeroom.

After the usual announcements about lunch, the class transitioned into writing.
“Your assignment,” her teacher began, “is to write realistic fiction. This story must be at least twenty pages long, and at most fifty pages. You have two weeks to write the story. Go!”
This, Tedd realized, was her chance to write her parents’ stories. Tedd lunged for the nearest computer, barely beating two of her classmates to it. Ignoring their groans as every other computer was taken, Tedd began to write about her father’s career as a journalist, writing the story of his story about the presidential campaign, how he had traveled halfway across the country to not only speak with the presidential candidates, but also the delegates of swing states and a third-party, and had successfully predicted the outcome of the election, a feat which not many had been able to accomplish.

She was halfway through at twenty-three pages when the class ended, and they were shuttled off to their next subject. This continued on until lunch, when she finally got a chance to talk with Alyssa. However, she was forced to buy the awful school pizza ($41.50).

“So, what are you writing?” Alyssa asked.

“A story about a journalist who undergoes a deep investigation about the election and manages to defy its unpredictable nature. You?”

“I’m writing a story about how students rise up against a power-hungry principal. What happened over spring break that you’re not telling me about?”

“How about we talk about this after school?” Tedd suggested nervously.

Alyssa frowned. “Okay, but don’t run off without telling me.”

“I won’t.”

Recess came, and Tedd played chess with a classmate. He won, since he was a chess champion, but the game was closer than usual.

Science and music passed, and the school day was finally over, though not without a heavy helping of homework. Tedd searched for Alyssa, finding her near the usual crowd of children waiting for their parents.

“There you are,” Tedd said. “Come on, I’d prefer to talk on the blacktop.”

The blacktop was completely empty, and therefore perfect for Tedd’s purposes. Quietly, she told the entire story to Alyssa, though she could barely get it out without sobbing.

“Wow,” Alyssa said after a minute spent in awkward silence. “That’s awful!”

“Yes, it is,” Tedd said.

Alyssa hesitated for a second, a look of pity and confusion on her face. “Tedd, if you want, I could ask my dad if you could stay overnight at our house.”

“No, but thanks,” said Tedd after a moment of thought. “But if your dad could drop me off at the library, that would be nice.”

Tedd knew that while the library had books, they also had computers. If they had computers, then she could use them to access her story and work some more on it. And while a night under a roof would be nice, there would inevitably be questions from Alyssa’s parents about why Tedd’s parents weren’t picking her up. Besides, she needed to tell her father’s story far more than she needed a night with air conditioning.

“Okay,” said Alyssa.

An hour later, it was nearly closing time at the library, but Tedd had still not finished her story. And while she was concentrating on it to the exclusion of nearly everything else, she couldn’t help but notice that everyone else was filing out of the library. Tedd sat there for a minute trying to figure out what to do. And then she saw out of the corner of her eye, the bathroom.
The bathroom! That was it! If she went into the bathroom and hid behind the toilet, a feat which she thought she would be able to accomplish, then after the janitor left, she could continue writing her father’s story. She quickly walked to the bathroom, opening the creaking wooden door. Inside, the toilet was filthy, but Tedd couldn’t bring herself to care. She crawled behind the toilet, contorting her body into the fetal position, and waited, trying to ignore the stench.

Then, a growl issued from her stomach, and Tedd realized that she was hungry again. She supposed that her focus on the story had distracted her from her empty stomach. Tedd’s stomach growled again, a threatening sound, and Tedd heard the sound of footsteps drawing nearer. It had to be the janitor. If the janitor heard her stomach, then he would find her, and she would be sent to the orphanage. The stories of her family would never be told in there.

In desperation, Tedd tore an empty page from one of her books and started to chew quietly on it. The door creaked open. Tedd froze, hoping that the page would be enough to keep her stomach quiet for just long enough until the janitor left. She couldn’t see the janitor, but she could hear his steps on the floor drawing closer and closer to the toilet. The janitor halted. Tedd heard the sound of a brush scraping against the toilet. This persisted for about a minute. Miraculously, her stomach made no sound. As the door creaked open again, Tedd couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief.

“What was that?” the janitor said to himself suddenly.

Tedd froze.

“Is there a rat in there?”

As he approached the toilet again, Tedd held her breath and became totally still.
“Ah, it’s probably just my imagination,” the janitor said after what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, the door slammed closed as the janitor left. Tedd peeked out of her hiding place. Even in the dark, she could see that nobody was there. Tedd drew in huge mouthfuls of air and began to count inside her head. She decided that after she reached ten minutes, she would look out of the room.

Ten minutes came, and Tedd opened the door an inch or so. Nobody was in the library. She opened the door all the way to leave. Quickly, she walked over to the computer and began writing again. Around midnight, she finished her father’s story and her tribute. And then, her hungry stomach reminded her that it would love some food. Her exhausted brain replied that she hadn’t slept for two nights now. She decided to pick her mind, reasoning that if she slept, there would be a period of time when she wouldn’t be hungry. After she looked up directions to the school, she started running there, knowing that criminals could be out tonight. Thankfully, she reached the school without an incident. Falling asleep almost as soon as she lay down on the hay, Tedd’s last thought was that she had paid her debt to her father.

Tedd woke up at nine o’clock, awakened by the sound of the bell. While kids were gathered on the stairs next to the building, none of them had noticed Tedd lying asleep in the field. She rose, strolling as if she had come from the side of the field. Nobody seemed to realize that anything was out of the ordinary.

Later that morning, in writing class, she approached her teacher, who was sorely tempted to back away from Tedd’s stench.

“What do I do if I’m finished?”
The teacher raised her eyebrows. “You’ve finished already? Can you show me your story?”

Tedd got on the one computer left and brought up her story. The teacher looked through it carefully, pointing out some errors Tedd had made, most of them caused by working late at night while tired and hungry. Tedd was quick to fix them.

“This is a great story, Tedd,” her teacher said, impressed. “If it would be alright with you, I would like to print this out and add it to the classroom library.”

Tedd could not believe what her teacher was saying. If it was added to the classroom library, then generations of students would have the opportunity to read her father’s story.

“That would be great! Thank you so much!” Tedd said, overwhelmed by gratitude. “But there’s another story I would like to work on…”

The teacher nodded. “Go ahead,” she said.

Sitting down at the computer, Tedd began the story of her mother.

***

Soon, Tedd’s debts to both her mother and father were paid. She began thinking of life not as a simply necessary object to remember her mother, father, and brother, but as something enjoyable and full of opportunity. So she made sure that she continued life by working after school for the bookstore. She continued to live at the school, walking to high school later. Through determination and hard work, she was able to get a scholarship to college. She became a history writer, telling the stories of others who had lost their lives. And while her guilt over not waking up her family would always remain, while she had life, she had the opportunity to become a better person and overcome her cowardice. The world was not such a horrible place.

Growing Pains

Growing Pains

I see her standing there, waiting outside my window. I know I shouldn’t go running to her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in real life — as opposed to through a series of angry text messages — in weeks.

I look at myself in the mirror. My face, just beginning to age, stares back at me. Is that a gray hair? I sigh and release the strand of hair. When did I get so old? College is already a distant memory, and I’m just living day to day. My job is boring, even though it keeps me steady. I wish I could live without it, but there’s nowhere to go. I thought I would have an important job, making change in the world. Instead, I work a dull, entry-level job. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be mature when all I want to do is run and hide?

I don’t know what I want from Tara now. I don’t know what she could possibly give me, after betraying me like that. After not telling me — her girlfriend of almost a year — that she was married. Was it my fault? I feel like I should’ve been able to guess, but it was her who made the choice to cheat.

How can I face the pain I accidentally caused Joy?

I start heading for the stairs to talk to Tara. Three weeks ago, she would’ve come in herself with her key. Instead, she lied. Now, I’m opening my door, and there she is. I have to stand my ground with this conversation. If she cheated on Joy, then she’ll cheat on me.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I tell her.

Tara stands in front of me, her long hair waving back and forth like a willow tree. She’s Caucasian, while I’m Japanese. Her body is slender. Her neck is skinny too, in comparison to my fat body. I don’t say it negatively, just as an aspect of my body. Either way, I can’t help envying her, despite my outwardly body positive attitude. She always seemed too perfect. And now I know she’s not, because a perfect person would have never hurt me that way.

“It wasn’t even me. I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known because you lied to me,” I say.

She blinks, almost surprised by my brutality. How could I be anything but angry, with what she did to me and Joy? She’s beautiful, at least by standards of society. Of course her flawless exterior that made me so jealous every time I looked at her, would hide a rotten inner core.

“I hate thinking about that day,” I say. That day, of course, being Christmas Eve, when I found out that the beautiful girl I’d fallen for and was dating, was married. I’d gone to her place with a surprise gift, even though she’d told me she was spending it by herself. She’d lied, of course.

“Me too,” she tries to offer up. Tara, playing her mind games, twisting a lock of perfect, hazelnut hair. Like she didn’t know perfectly well about Joy. About her wife. About that ring on her finger, hidden in a pocket every time we kissed. I’m so betrayed, but at the same time, I want to go running back to her. Nobody ever told me that adult life could be so complicated.

“It’s not the same for you!” I snap. “Tara, I loved you. I did. We could’ve been happy together. I still want you,” I confess. She looks so pathetic in the cold, winter air. She’s only wearing a hoodie, and she leans into herself. She stares at the ground, her eyes hollow. I think she’s been crying too.

“Then take me back! I never loved Joy, and now she’s filling for a divorce just because of one mistake.” She tries to reach out for me, but I pull back. I turn to the side. I can’t let her know I want to take her back so much. I try to keep my head up, but I just want to go to her. I want to comfort her. I almost step forward, but I turn it into a step backwards.

“You lied to me, Tara. I can’t accept that.” It’s the first time I’ve talked to her since it happened, and now we’re already getting into a public fight. “I don’t want to be the other woman in your divorce. You can’t come running to me now that you’ve ended things with your wife.” I have to stand my ground, I try to remind myself.

“We got married too early, I’m only twenty-seven. Kat, I’ll do better. I swear.” Now, she’s crying, and I feel bad, but I have to stand my ground.

“I can’t do this,” I tell her. “Please go.”

“I can’t leave you. Then, I’ll be alone. I don’t have anywhere to go — Joy kicked me out of our apartment.”

“You told me she was a roommate, not your wife. Which is why we always, always, always went to my place. Fuck you, Tara. Go back to your parents’ couch.” I am just trying to getting out all of the hurt and the betrayal of the last few weeks, but I never want to hurt Tara.

Because I never like hurting someone I love.

Shouldn’t she feel that too? Shouldn’t she understand how disgusted I feel with myself? Shouldn’t she understand that I feel like I’m the one who ruined their relationship, as opposed to Tara?

The way Joy looked at me, as if it were my fault that her marriage was fractured, hurt. A lot. I mean, I didn’t know. I would never, ever, want to do that to someone, wittingly. Not after my first girlfriend did the same to me.

Am I just terrible at attracting people? Do I want to have people who want to hurt me pretend to love me? Because that’s what it feels like. All I want is someone to love me and to keep me safe.

“I’m sorry.” I want to forgive her. But I know I can’t. “You made a choice,” I tell her and turn back. I slam the door behind me, trying to conceal the tears in my eyes. She tries to stop the door from closing, but I don’t let her. When I get into my apartment, I drop my keys on the bedside table and curl up to sob.

The End

The Wizard (Part One: The Mage)

Chapter One: Meditate

Once upon a time, in a world that is neither yours nor mine, there was a young boy who wanted to be a wizard. His name was Salocin, but he had no last name. He was an orphan, for he had no parents. He lived in the orphanage and was not happy there. He had no friends, nor did he have siblings. He was alone and unhappy.

One day, he became determined to escape. He made a plan to leave at midnight on the 20th night of autumn. He was to leave out the window by using his bedsheets. He tied all three of the thin, white sheets together at midnight and then tied them to his redwood bedpost. This is how he made his way out.

He made his way down the bedsheets and found that they were not long enough. He only had about six meters of sheets, and he was on the third floor. The building was quite tall, the third tallest one in the small village of Jaber (pronounced Jja-bahrr). It was at the edge of the forest, which was perfect for Salocin’s plan.

He risked it and jumped. He fell down, down into a brier patch. He got so hurt and covered with scratches, scrapes, stings, and bruises, that he was afraid to proceed into the dark, black, uncanny, and very large forest. For a while, he lay there, considering his options.

Finally, he chose to leave his spot and go into the pitch black woods. The trees were not bending in any helpful way, but this was no trouble for Salocin, for he was a very dextrous child.

He was going to see a wizard, an old master of the arts of magic. He knew of one wizard, and the wizard went by the name of Egraw. Egraw had learned his magic from Colen, who had learned from Hazrah himself, the father of wizardry. Salocin was sure Egraw was in the forest he was escaping into.  

He walked throughout the night and into the day. He had not slept for two days, and one night, he finally reached a tree with a door in the side. By this time, he was famished and unquenched. The tree was very large and very thick. The door was in the shape of a heptagon and was made out of the tree. It looked exceedingly hard to notice, and Salocin was very proud to notice it. The door was so small that only a gnome would have no trouble walking through it. The door had engravings on it that looked like Elven runes, but he had no idea what they said, for he did not speak Elven. And yet… He knocked on the door, expecting Egraw to answer. The door opened quite suddenly after about twenty five seconds of waiting.

A short, old man opened the door. He was short enough to be able to have no trouble getting through the door. Based on the sound, Salocin inferred that the door had not been oiled for many years. He couldn’t help but notice the old man had wings — like that of a bird. They were as white as a dove’s, but had the texture of a bald eagle’s. He was not bald, however. Instead, he had long, white hair that matched his wings in color, but not texture. He had a long, white beard that extended to his chest and down to where his wings started. His clothes looked like those of a commoner, not like the flowing, blue robes that Sealocin had anticipated.

“Who are you, young boy?” asked the man, “Tell me of your name and what you want at old Egraw’s house.”

Salocin did not hesitate to reply. “My name is Salocin, and I would like to learn magic from you! Are you really the great wizard, Egraw?”

“Great? Tell me, child, do they tell stories of me? Am I famous?”

Salocin was confused. He thought that Egraw knew of his fame! He raised an eyebrow. “You know not your fame? You discovered the cure to season fever!”

Egraw was stumped and did not know what to say. He thought of himself as a poor, old hermit who lived in the woods.

“And made the potion of kingship! And told Aria how to make the tree of life grow! And…”

If it was true that all of this had brought him fame, and this kid was like any other, then Egraw could be famous! No, he was famous!

“… decipher the Elven runes! Where did you get your wings?”

Egraw’s heart was palpitating! This is natural for someone who suddenly finds out he is famous. He gave no thought to the question that Salocin had asked him. He was thinking about signing autographs, kissing babies, speaking in public —

“Excuse me, sir, where did you get your wings?”

— And people would go crazy over him… and then it hit him. The young boy was asking him how he got his wings!

“I was born with wings!”

… and he would be more famous than the famous bards…

“Egraw? Will you teach me magic?”

Egraw pondered the situation. Finally, he consented. “Yes, I will teach you magic!” He said this with a smile that could shine brighter than a thousand suns.

Egraw welcomed Salocin into his house. A winding staircase twisted both down and up, and went quite low. This was not surprising because after all, the tree was very tall. Egraw led Salocin down the stairs. Egraw was quite extraordinarily fast for an old man. Finally, they got to a dark, quiet room after twisting stairways in the roots.

“This is where we meditate,” explained Egraw.

“Meditate?” whined Salocin.

“Yes,” Egraw said.

Egraw sat down in the center of the room. His wings disappeared as soon as Salocin sat down.

“You see the power of meditation. The wings were fake. I used an ancient technique to fool you.”

Salocin sat down next to Egraw and held his breath.

He knew that that was how to meditate.

“Do not hold your breath!” warned Egraw.

Salocin stopped holding his breath and asked how to meditate. He received no answer, so he relaxed and stared off into space while he waited for an answer. He lost track of time, for the room was dark. Egraw knew the time well, for he had something similar to perfect pitch, just with time. He knew that they had been there for a full twenty eight hours, thirty-nine minutes, and seven seconds. That is when he left. Salocin did not notice. He only stopped when a bright white cat licked his hand with her foggy white and pink tongue. She was very small, about one foot long and not too chubby.

“What happened?” He questioned, for he was exhausted and famished. The answer he expected was from Egraw, but when he got his answer, he was surprised.

“You were staring off into space for twenty eight hours, thirty-nine minutes, and seven seconds,” stated the cat smugly. It licked its furry paw and cleaned its head with it. It seemed not to care whether or not the boy was goggling at it. “I’m a girl, by the way. You can call me whatever you want, for I have no name. Actually, I see you are a good person. I will tell you my name. I go by Snowflake, Fluffy, Ghost, Cloud, but I prefer Pickles. And don’t call me ‘Hey, you!’ My name isn’t ‘Hey, you!’ Hey is for horses, not people. Or cats for that matter. And don’t call me ‘Cat.’ I belong to the wizard Egraw, and he takes care of me promptly. Oh, have I been rambling on for too long? Let me give you a chance to speak! What is your name, Salocin?”

Salocin was dumbfounded. A talking cat that knew his name! And quite verbose too! He decided to mock the cat.

“My name? Oh, well, first off, my name is not Salocin. Salocins are for horses, not cats! Or humans, for that matter.” Then, he realized that he had been very rude and felt horrible. “I’m sorry for making fun of you,” he apologized. “But I know you know my name.”

“Apology accepted! I wasn’t even hurt in the first place. In fact, you’re right. I should stop being so mystical and be more humble like Egraw.”

Salocin thought that the cat was not that smug after all, having realized her mistakes — a rare and extravagant talent.

“Snowflake, do you know where Egraw is?” asked Salocin.

Snowflake was not so sure. “Upstairs?”

 

Chapter Two: Illusion

They crept up the twisty, windy stairways. Egraw was making lunch. He was making a pot of beef stew. Salocin knew this because of the smell. He was so starved that he could have drunk that whole pot down. He asked for a large helping and got a very large helping. He gobbled it down in mere seconds and was still hungry. So he ate more and more and more, until he was stuffed. He had only had corn, rice, and other things with little taste at the orphanage.

“Egraw, will you teach me how to make it look like I have wings?” Salocin pleaded.

He got his answer. “I use a technique called wind shifting,” Egraw explained. “I create vibrations in the air that hit you in certain ways. You don’t feel the wind, but you see wings. For example, Cthulhu is behind me,”

This was very true. A towering beast was above them both.

“I can’t see a kah-thoo-loo,” complained Snowflake. “What even is a kah-thoo-loo?”

The wizard laughed his head off. “It only works on the people I want it to work on. And it only works on humans,”

Cthulhu vanished. The wizard took a bow. Salocin clapped loudly.

“It also does not work on people who are meditating,” said Egraw. “Now, it is time for bed.”

Salocin climbed into a bed that looked like the bed he had at the orphanage, save for this one had engravings on it. It looked as if his room was all hollowed out and the bed was part of the tree. It made Salocin respect the wizard’s talent more.

 

Chapter Three: Light

Salocin woke up the next morning. Light shone through the window. It tickled his neck and his face. Or was it Snowflake’s tongue that tickled his neck and face? It was warm in the tree, and the windows were not made of glass. In fact, there were no windows, just hollowed out holes in the side of the tree. There were engravings everywhere — and not just Elven runes. There were runes that were written in the tongue of man. He started reading them until he noticed a very small, peculiar hole in the wall, which let through a narrow beam of sunlight that followed a path engraved into a tree. The beam of light was slowly, but noticeably, moving down the path and to a hole in the floor. Salocin wanted to get some more sleep, so he tried to fall back asleep.

He awoke once more to light shining in his eyes and found that all of the runes in the room were glowing with light. The small, narrow beam of light had reached the hole and had somehow lit up the whole room. He blocked the narrow beam of light with his hand, and the light crept out of the runes quickly. It looked like the light had been reflected from the tiny hole to all the runes on the wall and into his eyes to wake him up. The wizard was good at detailed work.

Salocin jumped down the stairs, skipping steps as he went. When he got down, he noticed that the whole building was covered with engravings. All of the engravings were glowing with yellow light.

The wizard was preparing breakfast and humming a happy tune. “Happy Light Day, at 9:47:38!” sang Egraw.

Salocin was puzzled. “Why is the light shining in the runes?”

Egraw thought he could teach something to Salocin. “I will tell you why we celebrate Light Day. Once upon a time, there was a spirit of light. His name was Shine. He lived in the sun. Every day, he would make the eight minute and twenty second journey back and forth to bring light to the people on earth. But people had no light during the night. Shine had a friend Bright, and they wanted to give the people of earth light during the night.

“One day, Bright said to Shine, ‘Let us bring the people of earth light during the night!’

“Shine agreed. So Shine became the moon, and Bright became fire. Every year, for one day, they follow the paths of light (if they find any) and grant the person who carved them one wish. I wish for a new hat!”

A bright red hat appeared on Egraw’s head. It had a blue pom-pom on top and shone with light for a few seconds. Salocin sat down and started to meditate to see if the hat was just an illusion. It was not an illusion. Salocin looked up. The glowing light in the “paths of light” were undoing themselves at a moderate pace. He raced up into his room and watched as the last of the light undid itself into the small hole in the ground in his room.

 

Chapter Four: Water

It was time for lunch. Salocin made his way downstairs for lunch, but the room was changed. The cauldron was in the middle of the room and was boiling by itself.

Salocin investigated. “What’s happening?”

“I am making a potion,” responded Egraw. He was stirring plain water over the fire.

Salocin only saw a pot of water. He meditated to see if this was another illusion — he was getting quite good at meditating. It simply stilled. It stopped boiling.

“Salocin, if you wanted to know anything, what would you want to know? The current location of the best hand-knitted sweater is what I first wanted to know,” proposed Egraw.

Salocin speculated his decision. Finally, all parts of his mind came to a decision. “Where are my parents, and all of my family members?”

“Salocin! You will get your answer! Your family is dead. Time for lunch!” Egraw was just cooking pasta.

“Will you teach me some magic? You said you were making a potion!” Salocin was very confused.

“I was pulling your leg! But I know your parents are dead, for I knew them myself,” confessed Egraw. “They were wonderful people, and they were my students. Not only were they studying magic, but they were blood mages. That means you were born with magic abilities, great magic potential, or have the blood of some sort of magic beast flowing through your veins,” he continued. “Your father’s name was Baelard Coffern, and your mother’s name was Ederna Ractect. They gave their lives to save you. When you were born, there was a prophesy. You were to grow up to kill your family and all people on the planet including yourself, if you were able to first kill your family. They gave their lives for you.” Egraw sniffled as he said this, and Salocin meditated to see if he was lying. “They drowned. In water. All for you.”

Salocin never knew his mother or father, but this raised a question in his mind. “What if I’m a blood mage too? Like, if my parents were blood mages, wouldn’t I be a blood mage too?”

Egraw thought, and spoke. “Yes, you are a blood mage with the blood of a phoenix and the blood of a dragon. And a unicorn. You are good with fire because of the phoenix blood. You will be good at flying because of the dragon blood (and the phoenix blood). You will also be good at seeing things, and you will be able to talk to animals and spirits when you are meditating (a gift from all three, mostly the unicorn and least the phoenix.)”

Salocin was still held by one question, for with each answer, more questions arose. “Are you a blood mage?”

Egraw could not say he was. “No, I am not. But Snowflake is.”

“I thought that Snowflake was a cat!”

“Well, she is not a human, but blood mages in animals have magic beast and wizard blood. She has both human blood and elf blood. She can read the Elven runes.”

“Can I learn Elven?”

Egraw thought that he was not to teach Salocin writing, but only magic. “Snowflake? Will you teach Salocin Elven?”

Snowflake had a crush on Salocin and would do anything for him. “Yes, master. But where should I start? Should I start with the basics? Maybe we could use the uncarved room! Or just use a blackboard. But the uncarved room would be where he could be tested. Yes, he would be tested in the uncarved room. Egraw, stop looking at me like that! Salocin would love to use it! Or maybe you want to use it for some kind of incantation, or spell, or add to the pathways of light! What’s for dinner, pasta? Ravioli? Do I smell a nice sauteed pumpkin filling and tomato sauce? What about the milk! I love milk. Can we have milk! Can we have milk? Good! Can we have more milk? I’ll go milk the cow! Yes! Milk! Milk tastes like nice, cool, or hot milk, depending on how you like it!”

Egraw had already prepared a bowl of milk. “Today, you may have a bowl of milk. Tomorrow, you will begin lessons on Elven. You know quite well that milk is like poison (at least the very mild kind) to cats.”

 

Chapter Five: Spirits I

“Salocin, what did I tell you about spirits?” Egraw stood over Salocin and smiled brightly.

“If you are nice to the spirits, they will be nice to you,” replied Salocin.

“Good. You may now begin,” offered Egraw.

Salocin meditated in the uncarved room. Nothing happened.

“Oh, I almost forgot the most important part! Carving!” Egraw had done this because he thought it would be fun to let Salocin carve the room.

They started carving. They carved patterns and more patterns, and then, Egraw told Salocin to do the trickiest part. The well of light. He carved a hole in the wall and let the light shine through. Salocin sat in meditation formation. Then, he used a special tool to carve little nooks and niches where the light fell that would make the whole room only light up if he was sitting down. And the room was filled with light when he sat down, and the wizard stepped out. The light started to move around in the small hole, and the patterns of light changed. It stopped, and Salocin started to glow. I will tell you how this worked. The light reflected in the certain patterns until finally it reached Salocin.  It reflected off of him and into the onlookers eyes. The light in the hole moved because the sun was moving in the sky, and the angle at which the light was entering in the hole was changing. This environment was needed for entering the realm of spirits.

It took them about one season to finish the carvings. As you may expect, some things happened in this time. Salocin turned thirteen, and they made sure they completed the ceremony of passing. Snowflake became bigger, now about one half more than her original size. A few other holidays also happened, such as the Fire Festival.

When Salocin finished the carvings, it was time to enter the realm of spirits. He sat down in position. He started to glow. The carvings that were dyed blue had water in them. The black ones had earth in them. Torches lined the walls in small capsules were meant for only letting out small strings of light. And there were lots of holes everywhere to stop the fire from going out. And Salocin sat there meditating, waiting, and remaining patient. In the night, his glow ceased because there was no light from outside, but he maintained meditating. Finally, he opened his eyes. He was no longer in the room he elaborately carved.

 

Chapter Six: Spirits II

Salocin looked around. He was alone in a green field, rivers running everywhere. It was a clearing in a forest. The sky was blue, and all was peaceful. Then, suddenly, clouds — dark, scary clouds — were coming in from all sides, and a head with five faces appeared in the center. It laughed and laughed and inflicted fear into Salocin’s heart. Then, strong hands picked Salocin up. Salocin fell unconscious

“Hello? Wake up!”

A boy was standing over Salocin with a perplexed look on his face. Salocin knew he was meditating, so illusions would not work on him. But this time, the boy standing over him had wings.

Salocin was curious. “Where am I? Am I in the spirit realm?”

The boy answered eagerly, “Yeah! My name’s Denartolasesgartoyeten!erlreoscoendfaresconder’dkefdert!ieskerdam, but you can call me Denarto for short.”

“Are you a spirit?” Salocin asked.

“Yes, I am a spirit. I saved you from Gretyongertoothesyenten!ertoteryunaweyerdfebezexerty’termeyhemhertyservecesrdyetheyemo, who is an evil cloud spirit. He wanted to kill you. Do you come from the true world? Are you a spirit?”

“I come from the true world, if that’s what you call it, and I am a wizard in training,” replied Salocin to all of the questions that Denarto asked him. “How old are you?”

“I’m 358 years old! I know, I’m very young.”

“I’m only thirteen. How is 358 years old, young?” Then, Salocin remembered that Egraw had told him that spirits are very old. And they live forever unless a good enough wizard teams up with a good enough spirit and they give up parts of their souls. Yeah, it’s very hard.

“Wow! You’re young! Can I come back with you? I’ve always wanted to see the true world!” pleaded Dentarto.

“That’s a thing? You can leave the spirit realm?”

“Probably in the same way you came here. Maybe I should meditate.” Denarto sat down on the grass and meditated without waiting for Salocin’s opinion. He blinked out of existence.

Salocin followed and meditated. It took him a little while longer than Dentarto, but he reached the place where he was meditating. He looked around. Dentarto was standing up straight, but the light was shining through him. Dentarto was not affecting the system.

“Egraw? Egraw! Come look at this!”

 

Chapter Seven: Wood

Salocin was practicing his meditation when he was rudely disturbed by a chopping noise. Salocin wandered downstairs. Egraw was carving wood.

“Egraw? Do you hear a chopping noise?” asked Salocin.

The chopping noise got louder. Salocin hopped out the door. He perceived a large pile of wood and several tired woodsman chopping down the forest. They all looked stronger than Salocin.

Salocin looked and found that there were stumps in all directions.

Denarto was nowhere to be found. Salocin called his name. He received no answer.

Salocin decided to talk to the men. He went outside. “What are you doing?” He asked them.

“We are cutting down trees for the king,” they answered.

Salocin told Egraw of the choppers.

“This is not good. Salocin, do you love this house?” Egraw asked.

“Yes, it is the only house I love,” replied Salocin.

“Then, I am sorry. We must leave. They will soon cut it down. Follow me.”

Salocin followed Egraw down a pathway into the roots he had never seen before. He thought that he knew every pathway in the tree. Snowflake was trotting at his side. It led to a door. The door was glowing with light, but Salocin meditated and knew it was a pathway of light effect. Egraw tapped the door with his finger in the center. It opened, and behind it, lay a small cave. On the other side of the cave was another door. Egraw entered it and climbed up a spiral stairway.

“This is as new to me as it’s new to you, Salocin,” pitched Snowflake.

Egraw beckoned for them to follow. “Salocin, listen to the dragon inside of you. It will tell you what you need to know that I can no longer teach you. Snowflake will be your humble guide. The phoenix within you will tell you about your parents. The unicorn in you will aid you with your magic. Take care, and you will learn.”

This was the last that Salocin saw of Egraw, at least for now. This is when Egraw started to glow. Salocin was forced to blink at the light, and when he stopped blinking, Egraw had vanished. Snowflake licked his hand and rubbed her head hard on Salocin’s thin leg. Salocin’s bright blue eyes filled with silver tears that ran down his pale face. It was a sad moment.

Salocin and Snowflake continued up the spiral stairway and reached the top. It led to a another door. Snowflake pressed her head against the door and forced it open. Salocin followed. “It was not the house I loved,” Salocin murmured to himself, “but Egraw himself.” That is when Salocin collapsed.

 

Erik’s Curse

Life is like a movie based on a book: horrible.

My name is Erik. I’m 4279 days and 11 hours and 23 minutes old (at least in World of Warcraft), and 7201 days, six hours, and 54 minutes old otherwise, a purebred 90’s kid who was only in the 90’s for four years, but it still somewhat counts. I live in the deep, dark lair of my parents’ basement, trapped until I find a job.

Unfortunately, my job search has been hopeless since apparently, college degrees and less hostility are required for most of them. They always tell you, “Oh, we won’t hire anyone who yells at our customers for buying Star Wars Episode I on DVD,” or something along those lines, even though it’s only second nature to me. Some people just don’t understand that everybody’s special, and that I deserve to be hired for that. Unlike those corporate stooges who decide to ruin childhoods by rebooting old franchises, trying to make them hip and edgy for those who are, well, how do I put this lightly… unfortunate enough to have been born in the 2000’s and later.

After a while of things like this and trying out three different jobs about a year ago,  I decided that a basement wasn’t so bad, and I’d rather like to be trapped there. Anything I needed, my mother would get for me. That is, until a few weeks ago.

***

My family was what I’d consider perfect. My mom let me do what I wanted. I didn’t have a dad, and yet, I never needed one. Mom always told me he left after a big fight before I was born. So I was always very close to my mother. She’d buy things for me, drive me everywhere, and get me anything I ever needed.

Unfortunately, she’d been acting strange lately. She started forgetting my name; she lost her car keys, and they ended up in the freezer; she got lost a block away from me… so I decided to venture into the outside and find out what was happening with her. We went to the doctor, and after a depressing 40 minutes, the doctor came to me with a depressing look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “But your mother has Alzheimer’s.”

I was just speechless. I’d seen a lot of TV where people would get down on their knees and scream, “Noooooooo!!!” when something as tragic as this happened, but I didn’t feel like that was the appropriate response. I just turned away and sat back down in the waiting area to think. The doctor told me what to do and how to take care of her, but I didn’t listen. I was just thinking about all the things she’d done for me, and how she loved me, and now it was all gone.

She’ll probably forget about me eventually, and I’ll have to take care of her.

I finally snapped out of it when the doctor asked me, “Do you have a job?”

“No, I don’t,” I replied.

The doctor had a somewhat surprised look, but he tried to hide it from me. Most people are surprised when they find out my mother has been working to support both herself and me into her late 60’s even though I’m an adult. I’ve become used to it, though I don’t really care what they think anyway. They don’t live my life!

“I recommend you find a job soon, then,” the doctor remarked. “I don’t think your mother can work in her condition anymore. After all, somebody needs to pay the bills.”

Paying the bills — that frightened me. It seemed so complicated, so many deductions and adding things and expenses. I had no idea what to do. I’d already tried and failed at being a clerk, I got through a month of law school before I dropped out, and apparently, being extremely opinionated doesn’t make you a registered critic. I could never find a job, let alone pay bills. I was stumped on that. Eventually, Mom finally came out of the doctor’s office, and we walked home slowly while I thought about my options. What could I do for her?

The doctor gave me a prescription and told me to get her meds from a pharmacy once a week. I had no idea where a pharmacy was, so I decided first on my list was to get her to a pharmacy. I used my phone to look for some nearby, but all of them had four and a half out of five stars or less. I knew from experience that anything in media under five stars was horrible trash, so, using my best judgement, I found a five-star one, ten towns over in Springfield. The only problem was, I didn’t know how to drive.

“Hey, Mom?” I asked. “Can I borrow your car keys?”

“Who are you, and why do you want them?”  she replied with fear in her eyes.

What could I tell her? She forgot all about me. She was scared of me. I’d never felt like this before; my own mother had forgotten me. Maybe she’d forgotten my name before, but never my entire existence!

I tried to explain to her, “I’m your son!”

But she kept saying she didn’t have a son. Every time, she wouldn’t even let me finish saying anything. She just kept accusing me of being a criminal and a liar. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I slapped her.

At that moment, it was like everything went silent. Every human, animal, and even inanimate object felt like it was watching us in shock and fear. That man just slapped an old lady! Probably his own mother! What a monster! I didn’t even know what I was doing, but all the rage and anger I had been building up since finding out that my mother had Alzheimer’s, and now I had to pay bills and take responsibility for once in my life, and work, and be an adult… It all just came out horribly, and I released it on my own mother. My only family.

“I – I’m sorry, Mom.”

She just looked at me, innocently.

“I remember you now, Erik,” She said. “But you’re not my son.” She sighed.

She walked away. I didn’t know what to say to her or what to do. Should I walk with her? Should I go away for a while? I didn’t know. But I did know I needed to take care of her.

I went to the bus stop and waited for the bus to Springfield to arrive. Maybe she’d forget about this. I mean, if she forgot about me, she could definitely forget about the incident. I could even surprise her with her meds when I got home. The bus finally came, and I got on. After two hours, I was finally in Springfield. I asked around for directions and eventually, after an hour of searching (though 45 minutes of that was eating dinner in a cheap restaurant), I finally found it. I went in and was astonished to see that so many items not related to medicine were in a medicine store!

“I have to come here more often,” I said to myself.

But with Mother on the mind, I tried to ignore the figures of Star Wars characters and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle plushies to get to the medicine area.

“Hey, I  need Alzheimer’s meds. Here’s a prescription. I need them now, please!” I told the pharmacist.

“I’m sorry,” the Pharmacist replied. “But you need to put in an order first, sir.”

I started to get angry. “What?!” I said, gritting my teeth. “I spent three hours trying to get here and find your stupid freaking pharmacy, and I can’t even get meds?!”

The pharmacist just looked at me in shock. “Please leave, or I’m calling the cops,” she ordered.

I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I left after that.

***

After delays on the bus ride, I got back at midnight, expecting to see Mom. I needed to apologize to her, but when I got there, she was gone. I looked all around the house for her, but she wasn’t there. Just emptiness. I ran outside only to see her at the end of the road by our house, sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean. I walked over to her. She was staring vacantly into the sky.

“Are you lost, Mom?” I asked.

“No, I just needed to come here and think, sir.” It was horrible! Hearing my only parent, one who had taken care of me for my entire life, refer to me as sir! Like she didn’t know me!

“Listen, Mom, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I was under shock, and I overreacted and hit you. I’ve never had to take care of anyone before, and now, out of the blue, I have to suddenly get a job and become an adult. But I promise I will take good care of you and learn how to support you. I’ll build a resumé, I’ll try every job I can think of, and I’ll make you proud, Mom!” I proudly stated. “But first, can I ask for your forgiveness for all these years of having to take care of me?”

She stared into the ocean, the waves slowly rolling in and out while she thought. I was praying she’d forget the slap, that we could start all over again fresh, that we could have that happy ending.

Then, she spoke. “Of course I forgive you, you’re my son! But why do you want forgiveness? You never did anything.”

I was shocked. I thought it would be great to not deal with that, but I realized that a part of her was gone; part of her life was completely gone! I started to cry. I hugged her lightly, and we stared out into the sky, awaiting the dawn of a new day.

 

A Matter of Time

It was a beautiful place, the bookstore.

Some might even call it phenomenal. Inspiring. Life-changing. Hannah wasn’t sure what she expected the first time she saw it. It seemed out of place in the dark alley with just one other shop, an old newsstand that only sold moldy chips and cheap soda. The sun seemed to shine only on the bookstore, lighting up the street with an otherworldly light. Outside the bookshop, a pot of hot chocolate stood bearing the sign “Free. Take Some.” with a pile of paper cups at its side. Books stacked in orderly piles: everything from pocket sized editions of The Odyssey to the latest comics for six and seven-year-olds.

Hannah poured herself a cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. Frothy deliciousness met her tastebuds, an explosion of flavor that made her smile in delight. Hannah walked into the bookshop, still smiling, and breathed in the musty, comforting smell of old and new books. Time seemed to be irrelevant here. Tattered, leather-bound books dating back centuries stood next to the latest novels, crisp and pristine. She headed to the back of the shop where a pile of plush pillows and napping cats lay, and colored light flooded through the stained glass window. Hannah took a few volumes off the shelves and snuggled up with her books and hot chocolate. She felt that everything she loved was in in her hands: adventure, happiness, friends, mystery, animals, battles, daring missions, and magic, all in arm’s reach. Maybe, one day, she would be providing the adventure, happiness, battles, magic and friends for someone else. Maybe, one day, her books would stand on these shelves for a new generation. As she left the shop that day, newly purchased books in tow, she knew she would be back tens, hundreds, thousands of times. It was only a matter of time.

***

Thirty Years Later

The bell over the top of the door jingled softly, announcing the arrival of a shopper. Hannah had been working at the shop for over 20 years, but she didn’t think she would ever get over the shop’s understated beauty and the wonderful, woody smell of books and their history. A small girl entered the bookstore, startling Hannah and extracting her from her thoughts. The girl’s round, bright blue eyes twinkled merrily at the sight of so many books. A mound of brown curls surrounded her head and neck. She scanned the shelves.

“Do you have any books by Hannah McKinley?”

“Yes, dear. They’re over there on the third shelf to the left.” The girl’s face was etched with determination and excitement. Grinning, she pulled the book off the shelf and flipped through it, entranced. Then, she abruptly stopped. Her jaw dropped.

“No way!” she breathed. “You’re Hannah McKinley!” She looked from the photo of the author to the woman who had helped her find her book.

Hannah smiled. “That’s me.” The little girl looked at Hannah with so much wonder, awe, and bewilderment in her eyes, that Hannah felt her heart melt.

“I love your books. They’re just so… so real. They make me feel like I’m the luckiest person on earth, with the best gifts in the world: adventure, happiness, battles, magic, and friends.”

“I know exactly how that feels,” Hannah said.

“Lilly!!! We have to go now, sweetie!”

“I should go,” said the girl. “But I’ll be back.”

“I know you will,” said Hannah. “It’s only a matter of time.”

 

My Movie is as Red as the Devil

Movies. They were my life. My life was based on movies; it was how I made a living. In fact, I was quite famous. Why? Movies, obviously.

“And the nominees for the best comedy are…” The announcer said. Then my mind clicked. I squirmed in the plush red velvet seat. This was what I’d been waiting for all night.

“Anabel! It’s almost time!” I whispered.

“The LOL movie!” Applause. Wow. What an original name. All I can infer is that it’s really funny. But really, how funny is it?

“Adultified Sesame Street!” Applause. Ew. How can you make Sesame Street for adults?

“The People Movie!” Applause. Well, you can tell so much about the movie from this name. All movies are about people.

“My Life is as Red as a Devil!” Applause. That’s my movie! Yay!

“The Zinczinczinc movie!” applause. Zinczinczinc? What type of name is that? What is this about? I wouldn’t want to watch this. I guess it’s fun to say.

“These all sound like really good movies. It’s going to be really hard to choose,” Anabel told me. I sighed.

“Even The People Movie?” I asked.

“Lilly, give each movie a chance!” Anabel reasoned, “Have you seen any of these movies besides your own?”

“No…” I trailed off.

“Lilly…” Anabel sighed.

“Ooh! They’re announcing it!” I whispered.

“And the Oscar award for the best comedy goes to…” the announcer went on, “My Life is as Red as a Devil!!!”

I gasped. Anabel and I silently screamed. That’s me! I just won the award! Well, that was unexpected. I went up to go say my speech.

“Slay the speech, Lilly!” Anabel told me, and gave a thumbs up.

Why am I so nervous? I am seen all the time online as a movie director, so why should I be nervous? Maybe it’s because I’m so young. I’m 20 at the moment, so I’m probably the youngest director here. This is also my first time here.

Lilly Bucuar, you are not a scaredy cat. You can do this.

I stepped up onstage. I cleared my throat.

“Hi,” I said into the microphone, “It’s a wonderful honor just to be here today. Thank you all who supported me. First, mom and dad –– you have inspired me so much, and told me never to give up on my dreams. To my friend, Anabel –– you always supported my work. And finally to the whole cast of my Life is as Red as a Devil- you al—”

I started coughing. Choking. Where was the water? I kept coughing.

“Water please,” I managed to croak out between coughs. Didn’t they have common sense? When someone is choking, you get them water! You don’t just leave them there to choke and get sent to the hospital because they’ve been coughing for so long!

“Oh! Sure! Ms. Bucuar!” One of the people on stage said.

While they were getting me water, apparently I fainted. AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! Help! Now I’ll be known as weak and afraid. Well, I’m not! The crowd gasped. I have no idea what happened in the five minutes I was out.

Suddenly, a splash of cold water hit my face.

“Oh!” I said, surprised, “It’s cold!” Maybe I said it a little too loudly. The crowd snorted, trying not to laugh. Well, it is the Oscar for the best comedy, but I’M NOT COMIC RELIEF!! I’m a movie director. Or I was last time I checked, which happened to be ten minutes ago.

I stood up. My dress was soaked, and sticking to me. The crowd burst out laughing. My face got red. Tomato red.

I ran offstage to cry in a corner. No more movie directing for me until I can speak in public. Even if I get nominated for an Oscar again, my face will hopefully not be as red as the devil onstage the second time around.

The Girl in the Portrait (Excerpt)

It was a lovely time. Haughty parties with the best orchestras, delicacies from every corner of the world, dapper suits with a ridiculous amount of accessories, fancy dresses with at least ten petticoats. She had a lovely life. At the top of her selfish society, free to bully and ridicule anyone she chose with no consequences.

The party, too, was lovely. Her seventeenth birthday celebration was by far the most extravagant party the small, rich town had ever seen. Everything about the town, the girl, and her party was ideal. She had the kind of life free of hardships that nearly everyone at that time, or anytime, might kill for. And on that lovely night, someone did.

***

The whole town has forgotten about it. It happened so long ago that the death of the girl who’d lived here before us has been long forgotten. But there is her portrait on the wall of her family’s old mansion, turned into an art museum by my mom. As I stare up at it, I can’t help but wonder what happened to her all those decades ago.

“Lucas? Why are you just staring at that old painting? I know it’s late, but you have to get back to work,” Mom scolds me. I jump. I hadn’t realized she’d been standing there.

“Who is that?” I ask, looking up at the girl’s sleek black hair and narrowed hazel eyes. Mom groans.

“You’ve not heard of her? Honestly, Lucas, I gave you that computer for research. Haven’t you learned anything about your own town?” Mom says, exasperated. “This is Adelaide Bellamy, daughter of Augustus Bellamy. Hopefully, you at least know he founded your new town.”

I look back up at Adelaide, and our eyes seem to meet. “What did she do?”

Mom sighs. “She probably would have married and taken over the town, but… well, she was, uh, murdered when she was your age. You know, I think it happened in the ballroom right over there, but they never found out who did it.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Wait, so she died in this house? Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?”

How could something so horrible happen to someone like that? Why did it happen? Despite how creepy it is, my curiosity is instantly spiked. Mom just shrugs.

“Because, Luke. You’d constantly be looking for ghosts instead of doing your chores, and we can’t have that, right? Now, go back to work.”

I nod distractedly, turning back to face the portrait. Adelaide’s painted eyes are so alive. It makes the fact that she’s been dead for over a century even more disturbingly intriguing. Such a fascinating color. Who would want to kill someone so pretty?

“Luke!” Mom barks.

I jump. “Jeez, Mom, I’m going. Calm down!” I snap, stalking off to the old ballroom.

I plan to finish cleaning this or hanging that, I really do. But I am too distracted by how someone died in this very room. I sit on the stage, wondering exactly what had happened. There had probably been a party or gala. I can almost see Adelaide dancing around the shiny marble floor.

“Lucas! Honestly, I know you’re tired, but we’ve gotta get this place open tomorrow! Stop. Thinking. About. Adelaide.” Mom yells, snapping her fingers in front of me. I blink a few times and realize Mom has probably been standing there for a while.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, going over to straighten a frame. “I am not thinking about the dead girl. I’m working!”

She sighs. “Yeah, yeah. If you are doing it now, I suppose it’s alright.” Mom grumbles.

For the rest of the night, I go around the rooms with her and clean everything. Before I go to bed, I take one last glance at Adelaide.

“What happened to you?” I mutter.

She stares at me, silent and still.

 

A New Beginning

In his dream, Brian was in the hospital, and he couldn’t move his arm. Gears whirred and metal scraped. Then, the room exploded, and he woke up.

The landscape around him was scorched and burned. Fires raged everywhere, buildings were decimated, steel destroyed. There was no sign of life anywhere.

Brian was shocked. What happened? He remembered living a normal life in the city, talking with his friends, until a bomb hit, and he lost his right arm. There was the hospital room, and then the replacement arm. And then, after weeks… nothing. He couldn’t remember past that. Where was his family? Were they dead? Or were they somewhere waiting? Reality cut through his dream and sleepiness.

Brian suddenly thought of the replacement arm, which had haunted him since he lost his organic one. It was made of coltan, steel, and tungsten. Synthetic muscles replaced the ones he lost, and gears functioned as joints. The doctor had programmed it to be exactly like a normal human arm, except much stronger and more resilient.

He didn’t know what to do. The number one thing he still wanted to know was what had happened. He needed to know what had happened before anything else.

Suddenly, Brian heard footsteps. He seemed to be outside, sitting on the ground. The ground was burnt, upturned, and there was no grass. A million thoughts raced through his mind, mostly about death. Brian grabbed a rock for a weapon and turned around. The footsteps got closer, and Brian desperately wanted to run away, but he needed to see who it was. Eventually, a figure came into view, and it was a young boy, just like Brian.

Brian stared and shouted, “Jack, what are you doing here? What happened? The hell is going on?! Where are Cooper and Henry?!”

Jack limped towards Brian and muttered, “You don’t want to know.”

When Brian was still living in the city, he had several friends, and one of them was Jack. Jack was full of energy, passionate, and loved playing guitar and heavy metal music. Now, it looked like he hadn’t slept in three days. His right leg had a cut, and his pants were stained with blood.

Cooper and Henry were also their friends, but they weren’t here. Brian asked Jack again, “Where are Cooper and Henry?!”

“I don’t know! They’re dead! Dead! Listen to me! Everyone’s dead!”

Jack sat down on the ground and told Brian everything that happened. The reason Brian lost his right arm was because a group of renegades, who were called the Outsiders because they did not live in the city, were determined to take over the city and claim it as their own. First off, the city was where the lucky people lived after World War III; as a result, people built new communities there. However, some did not take the chance to enter these new cities, so they were stuck in the wilderness. Eventually, while the cities grew, the Outsiders banded together and started their own community. Now, they were determined to take over the cities.

One day, the Outsiders flew over the city, dropping bombs and blowing up Brian’s arm.

After Brian received a metal arm, life remained normal for weeks. Then, the Outsiders launched a full blown attack on the city. It was living hell. Fighter jets destroyed the Control Center, and soldiers stormed the ground. The only reason Jack got away was because at the time, he was taking a walk outside and escaped the carnage.

Brian had been inside his house in the living room, the sturdiest part. All the wreckage fell around him. Then, a bomb hit ten yards away, and the force caused Brian to fly through the air. When he landed, his head hit a rock, causing his memory loss. Later, the Outsiders took over the Control Center and claimed this city as theirs. Brian and Jack were stuck outside, while the Control Center was the Outsiders’ to keep.

“So, we’re basically screwed now,” Jack finished up.

Brian stared into the distance. “Well, it’s probably better to die now than to risk being captured by the Outsiders. What do you have in mind?”

Jack thought for a bit and remarked, “Well, I don’t think suicide is a very healthy way to go down. Let’s keep on walking for a bit and see what we find.”

“That’s a stupid idea! We’re gonna die!”

“Better than committing suicide!”

Brian shoved Jack. “I’m not listening to your idea!”

Jack shoved Brian back, and they started fighting. Brian was very weak, but he had his new arm, so he easily overpowered Jack. However, while they were fighting, they came across a dead soldier’s body, and a piece of paper next to him. Paper was rare, as new ways of displaying information called holograms had been invented.

Brian pushed Jack on top of the soldier and saw the paper. He ignored Jack and studied it. It appeared to be some kind of map. Jack stood up and grabbed the map. Brian elbowed Jack with his robotic arm, and Jack went tumbling three feet away. Brian was impressed.

Well! This new arm is way cool!”

He picked up the paper.  It showed the city, the wilderness around it, and a mysterious path from the city to a triangle shaped building. Jack stood up, rubbing his ribs and wincing in pain.  

Brian showed Jack the map. “Hey, what do you think this is?”

Jack peered at the map and was silent for a few minutes. Eventually, he muttered, “I think we should go there.”

Brian exploded. “What the frickin’ hell are you talking about?! We are going to die soon! We have no resources, and you are fantasizing about doing idiotic things! Are you sure you didn’t hit your head on a piece of rubble?”

Jack sighed. “Brian, you might be right. However, if there’s one thing I want to see, it’s that triangle thing. If we die, at least we tried and saw the thing, or maybe we might even survive and get there! I know I’m sounding a bit cliché, but I wanna try. Either you come with me, or I go by myself. Either way, I’m going. And you can’t stop me.”

And Brian stood there, unable to think of anything to say.

***

They had been traveling for three days now, following the map. Their share of food, all from the dead soldier, was getting low now. All the way out there, the remnants of the city were becoming less and less. However, there was one thing bothering Brian. Where were all the bodies of the soldiers or anybody else? Did barely anybody die? It was all very confusing for Brian.

Jack was in front, staring at the map and trying to figure out where they were. Along the middle of the path, there were many rocks of all different sizes. From a far distance, all these rocks together looked like a rectangle. On the map, there was a rectangle next to the pathway, meaning Brian and Jack were at that area.

Jack looked up. “Hmm. On the map, there is some kind of rectangle formation made of stone. Brian, can you run back and see if this looks like a rectangle?”

Brian harrumphed, but sprinted back. Around 150 meters back, the rocks did look like a rectangle, and from even further distances, it was certain. Brian jogged back to Jack and told him, “Yeah, we’re here. Give me the map.”

Brian looked at the map, and the rectangle was next to the path.

He thought, If we’re at the rocks, then we have one-half of the path to go. That means around four more days. If only we could get more food somehow..

Over the next two days, the pair followed the map, keeping on track with other landmarks shown on the map.

By the end of the fifth day, they had no more food left. Jack kept on trekking along, while Brian wondered if his mechanical arm was wearing down. Brian had a fear that whenever he received anything new, he would wonder if it was breaking down. He always had this problem, but now it seemed to be overwhelming.

Brian knew this trip was suicide. However, hadn’t he asked for suicide? He wanted it and didn’t want it at the same time. Mind-boggling questions tortured Brian about life or death.

Suddenly, Jack shouted, “Brian! I found a dead soldier! He might have food with him like the last one!”

Brian sprinted towards Jack and saw a soldier lying sideways. He couldn’t see any sign of injury.

“Get some food quickly,” Brian instructed. “I’ll see if he has anything else that’s useful.”

While Jack collected food, Brian searched the soldier’s other pockets. After ten minutes, Jack had found dried fruit, water, crackers, cheese, chili with beans, spaghetti, and beef stew. Brian had discovered a knife, a pistol, and a flashlight.

That was all that they could carry, and they continued their journey.

***

On the seventh day, the triangle came into view. It was made of metal and was the only modern thing around. In front, there was a hole that lead inside. Brian and Jack approached it, and neither wanted to get any closer. They argued with each other, until Brian went first, holding the pistol, and then Jack. There was nobody inside, and stairs led to mysterious places. Brian wanted to get out but a man stepped into their view. He had black hair with tints of gray. He was smiling, tall, and seemed to be muscular. Brian screamed, and prepared to shoot when the man spoke.

“Wait! I see you have the map. Lucky! Well, follow me!”

Brian and Jack were bewildered. What was this place?

They walked down one staircase and entered a small theater with a screen. The man introduced himself.

“I am John, the leader of this operation, which is called Technology and Resistance Movement, or TARM. You’ll learn a lot here. But don’t worry. This isn’t a trap or anything.”

Brian was even more confused. What was going on?

The screen started playing a video, and Brian and Jack were intrigued. The screen showed videos of the city manufacturing the signature Outsider planes and vehicles. The city secretly transported the technology outside the walls, while telling everybody the Outsiders were a rebellious group. Then, the movie cut to the top leaders accepting money in exchange for doing what the Outsiders wanted. The leaders were bribed, and every time, they accepted it. Finally, the screen showed machines building a very strange shaped base in the wilderness, far away from any civilization. The leaders were entering the buildings along with other officials. The screen cut off, and darkness filled the room.

John spoke again. “The Outsiders are fake. The city is corrupt, and the leaders have a hidden base. Overall, that attack on the city was completely orchestrated by the city itself in order to destroy most of the city and restart the process.”

Brian stuttered, “Most of the city? We didn’t see any of the city left standing!”

“Well, the very middle has a cloaking device, therefore tricking anybody still alive into thinking the city was completely destroyed,” John replied.

Brian wanted to ask another question, but his brain was overloaded trying to process the other information. The Outsiders were fake?!

John kept talking. “Before the attack, we found out about it and sent everybody who wanted to live, here. You two probably didn’t hear about it, and you’re very lucky to have found the map leading here. Anyway, the real reason the leaders decided to attack the city was to reduce the population significantly and restart the city. They only wanted the elites to live with them, the people that they knew personally and could talk with, work with. They didn’t want those lower people who wasted food, money, time, and didn’t benefit the city. It’s a twisted form of a proper society. They did not think of all the lives that would be lost, or how the civilians would feel. They only knew of their own benefits.”

Deep inside Brian, something snapped. Then, shattered. And finally, disappeared. He had wondered where his family was. But now, he knew. They were dead.

“Our plan is to attack the leaders’ hidden base. It might seem crazy, but we have to do it.”

Jack spoke up. “That’s suicide! I don’t know whether this base is powerful, but we are severely underpowered! I saw no artillery or anybody else!”

“Not so fast hotshot, just wait and see.”

John led them into what seemed like the main chamber. It had a tile floor with many lights illuminating the area. On the walls, there were many racks of guns and weapons. The most amazing thing was that there were people. Around 200 people were milling about, doing their work. Brian was shocked. This many people had come here? He had no idea.

John said something into his radio and out came two boys. Immediately, Brian recognized them. They were Cooper and Henry!  They seemed to be stronger and tougher. Brian and Jack were shocked again, as both of them thought Cooper and Henry were dead. They bolted up to Cooper and Henry.

The pair laughed and said, “We have a lot to catch up on.”

***

Cooper had been trained in archery and basic sword fighting, while Henry had learned about running operations and analysis. Brian decided to learn how to take advantage of his metal arm, using its strength and its resilience. He became the best shot TARM had ever seen. Lastly, Jack trained in stealth and shotguns, and he could sneak up on anybody.

Eventually, TARM got ready to attack the hidden base after months of training. However, on the day of the attack, Brian fell down the stairs and sprained his ankle. Everybody was in shock. How could they defeat the city if one of their main attackers was out? Brian wasn’t this clumsy! Well, sometimes he tripped and didn’t watch where he was going, but he never fell down the stairs!

“Screw it, just go. It’s not that hard, is it? Besides, this will heal soon. Go!” Brian winced at the pain.

All the fighters boarded a helicopter-like transporter and took off. Henry, along with other intelligence officers stayed to monitor the battle and fire the heavy artillery. Brian received a healing accelerator and watched the battle through cameras. The second he saw the fighters get off the plane, Brian knew something was wrong. The ground was shaking, and no enemy soldiers came out to greet them. Then, it all happened.

***

On its way back, the transporter dropped onto the landing pad, just before the engines started smoking. The fighters slowly climbed out, some not even able to walk. The transporter had picked up all the soldiers they could from the battle and flown them back, sustaining heavy fire. Jack and Cooper were lucky, as they were not as injured. Henry and Brian, with his sprained ankle, rushed up to them, and started spewing questions at them. Nobody knew the leaders would be that ready and powerful.

Cooper sat down and sighed,“The base had a hidden weapon. Right after we got off the helicopter, the ground shook, and we all fell. The shaking got worse, and right when we thought it would never stop, it stopped. However, soldiers sprinted from the base, shooting their guns at us. Most of our soldiers were shot, but because we’re twelve and thirteen, they didn’t see us. Jack and I climbed back on the transporter with other soldiers, and we took off. So you see, they have a super-weapon. Brian, I knew we would need you!”

Brian was flattered. “Need me? What could I have done, except run around in circles? I’m not that useful!”

“Well, your arm doesn’t feel pain, so it could withstand the earthquake. Then, you could, um, well…”

“See! I couldn’t have done anything!”

The medical staff rushed to treat the wounded, while the group of friends went down the stairs into a fancy parlor. They sat in silence until Jack stood up and said, “Well, let’s get to work.”

***

The wind blew in Brian’s ears. The rifle on his back seemed heavier than normal. It had been seven months of training and retraining since the last battle. Henry was at TARM’s base, running ops as usual, while Cooper, Jack, and Brian, along with other soldiers, were on their way to a final assault on the base. They were riding the transporter. Since the first fight at the base, TARM had damaged the base with heavy artillery and spied on it with drones. It was now or never.

Brian was carrying a sniper rifle and a smaller, faster rifle. Cooper had his bow and different types of arrows. Lastly, Jack carried two different shotguns, all ready for use.

Suddenly, Henry’s voice crackled in their ears through their earpieces. “You ready for some action? Yeah, you are. Cannon control, standby. Three, two, one, fire!”

Back at TARM, heavy cannons were firing missiles and rockets at the hidden base. They flew past the helicopter, leaving a trail of smoke and plasma. There had been a breakthrough of engineering when the United States was still intact, the time before the cities rose.

The leader’s base lit up, then partly exploded. Many of their anti-aircraft guns were destroyed, leaving an opening for the transporters.

Brian called Jack and Henry over and shouted over the wind, “Alright, let’s go over the plan. A, drop in front and just attack. B, flank from the left. C, come from the right, enter the base, and deactivate security. D, drop from behind, picking off whatever is left, move into the base, and confront those leaders. You ready?!”

Jack and Cooper both replied, “Yup!”

Soon, they were in range of the base. The pilot screamed, “We’re taking too much flak! Brian! Shoot the AA guns!”

Brian unslung his sniper rifle. It was made of wood, like a hunting rifle. However, inside, there were plasma magnets that powered the bullet, making it a very effective weapon. He aimed at an anti-aircraft gun and fired. The bullet flew through the air and ripped the cannon into shreds.

With the gun destroyed, there was time to land and get all the soldiers off. When the transporter was fifteen feet above the ground, Brian, Jack, and Cooper jumped off. From another helicopter, Squad D also landed. Out in front, A was busy soaking up the front line of defense and distracting the base’s soldiers. B was picking off the edge of the the soldiers, while C was fighting to get in the base.

Brian screamed to Jack and Cooper, “Alright, let’s go!!”

Jack grabbed one of his shotguns, a modern, black, and metal one. It was partly plasma-powered, which was even more devastating. Cooper’s bow used a machine to help pull the string, and had many types of arrows, like explosives, EMP, electricity, and scatter arrows.

The ground had already been marred with the signs of war, and mangled bodies lay motionless. Brian immediately turned away and tried not to vomit.

D Squad sprinted forward into the fray of battle, and instantly, a few soldiers went down. Brian had come into this battle unwilling to kill anybody, but when he saw his fellow fighters die, he knew he had to do it. Ignoring his sniper rifle, Brian unslung his smaller, fully-automated rifle, which was also plasma-powered, and fired at an enemy soldier. The bullet flew straight through his helmet and entered his head. Brian looked away and tried not to think that he killed someone.

Jack was busy sneaking off, using his stealth to his advantage, while Cooper was shooting all types of arrows. High in the sky, two orange-ish orbs were falling down.

Brian cursed and screamed at Cooper, “Hey! Two bomb-things are falling from the sky! We better run!”

Cooper and Brian bolted far away from the orbs, and when they hit the ground, most of D Squad was gone. Brian felt broken. This was going to fail. His despair turned into fury as he set his sights on another enemy soldier and fired. He fired again. After he had run out of bullets in one clip, around thirty soldiers had fallen, the number of bullets in a clip.

Cooper chose an explosive arrow and shot it through a window, straight at a group of enemy soldiers. Suddenly, right after it exploded, Jack spoke over the line.

“Aww, Cooper! I was sneaking up behind them. They would’ve been really surprised! Anyway, come over to me. I’ve got to show you something.”

Cooper and Brian ran past a few buildings, but were blocked by another building.

Cooper said to Brian, “Well, we could blow that door off, or-”

“Nah. I’ll just punch it.”

Brian used his metal arm to completely punch the door off its hinges. “See? Much more efficient.”

The whole base wasn’t one building. It was a complex of many other buildings leading to the main one. When they reached Jack, Henry screamed in their ears, “Incoming enemy fighter jets! I’m firing the long range missiles.”

The jets flew over the battle, dropping bombs and causing destruction. A bomb hit fifteen yards away, the explosion knocking the trio into a wall. Then, several missiles came screaming towards the jets, destroying them, creating great explosions that lit up the sky.

Meanwhile, three platoons of enemy soldiers started firing at the group and the thirty friendly soldiers. Brian cursed and ducked beneath rubble. Bullets flew over him, making him feel safe, until someone tossed a grenade at him. Brian panicked, until he remembered he had a metal arm that could withstand gunfire. He grabbed the bomb and threw it high and far. It landed in the middle of the platoon, and exploded. Soldiers scattered, screaming, while TARM soldiers took the chance and started shooting. Cooper fired electric arrows, while Jack pumped lead. Brian fired also, turning the ambush around.

Just when it seemed TARM had won, more enemy soldiers arrived. Brian and Jack were hysterical. However, Cooper remained calm. He took an explosive arrow and blew up the soldiers. Again, Brian mowed down dozens of soldiers, reloading and reloading again. Finally, there were no more enemy soldiers.

Henry spoke again. “Everybody except C, head towards A. They’re having trouble. C, keep on trying to get in.”

Jack, Cooper, and Brian rushed to A, where tons of enemy soldiers had pinned down A. Brian, along with everybody else, unloaded their weapons into their targets. After they had finished, Henry came over the line.

“Well, all the outside soldiers have been killed. Now, all of you, attack the base and get inside. C has already weakened them. Go!”

The base stood high and tall, even after the battle. It was silver, metal, and gleaming. It was shaped like a circle, round and able to be defended everywhere.

The D leader planted a charge on the outside, which created a hole in the wall. Gunfire followed, and the whole D Squad was dead. Brian ripped a grenade from a soldier’s belt, and tossed it in the base. He threw two more. After they exploded, the firing stopped, and Brian shot down nine more soldiers.

He signaled to Jack and Cooper that it was safe, when all of a sudden, a bullet hit his metal arm, bouncing off. In the base, very high up, protected by metal and forcefields, a lone sniper stood. Brian rolled to the side, and using the infrared option of his scope, detected him. It would be a very hard shot, even for him, as a metal bar blocked most of his view. Brian aimed at the assailant’s left hand and fired.

The man dropped, his rifle falling. Brian fired again for good measure, and the trio ran into the base. Once again, five platoons of enemy soldiers lined up.

Jack sighed and groaned, “Again?!”

Brian grinned. “Last time. I know it.”

***

They had cut through the base’s soldiers, albeit running low on resources. Brian only had ten bullets left, Cooper had five arrows, and Jack, seven shells. Brian contacted TARM, saying that all the soldiers were dead.

When they responded, he expected it to be Henry, but it was John. “Nice work there. I’m sending you a map of the place, and we’ve located the leaders. They would be the red dots. Get to them, and do whatever you want. However, get some information from them first. Oh, and this is to everybody. Out.”

The trio, followed by all the TARM soldiers, made their way to the leader’s secret room. On the way, there were a few enemy soldiers left, but they were killed instantly. When they reached the room, the door was locked, but this was nothing guns couldn’t fix.

The room was rectangular and the size of a football field. Inside, computer monitors lined the room. Graphs displayed the city, and many other ones too. It was all white, modern, and sterile. The holograms seemed almost real, while the leaders did not. They were all pale, with dread on their faces. All the TARM soldiers pointed their weapons at them, until one pressed a button. Plasma guns appeared from the walls and started shooting. Brian’s fully-auto rifle, Cooper’s bow, and Jack’s shotguns were ruined. Brian raised his metal arm, which very luckily, blocked a bolt flying towards his face and blocked lots more.

Eventually, the plasma guns were destroyed, thanks to the other soldiers, and the leaders were dragged out. Except one. He was the Head, and it was the trio that were to deal with him. He had been shot in the arm.

“You! You killed our families, destroyed our lives! Who are you?” Brian shouted.

“So?”

Cooper grabbed his last arrow, a normal one, and thrust it into the Head’s arm. “How about now? Explain!!”

He winced from the pain. Only then did Brian realize how ugly he looked. Dark hair, freckles, a scar on his face, a crooked nose. How surprising for a man who had everything.

He replied, “Still no.”

Brian stepped up and punched the Head in the face.

“Now?”

The man cleared his throat. “The world was already ruined. I had made a new utopia, the city, where we lived in peace! But you poor people that contributed nothing kept stealing our resources we worked hard for! You are a disgrace!”

The group didn’t understand. They were thinking of more ways to hurt him when Brian remembered the sniper rifle on his back. He unslung it and aimed at the Head’s stomach. “Explain more!”

“I was building a new community with people that helped society! You’ll never understand!” The Head was hysterical now, spittle between his lips. “Why don’t you die! You ruined my plans!! I hate you!!!”

He seemed to be losing control, going insane. “You all will die! Along with me!” The Head pressed a button on the wall, committing suicide. His body flopped on the floor with no control.

Suddenly, the whole base started to shake. The commander of A screamed, “We need to get out of here, fast!”

Everybody ran out of the base just before the whole thing cracked in half and blew up. It looked like an orange and red orb had surrounded the base, then, erupted. Pieces of metal flew into the sky, and the orb launched itself into the air, and split apart. The transporter was there, waiting for them, as part of the orb was falling towards them.

When they were running out, Brian noticed the leaders on the floor, crawling with blood around them. It disturbed him greatly.

On the way back to TARM, everybody congratulated each other on a mission well accomplished, but Brian stayed separate. The Head’s last words haunted him,I was building a new community with people that helped society! I hate you! You will die!”

On the ride back, Brian conferred with Jack, Henry and Cooper.

“I think he hated poor people so much, that he wanted a perfect world without any of us. Nothing was going to stop him,” Jack said.

“No. I don’t think he wanted anything.” Henry smirked. “He was just mentally retarded and insane!” He burst out laughing through the earpieces.

Cooper shook his head. “Nah. I think he was smart, but insane, and it twisted his view of the world so much. He actually thought he was right.”

Brian spoke last. “Well, I agree with Cooper. Before, he was normal and benevolent, but he became insane, resulting in a goal that he never accomplished.”

When they arrived at TARM, everybody cheered. The lights became strobe lights, and a party started. Brian and his friends stood in a corner, insulting each other and trying to beat each other up like normal teenagers. It was hilarious.

After two months, TARM had set about building a new base in a spot closer to natural resources. They decided on a democracy and not to follow in the city’s footsteps. Building was easier, and new technology existed to help. Holograms depicted exactly what to do.

***

Brian was skipping rocks, and it was frustrating. It had become harder somehow. He liked being out in nature. Even after the new base was built, he still went outside. He thought it connected with his days of finding the previous TARM base, and staying there. While he had stayed there, it felt like it was part of nature, a sanctuary to help the wounded. Now, the new base was modern, without the feeling of nature. He had looked for a replacement, until Brian settled on Nature herself.

Brian thought it symbolized something. His new arm with nature. New with old. Suddenly, his friends came. They screamed, “Brian! Come! Let’s party!”

Brian smiled. And he ran with them.

Day by Day

I put my suitcase on the bed and look around the room. I peer behind the curtains to make sure that there are no hot pink hearses in the parking lot. When I do, I find multiple hot pink hearses, which means I am being followed. I don’t know by whom or why, but I know that my life’s in danger.  

***

It all started when my girlfriend Taylor was murdered. The night she was murdered, we were partying and drinking. She had taken me back to her place on 21 Wall Street, which was close to mine. One nightcap led to another, and before we knew it, we were both very drunk, and we passed out on the floor for a little while.

I heard her get up. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“Urghh. Have to get into bed,” she said.  

I must have opened the window to let in some fresh air, because the next thing I knew, I had been pushed out the window onto the street.

“Taylor!” I whimpered groggily. I heard no response. I wasn’t quite sure where I was at that moment because I was too drunk to even stand up, but I was worried about Taylor.  

I looked up and found a man standing in the window staring at me.  He was wearing all black so I couldn’t see his face all too well. I blinked, and he was gone. I used all of the strength I had left to stand up and figure out how to get back into Taylor’s.

The door was surprisingly unlocked, and there was no sight of Taylor or the man in the window.

“Taylor! Taylor, where are you?” I found some mud on the stairs leading up to Taylor’s bedroom, which was not there when we first walked in the door.  I didn’t know what to do, but at least I wasn’t as drunk as I was 30 minutes ago. I walked up the stairs and went to bed, not knowing where Taylor or the man at the window was.

When I woke up, I was in the kitchen, dazed and confused. The fridge was open and there was a glass of water right next to it. I started to think how I got down there, but I still had no recollection of going to the kitchen.  

When I went back upstairs to Taylor’s bedroom, I put on all of my clothes, ready to leave, not knowing what time it was or what had happened last night. For some reason, I didn’t just leave. I turned on her bed side light, and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. After I turned the light off and on about three or four times, I just couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. What the hell happened in this house?

Taylor was covered in stab marks, and blood was everywhere. I mean everywhere.

And now I am here in a cheap motel on the outskirts of Miami, and a fleet of pink hearses are following me. How has my life come to this? The world had been at our fingertips. I was a young lion on Wall Street, and so was Taylor.

I sit on the bed, trying to fight back the tears. I was a coward — I had just driven to the airport and hopped on the first available flight to Miami. A normal person would have called the police. An innocent person wouldn’t have run. I am innocent, aren’t I? I couldn’t have killed Taylor.

The crowd we run with on Wall Street works hard and parties hard. You had to keep up, but I had started blacking out on occasion, whole periods of evenings wiped from my memory. I didn’t know what I was capable of. And so, I ran.

I grabbed my keys and left Taylor’s house as fast as I could because I didn’t want to be a part of something I may or may not have done. Just before I left her house, I looked for any possible murder weapons around the bed and in the kitchen, but couldn’t find anything. I got in my BMW and drove back to my apartment, where everything was quiet and peaceful.  

But I couldn’t rest. I grabbed my suitcase and started dumping my clothes in it. My phone beeped, letting me know I had a voice message. It was from Taylor.

“I just want you to know, the answer is yes!”

Yes to what? Yes to coming to my parents for Thanksgiving? Yes to a movie on Saturday night? Or had I proposed? It was all too little, too late. I shook off all of my feelings, closed my suitcase, and left my apartment.

It wasn’t until I got to Miami that I suspected I was being followed, and not just by the police. Pink hearses…

***

I can’t run anymore right now. I lie back on the crappy motel bed and turn on the TV, flipping around stations until I see a picture of Taylor.

Taylor had very blonde hair even though she dyed it, and she was very thin, about 150 pounds and stood 5’9” tall. She was wearing her favorite white dress when she got killed — just like the picture.  I turn up the volume.

“Funeral home heiress and financier, Taylor McCormack, was found murdered yesterday in her home on Wall Street. She was last seen at a bar with her boyfriend, John Flynn. People at the bar said that they witnessed a beautiful proposal, but that they hadn’t heard her say the magic word, “yes,” although she was indeed wearing an engagement ring when she was found. No witnesses were on the scene on 21 Wall Street, but the police have been searching for John.”

Then, a big picture of yours truly appears on the screen. It wasn’t my favorite black suit with my red tie, but I still looked dashing in it. I look dashing in every suit, with my brown hair and brown eyes. I do have some gray hairs coming in, so I use “Just for Men,” which gets rid of the grays, but not permanently.

“We’re at the home of her father, Mr. McCormack, owner of thirty funeral homes in the tri-state area. Mr. McCormack would like to make a statement.”

The large, round face of Taylor’s dad appears on the screen. “John,” he said. “If you are watching this, please come home. We know that you didn’t do it. And for anybody else with any information on John’s whereabouts or anything at all regarding my sweet Taylor’s murder, I am offering a 250,000 dollar reward.”

I start to think about the pink hearses out my window and Taylor’s father. I then wonder why they are pink instead of black, like a normal hearse should look like. Maybe I am not being followed by Taylor’s father, but by someone else. I then hear a knock on the door and nearly shit myself, I’m so scared.

“Who is it?” I say quietly.

All I hear is, “Open up.”

I don’t know what to do. I have no weapons, no hiding spot, and no escape route.

The knocking grows louder. “Coming!” I say in a high pitched voice, trying to sound more feminine, trying to throw whoever is on the other side of that door off.

I close my eyes and focus on the breathing techniques I had learned back in college when I maintained my black belt in mixed martial arts. Since I’ve been on Wall Street, I’ve been practicing less and am a little rusty, but I’m hoping that I can find my fighting skills again if I need to.

The knocking is relentless, so what do I do? Mr. MMA Fighter cowers in the bathroom. This is the end, goodbye world…

But I finally walk over to the door and pull it open, as if it’s a bandaid I need to pull off really quickly. There, I find three armed men and one woman smoking right in front of them. They all have the yin and yang symbol on their leather jackets, so I think they must be part of some gang or something like that.

“Who are you?” I ask.

The woman smoking takes a long look at me, and I squirm. “I am Li Na which means “elegant,” and this is Liu Wei which means “great,” Wang Lei which means “rock pile,” and Li Jun which means “army.” We are part of the Chinese mafia. We need you to help us.”

“With what?”

Li Na blew a smoke ring in my face. “You’ll find out if you come with me.”

What the hell do I do? I can’t take all of them down, especially Wang Lei because he is the muscle of the group.  

Just man up and take them down. You took four years of MMA, you know how to fight.

I start for every single one of them by sending flying kicks and punches to the kidneys, while being punched and kicked harder from all of them. I take Li Na’s cigarette and use it as a weapon by putting it on the men’s skin and hear the sizzle of their skin being burnt.

When did I become so good at fighting so many people at the same time? After having all of the men on the floor in pain, Li Na isn’t in sight, which is worrying. The next thing I know, I’m in what must be a hearse, handcuffed to a seat with everyone squished in. They have put a sack over my head so that I can’t tell anyone where we are going, or who any of them are.

I ask Li Na, “What the fuck am I doing handcuffed to a seat?”

“If I were you,” Li Na snarls. “I would shut your fat American mouth before the boss comes.”

I almost roll my eyes. This can’t be serious — it’s almost as if I am in some cheesy gangster movie. Okay, I better shut up, so I don’t die. But now I can’t stop thinking about Taylor — she’s gone, she’s really gone. Then, my thoughts turn to her father.

***

I had met Taylor’s father about five times, and each of those times, he had always said to Taylor, “Why him? Why him? You could have picked any other guy, and you picked him. Why?”

Taylor always said, “Dad, stay of my life. I just brought John here so that you would get to know him, and maybe even like him.”

Every time Taylor and I left and went home to talk about what happened, she’d always say angrily, “Don’t worry about my father.” And I would completely ignore her and go to bed.

Back at the Chinese mafia HQ, I’m tied to a chair with the bag still over my head. I hear loud footsteps coming directly at me.  At this moment, I don’t know if I’m going to die or if “the boss” is coming to talk to me.

The bag is ripped off of my head, and I see a very fat man, most likely the boss, in front of me.

“Do you know who I am?” the fat man says.

“No, and what the fuck do you want with me?” I reply harshly.

“I am Greg McCormack.”

How is this happening? How did Taylor’s father find me? How is he involved with the Chinese mafia? These are all reasonable questions that would probably never be answered.

I then say in the calmest voice possible, “Mr. McCormack, I am truly sorry for your loss. I know Taylor meant the world to you, and she did to me as well. That’s why I couldn’t have killed her. Please don’t kill me! I still have a life to live for.”

“John, I know that you didn’t kill Taylor,” Mr. McCormack says and pauses dramatically, “even though your fingerprints were everywhere at the crime scene. You were gonna be my son-in-law, but I knew that you would run away because you were always afraid of me. So I sent all of my hot pink hearses after you in every possible state that you could have gone to.”

I want say something, but then, Greg stops me before I can even get a word out of my mouth.

“All I need you for is to help me find Taylor’s killer.” I breathe a sigh of relief, but then a feeling of dread follows. How am I supposed to know who killed her? I watch McCormack as he opens a tool box and pulls out a hammer. What’s that for?

“And I also need to interrogate you, or I beat you until you die.  Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I say in the most secure voice I can.

“Ok, let’s start. Where were you the night Taylor died?”

“Taylor and I met downtown at a restaurant.”

“What was it called?” McCormack asks.

“I can’t remember right now because Taylor picked the restaurant.”

“Where did you and Taylor go after dinner?”

“To her house,” I said.

“What did you do at her house?”

“We drank a lot, watched TV, drank more, and then, we were both passed out on the floor. About 20 minutes later, we woke up, and she went up to her room, and I was looking out the window to get some fresh air.”

“What happened next?”

“I’m getting there!” I yell. “Okay, so I was looking out the window for a couple of minutes, still drunk, when I was suddenly shoved out the window. I landed on the ground really hard. When I looked up, all I saw was a dark male figure looking at me, and when I blinked, he was gone.”

“John, what happened to Taylor?”

“So, I was looking around the street for ten minutes trying to find where I was. I then realized I was still at Taylor’s place, and the door was unlocked, so I walked in and looked for her. I went upstairs and went to bed. After that, I woke up in the kitchen, and I didn’t have any idea how or why I was in the kitchen. I then went upstairs to check on Taylor, and she was covered in stab wounds, and I ran as far away as I could. And that’s my story, Mr. McCormack. Please, don’t beat me to death.”

“Okay John,” he says. Thank you for sharing your story. I won’t kill you or hurt you. Now, I need your help to find Taylor’s killer. Are you with me?”

I have no choice, but to say yes because if I say no, I’ll be hammered to death. So I say, ‘’Yes!”

“John.”

“Yes.”

“I need to ask you a few personal questions about Taylor and what you know about her. Okay?”

“Yup, that’s okay,” I reply.

Now McCormack is pacing the room in front of me. It makes me even more nervous. My wrists still really hurt from the handcuffs, but I don’t dare to ask to have them taken off.

“Do you know what Taylor did for a living?”

“Yeah, she was a financial advisor, just like me.”

“Okay. Did she ever mention side jobs?”

I frown. “No, she was just as busy as me. There was no way she had any time for another job.”

“Did she ever mention anything about a younger brother?”

“No,” I said, frowning deeper. They must not have been close. “But why? Is he important?”

“Listen John, Taylor was next in line to take over all of my funeral homes. Her younger brother, Greg McCormack Jr., wanted the business so bad. He always begged me and begged me to be in front of Taylor. He said that it wasn’t fair, that Taylor was always my favorite and that she got everything. Blah, blah, blah. Kids,” he chuckles. “They never stop being kids, do they?”

“Taylor never told me. Wait, do you think your own son could have killed his sister?” I ask. What kind of family had I gotten myself involved with?

“That’s why I need you to talk to him and interrogate him, just like I did to you.”

I don’t like this idea at all. I just want to move somewhere very, very far away and drink myself into oblivion.

“Hold on,” I start to protest. “You never said anything about finding someone and interrogating someone; all you said was to help you find Taylor’s killer.”

“John, this is helping me find Taylor’s killer. He’s a possible suspect. He needs to be thrown off guard. You can’t be a nice guy here. You are the grieving boyfriend. Don’t you care about Taylor? I need your help, or you die.”

Just as he says “or you die,” I hear a gun being cocked back, and I nearly shit myself.

“Oookaaay,” I say. “I’ll help you, but only if you promise never to hurt me or kill me. Deal?”

“Deal,” says McCormack.

“And get these goddamned handcuffs off me.”

We fly back to New York on a hot pink jet. I ask McCormack, “Why all the hot pink?”

He chuckles again. This guy either chuckles or uses a hammer in stressful situations. I am glad I have him chuckling.

“Hot pink is a manly color.”

“Okay then,” I reply and stare out of the window.

The flight is about two and half hours, so I decide to sleep the whole way in order to rejuvenate myself to find Taylor’s younger brother, the possible killer.

“It’s time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty, we have a long day ahead of us,” I hear Greg say.

I scream at him, “I’m getting up.” I get really cranky if I don’t wake up naturally.

“Pipe down, Princess.” Greg glares at me.

When we get off the private jet, it’s about seven o’clock — three days after the murder.  I am still dreaming about holding Taylor’s hand and being with her all the time, like we did when she was still alive. Oh how I miss Taylor. She was so beautiful.

A hot pink limo is waiting for us, which is probably the nicest limo I’ve ever been in, even though it is hot pink.  

Greg is talking to all of his mafia friends in Chinese so I can’t understand what he’s saying, which really bothers me because he could be talking about me the entire time, and I would have no clue what he is saying.

Then, a thought occurs to me. “What about the police? What are they doing about this investigation? Aren’t they coming after me?”

“Yes John, but I told them I would handle everything since there was no evidence that you killed her,” McCormack tells me in a reassuring voice.

“Oh well, that clears everything up about the police then.” The cops must be really dirty.

We’re at Greg McCormack Jr.’s house, which is pretty big, I have to say, for him being the only person who lives there. It’s in a really nice neighborhood; I think it’s the Upper East Side or something like that, but there’s definitely a lot of nice houses and apartments.

“What’s your son’s job?” I ask.

“He works in real estate.”

“Then why would he want to possibly kill Taylor?” I ask again.

“Because all of those funeral homes have great value, real estate-wise.”

“Well now, it all makes sense,” I say, getting out of the car. I press the buzzer for Greg Jr.’s apartment.

“Come in.” Seems like a nice guy. How could he commit a murder?

I know that everyone else is downstairs waiting in the limo or hiding right outside of the apartment, so I start talking.

“Hi, I’m John Flynn, and you must be Greg McCormack.”

“Yes, how do you know who I am?”

“I know your father very, very well,” I try to speak in the creepiest voice possible. I’ve never tried to intimidate anyone before. “I’m Taylor’s boyfriend, John.”

Greg turns paler than he already is. “What do you need or want with me?”

“I need to ask you a few questions, is that okay?” I ask, noting that he looks nothing like Taylor. He’s short and fat, just like his father, while Taylor was willowy and blonde.

“I guess so. Would you like to come in?” Greg Jr. gestures to the couches in his grand living room with floor to ceiling windows and a view of of the East River. Why does he want more than his fair share of what he already has?

I don’t sit down. I need to keep the upper hand. “Okay then, where were you the night that Taylor was murdered?”

“I was downtown at a bar.”

We were at a bar downtown as well. Had he been following us?

“Were you alone at the bar?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Where did you go after that?”

“I went up to Wall Street to look around.”

Oh shit! He was at Wall Street, and so were we. Things are getting a little creepy.

“My ex-wife is planning on moving there with my kid, and I wanted to see the building she is moving into.”

“What building is that?”

He takes a deep breath. “21 Wall Street.”

“Did you know that was Taylor’s building?”

“No,” Greg said in a really high pitched voice. “Not then!”

All of a sudden, glass is breaking, and Greg McCormack Jr. has just jumped out a window and landed on the limo. I really hope they caught him.  

“YOLO,”  I scream and jump out the window to chase after him. I feel like Batman. I know that Greg Jr. must have taken some fighting classes because his dad is in the mafia, so he must know something about fighting.  

Since he’s short and fat, I catch up to him really fast, and I mean really fast.  

I scream, “It’s over. Greg, it’s over! Stop running, you’re screwed either way.”

“Catch me if you can,” he says sprinting away. For a fat dude he can sure move it.

But then, I’m right next to him, and I tackle him so hard that he lands on the ground, and I hear a crack. All I see is blood coming out of both of us. I don’t know where at the time because I’m in shock that I actually tackled him, and that I won. I really, really, won.  

I hear loud moans from Greg Jr. and I’m just lying on the ground face up, thinking back to what I’ve done with myself these past few days.

I then look over to Greg, and he isn’t there anymore. That’s when I start to fear for my life.  I see a shadowy figure that looks just like the man in the windows.

That’s when I know Greg McCormack Jr. killed his sister, just for real estate purposes.  

“This is the end for you, John Flynn. Man up and fight me, and we’ll see who really deserves to die today,” I hear Greg say.

“Is that what you want, a fight? You shall receive the beating of your life!” I exclaim.

We are both in ready-position, trying to psych the other person out, but it would not work, whatsoever.  

“Come at me. Or, are you a pussy?”

I almost laugh. My life has gotten so ridiculous that someone is calling me stupid names.  

“No one calls me a pussy,” and that’s when I go all ape shit on his ass, and give him the beating he deserves.

Punch, kick, punch, kick, punch, kick, is all that happens for a while, until he blocks one of my kicks and throws me in the air like a rag doll. I land with a thump and hear a crack on my left shoulder. He’s broken my shoulder; he really has no mercy.  But since my uncle is a doctor, he taught me how to reset a shoulder back in place, and that’s exactly what I do.

“Is that all you got, Mr. Flynn?”

“No, I’m just getting started!” I exclaim.

The pain is unbearable, but I know that I have to take down Taylor’s killer because that’s what she would have wanted. I just have to think of killing him, and the pain starts to go away.

I get up and try to be like Batman, and start to fight just like him: catching and blocking all of the punches and kicks, throwing him on the ground over and over again, hearing cracks upon cracks, taking all of his fingers and breaking them one by one, and snapping his arms, legs, feet, and toes.  

Just when I start to punch him again, I hear a voice say, “Have mercy John, have mercy.” That voice is Greg’s.

“For you Greg McCormack Jr. you get no mercy.”

I start to punch his face, both sides, until he’s bleeding and about to pass out. Then, just as I’m about to snap his neck, I scream,“Any last words, you son of a bitch?”

“Fuck you, John Flynn, fuck you, and everyone in the world.”

I then say, “Goodbye, Greg McCormack Jr.”

Right after that, I take his head, bang it on the ground gently, and then snap his neck so hard that I could spin his head around like an owl. I have such a great feeling inside of me, a feeling of relief, that I am able to avenge Taylor by killing her killer. I hear the sound of hot pink limos and hearses pulling up to see what is going on. I tell Greg exactly what happened.

He is crying. “I’m disappointed that you killed my son, but you did what you had to do. So I forgive you.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much for understanding.”

I see Li Na again, and I notice that she is a very sexy Chinese woman.

Li Na says, “Nice job killing the boss’s son. I never liked him anyways.”

“Thanks, I guess… It took a lot of work to actually kill him, but it was totally worth it.”

“True, true” she says.

I take her hands in mine and look into her eyes. They are a deep brown, just like mine. I take a deep breath.  

“Li Na, do you wanna come live with me and be together forever?”

“Ummm,” she says. “Let me think… Of course, a million times yes!”

I am so happy to know that she really likes me and that we can be together forever.

I then look again at the voice mail that Taylor sent me… “Yes.”

I remember the news reporter said that the witnesses said that the man proposed, but they didn’t hear a “yes” or “no.”  Then, I think the answer must have been yes. I did propose to her, and she said yes. Well that’s good to know, but she’s dead.  Now, I have Li Na to spend the rest of my life with.  

Somehow, one of the mafia members finds my BMW and brings it to me. Li Na and I drive off into the sunset back to my apartment.

A few days later, I return to work after the news clears everything up. Everyone is so happy to see me and tells me, “Sorry for your loss.”

It may sound stone cold, but I haven’t lose anything. I’ve gained confidence in myself and a badass new girlfriend. Everything is back to normal, just how I like it.

 

Chess

It was an average Saturday morning. The two brothers, Jamie and James, stared out of their window in the wealthy suburb of Pleasantville, Chicago. They could hear the birds chirping and flying gracefully from tree to tree. They could see their massive lawn and the sprinklers shooting water.

“Jamie,” the older brother at age twelve said, “come on, James, let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast.”

Jamie looked old. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and he had a faint caterpillar esque mustache and a small nose. He was rather tall for his age, around 5 10” and very skinny.

James who was Jamie’s complaisant nine year-old brother, replied, “Okay Jamie.”

James was tall like Jamie, but he didn’t look or seem older. He had a very high pitched voice with chubby cheeks, and he was always around his mom. All of the kids at Chicago Academy Private School for Extremely Gifted and Talented Students would make fun of James and call him a “momma’s boy.”

Unlike James, who was often the butt of the jokes among his group of friends, Jamie was incredibly popular. Though he was just in seventh grade, he was invited to most high school parties. Everyone knew Jamie Jenkins at C.A.P.S.E.G.T.S.

The two brothers went downstairs to the kitchen. Both boys look very confused. It was 9:07 a.m. and usually their mom, Julia, was downstairs at 6:15 a.m. on weekdays and 8:00 a.m. on weekends making a suitable meal for the two hungry boys and their father Clyde.

Julia Jenkins was only thirty seven years-old. She had dirty-blonde hair and large blue eyes. She was about average sized. She looked much younger than her age. She was very beautiful. Julia was from a small town in Oklahoma. She never went to college and instead became a housewife when she was just twenty three years-old.

Clyde Jenkins was the son of a wealthy businessman from Chicago. Clyde was fifty seven years-old and he owned part of Coca-Cola as well as a part of the Chicago Cubs baseball team. He worked very hard for his family and was rarely home at night. When he was home he was usually sleeping. His own kids barely knew him.

The boys were slightly disappointed that there was no breakfast, but they were more worried, where was their mom? They ran back up the steps and into their parents room. Usually Clyde got annoyed whenever his kids went into his room, but this was a slight emergency. Jamie pulled the large brass handle and hesitantly opened the door. The boys looked in and saw their father and mother engaging in some strange activity chess. Not once had either of them seen their parents up playing chess.

“Good morning boys,” Clyde said as he moved a pawn.

Each boy responded, “Hi, Dad.”

“Boys, I just purchased this new chess board from some antique store,” Clyde said in his Chicago businessman accent, “draw.” Clyde said.

Jamie and James looked down at the chess board and saw that sure enough, two kings were left sitting on the board. Suddenly, a bright light from the board shone around their parents.

“What’s happening?” screamed Julia.

Both of them flattened out and were sucked into the chessboard in a matter of seconds. The brothers could hear them screaming in the distance and then they were gone. Silence. At first the boys looked plain confused. They knew not of what had happened, why it had happened or how it had happened.

Then after about three minutes of silence, James said in a sad yet puzzled tone, “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“I have no darn clue.” James said.

“James, we’re going to find where this board was made, how it works, and how we get Mom and Dad back.” Jamie said.

James looked very frightened of the chessboard. He stood close to the door while Jamie moved the two kings off of the board and on to his parents bed along with the rest of the pieces. Then, Jamie picked up the board.

As he picked it up Jamie grunted. The board was unexpectedly heavy considering it wasn’t particularly big in size. It had a very nice finish on the sides where there were two handles carved that looked like dragons. On the top of the chessboard, where the actual game was played, Jamie could see that each square was made of a very fine marble 32 black and 32 white squares. He turned the chessboard over to see the bottom and on the bottom there was a sticker that read, “Agnes’ Antiques.

“Bingo,” Jamie said.

“What?” Replied James.

“I found the place that sold this thing to Dad. We should go there and ask the shopkeeper about this thing,” Jamie said in an impatient tone.

“I mean, are you sure? We’re just two kids…alone,” James said.

“James, shut up,” said Jamie, “we are going to this antique store.”

Jamie said, “Put your shoes on.”

“Okay Jamie,” James replied obediently.

James laced up his checkered Vans, a Christmas present from his father. He could not stop thinking about his parents. Would he ever see them again?

Then, James started to cry.

While James was crying, Jamie carefully packed each chess set. He put the pieces in a shoebox of his new Kobe’s. Jamie never threw shoe boxes out because they always could be put to good use for something. He put the chess board in a Trader Joe’s bag. Then he double bagged it, and then he triple bagged it. The board was very heavy and he did not want it to break. This chess board had just taken his parents INSIDE of it and he did not know what else it could or would do. Jamie wasn’t about to be taking chances with something he knew so little about.  

As he walked down the stairs and into the family mudroom, Jamie could see James crying. “James, I know it’s hard, but there is a chance that we CAN get Mom and Dad back. But, only if we learn more about this chess board at the antique store,” Jamie said.

Jamie was really good at comforting James. James felt that Jamie was the only one around his age who could empathize with him.

“Now, make yourself useful and carry the pieces,” Jamie said playfully as he handed him the shoe box.

“Okay,” James said. He stopped crying and took the shoebox from Jamie.

James was the type of kid to cry or get mad and then stop, forget about it and go back to his normal self about three minutes later.

The two brothers walked outside of their large house. A couple rain droplets trickled on each of the boys’ heads.

“Look, James, a squirrel,” Jamie said.

“Where? Where?”James asked and panicked. He was afraid of squirrels ever since one bit him when he was six.

“Made you look,” laughed Jamie.

“That’s not funny,” James said as he punched Jamie on the arm.

Though it didn’t hurt, Jamie started grabbing his arm and said,”oww, James, I’m gonna sue you.”

The brothers walked down a small stone staircase and into their driveway. There were two empty cars sitting outside of the garage, the Land Rover and the Audi. They walked on to the street.

Jamie paused. “Hold up James, I have no idea where Agnes Antiques is, I need to google maps it.” said Jamie.

James placed the chess pieces in the shoebox down extremely carefully. “I found the route, it’s a twenty minute walk. I can get our rain coats from inside,” said James, “I think that it might rain harder as time progresses.”

James ran inside and picked up the two raincoats, Jamie’s was blue and James’ was orange with green polka-dots.

“Thanks James,” Jamie said as he grabbed his raincoat.

Each of the brothers picked up their stuff, James the pieces and Jamie the board. They walked through Pleasantville. On their block there were just large suburban homes. They crossed street after street, and avenue after avenue. The boys got lost for some time, but they found their way back. They eventually ended up in Agnes’ Antiques, though it was not a twenty minute walk.

They entered the shop, and it was quite cramped and dusty with old books on the shelves. There were old plates, coffee mugs, and utensils. Anything old one could find in this store.

“Agnes Antiques, how can I help you boys,” a man said.

James started to back away from the man while Jamie did the talking.

“Hello sir, our father recently purchased this chess board from your store,” Jamie pulled the chess board out and pointed at it, “ it sucked our parents into it, could you tell us a little more about it?”

“Ahh yes,” the man said.

He was average size and looked rather old with spectacles and a white mustache.

“Well this here chessboard has a lot of history,” said the man, “back in the Eleventh Century, this chess board was made for King Richard the IV. He loved chess. He loved playing with this chess board so much that he wouldn’t do anything else. His wife didn’t like this. So, to punish him, she told a sorcerer to cast a spell on Richard. The sorcerer did, he wasn’t too fond of the king either. King Richard was transported into the game. He was playing as white in his last game of chess, so he became the white king in the game. Nobody in the real world knew where he went. However, the sorcerer didn’t just curse the king, he cursed the chessboard. Anyone who played with this board and won or drew was transported into the game to fight in the war between the white knights and the black nights,” the man said.

“Why didn’t you tell my father of this?” Jamie yelled in rage.

“Good question. I did tell him this, however he said that it was complete nonsense. Look what happened,” the man replied.

Jamie was mad and James was scared. How could this man sell this knowing that it could trap people in it’s own world?

“Can we get them back?” asked Jamie.

“The game is complex. To start the war, each team needs an equal number of knights, and right now it seems that there are two spots left to fill on white,” the man said.

“Well,” Jamie said, “We can do this, I’ll play James and he’ll be trying to lose, and you’ll play James and purposely lose to him.”

“Sounds perfectly fine,” said the old man. He was a pretty nice guy and he wanted to help these kids get their parents back, even though the father was so rude to him.

“I have one question though,” said Jamie, “what will happen when the war is over?”

“Nobody knows for sure, but I have a strong belief that every survivor is transported back to the real world. Can you imagine? People have waited a little over 1,000 years to get out of there. You two have the ability to do this,” the man said.

Game one began: Jamie black vs. James white. James, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, was scared of the old man and of the board. Jamie started off by moving his pawns and having James capture them, it was working. Then James got his Rooks, then his Knights, Bishops, Queens, and then Jamie was left to just his King. James had nearly all of his pieces. Then, he took the King with his Rook. Any second now, the game was over and James braced himself for the worst feeling in the world. Nothing happened. He looked around the room in a confused state. Then, suddenly, the light came. It flattened James out to a pancake and sucked him in. Jamie and the man could hear his screams and it gave Jamie goosebumps down his spine.

The man slowly walked over to the table in which they had been playing. It was an old table made of wood and had red decorations around the edges. He sat down and wished Jamie the best of luck. He was even more scared than when he saw James going into the world. Jamie was white and the old man was black. Jamie easily won in about four minutes he used to play for his school chess team. Then, unlike James who waited about thirty seconds to be transported, Jamie was taken right away, flattened out and sucked into the board. The old man covered his eyes and Jamie was gone.

He knew now not to make the mistake of putting this out for sale. Even if he labeled it “cursed chessboard,” people would still buy it. He put the chess board in the back, he took the delicate pieces and smashed them with a nearby hammer. Now nobody could be trapped in the game because the ordinary pieces wouldn’t work. Also, those in the game who survived could get out because the board was still there.                       

END OF PART I

The Boy and the Dog

A boy has a birthday and turns thirteen. His parents tell him he needs to grow up and start making smart decisions and that he will be treated more like an adult from now on. He went to summer camp at the YMCA and comes home and the lights are off. When he walks in, a bunch of people pop out from behind the door, out from the back room, and from under the table. They all yell “Surprise!” After he realizes what happened, he asks if he has gifts or food. He finds out he has just one. They go to the back and bring out a big box with his name on it. He walks over and looks at it as if there is something curious about it, so he opens it. He reaches inside and pulls out a fuzzy creature and it turns out to be a small dog, a puppy.

He says, “Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing?” Then he turns to his parents and asks if it’s a boy or a girl and his mother says it’s a boy.

After a few weeks of having his now grown puppy, he has grown accustomed to feeding, walking, and cleaning it. They grow to be companions. That has helped with the little problems that he has had in past because he used to steal from peoplepick-pocketing.

But he knows that he needs to be a new boy when his mother says, “You need to grow up.” He knows that means he has to start making smarter decisions so he has more options than stealing.

After he wakes up on a cloudy Sunday he eats two waffles from his toaster and his puppy walks up to his chair. “Oh boy, you wanna go out for a little walk?” he says.

So they go outside and walk a few blocks down to the subway station. They walk down planning on filling his MetroCard, but the boy gets sidetracked by someone who is very unorganized and suddenly he has an urge. It is an urge he hasn’t felt in a while after he got his friend. He looks at his dog, but it isn’t enough. He follows the person a little bit behind and ends up getting on the train not looking at the entire situation he was in.

Meanwhile, up above the station he just left, there is a street vendor with hot dogs and other meats with a smell that you can sense a mile away. The dog quickly perks up looking in that exact direction. He pulls but his leash is tied to the metro station pole. It doesn’t budge, so he turns and starts chewing. But it starts to rip at the biting point so the dog pulls harder and it gets close to breaking so he bites and pulls and at one second it snaps and the jolt mixed with the force of him pulling sends him straight into the legs of people. He quickly turns and goes straight up the stairs and starts barking at the food. He realizes he can’t get any and he gets sidetracked by all the cars, people, and noises. He just runs, luckily not in the road, down the sidewalk past all the new people.

The boy does not get to the person in time so he walks back to the subway where he left. But when he gets back, he is surprised to see the half-chewed up leash and he immediately looks down the whole subway thinking the worst, that the small dog had fallen down in the tracks and couldn’t get up.

But, he gives a sigh of relief to see that there was no sign of a dog in the tracks so he goes to the closest stranger, a man in a black business suit and asks, “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but my dog chewed through his leash not to long ago. Did you happen to see him?”

The man thinks for a second and says, “When I was walking down the right side of the stairs, and a small dog with a small gold coat of fur ran up the stairs.”

***

When he comes back home, his mom is waiting. “Where have you been?” she asks.

“I was out walking the dog,” he says.

His mom asks where the dog was and the boy says he left him out in backyard because he was still using the bathroom. He goes to bed, but he does not sleep at all knowing that the dog could be dead or worse. This is the worst feeling in the world.

First thing in the morning, he wakes up to start the search of his missing dog which meant he goes back to the subway. He sees people. He asks them, “Have you seen my dog? The dog is gold and small.”

“No,” says the people.

He goes home.

“Where is the dog?” says his mom.

“He is in his room,” says the boy.

The boy makes fliers with the dog’s picture on it. He takes them out the next day and puts them on the walls. He put his phone number on the flier.

The boy goes home and waits for someone to call him. No one calls him for a while. He looks for the dog again on the sidewalk and on the street.

The boy goes back home and finds dog hair in his house. He looks at the hair and tries to find where the hair is going. The hair is going down to his basement. He walks downstairs and it smells like dog. He has an unfinished basement. It’s just concrete and there is no furniture, just storage space.

He sees the boiler room and there is another door. He looks in it. His dog is inside of it.

“Jason,” says the boy. He pets his dog. He is embarrassed because he knows he has been telling his mom that he knew where his dog was while the whole time she knew where it was.

Later in the day, his mom says, “Your dog found his way home.”

  

Vanished

On a bright, spring morning in Central Park, sunlight pours through paper-thin leaves suspended on branches overhead. The sound of traffic and angry drivers is gone as soon as one enters through the gates, as well as the stench of car exhaust and stray trash cans. Squirrels scamper alongside curious pigeons hiding in the bushes lining the narrow walkways.

Here, I could get away from all of the city’s bustle and noise, and just think. Because these days, the thing that I needed to do the most was think, and remember, and guess. The satisfying crunch of gravel underneath rubber soles was the only sound I made as I treaded through the park, seeking solace among the trees. When I found a bench free of people, I sat down quickly and closed my eyes. It had all happened here. I could imagine it all now.

A young boy, skipping down the path. The breeze ruffled his dark hair, causing it to pull away from his face long enough to reveal eyes wide and glittering with joy.

“Look, Skyler!” The boy, so small he barely reached his sister’s knees, twisted about so he could find her. “Look-”

“What do you want me to look at now?” Exhaling with annoyance, Skyler collapsed on a nearby bench and rolled her eyes dramatically. “I can’t deal with you anymore. Can you just let me have a moment of peace?” She shut her eyes and took another deep breath. But when she opened them, he was gone.

I came back to myself with a jolt, shaking my head to bring my thoughts back to the present. Because that boy was my brother, and that girl was me.

When I returned home, I raced to my room without a word of greeting to my parents and jotted my latest memory down in my notebook. It was all coming together now: the day my brother disappeared and left me to find where he was. For the past week, the memories have been returning in bits and pieces, hiding clues to my brother’s disappearance. Bailey, my therapist, had explained to me this was called “repressed memories,” when the mind unknowingly tries to push back memories because of extreme trauma or stress. Somehow, her telling that to me made me feel immensely lighter, as if knowing this was an actual condition other people went though made me feel less alone.

I sat back against the creaking headboard behind me, leaning all of my weight into its polished, reassuring surface. Somehow, I knew this latest memory was the most important: after all, it was the last moment before Jayce had disappeared. I reached out a hand and grasped the stiff binding of my memory notebook, smoothing a finger over the hanging threads dangling from the edges of its worn cover. Taking deep breaths as Bailey had taught me, I calmed myself down enough to clear my overworked brain, so I could think. When I had calmed myself down, I reopened the book to the memory I had just scribbled down, scanning the hasty lines for a hidden clue. What was it that my brother had told me to look at?

The muscles near my eyes twitched and I clenched my fists tightly, my fingernails digging into my palm. My lips tightened and my head began to throb painfully with the pure effort of remembering.

Jayce contorted his body so he could look at my face. “Look, Skylar,” he called.

My eyes snapped open, and I remembered. I scrawled out two words in the notebook, threw it on my bed, then leaped out of the room.

The flowers.

Downstairs, my mother was tying together flimsy stacks of papers, and she jumped when I came bolting down the stairs.

“Oh, Skylar! Good thing you’re here! Would you mind hanging these up around town for me?” She handed me one of the stacks, facedown, her false cheeriness seeping through her words and watery eyes. Months of pretending and acting had carved wrinkles and lines around her eyes and lips, as well as creases in her forehead.

I sighed. “Sure, Mom.”  

My mother, being the overbearing, constantly concerned person she was, had declared right after the kidnapping to the rest of the family to make our circumstance a “family matter,” meaning only me and my parents could talk about the situation — with the exception of my therapist, of course.

“And besides,” my mother had added that day, “we don’t want to make a big deal out of this, do we? At least if we use flyers or something, the police won’t think it’s too serious and won’t get involved. We should try to solve it ourselves, in case the police go after the man and he ends of hurting Jayce more and–” at that point, she burst into tears and ran out of the room. She was frightened of the notion that the kidnapper might do something terrible to Jayce to “get back” at us if he was caught. Weeks later, I tried to convince her that she was being ridiculous and had to report it to somebody, but she was firm about her stance and we never spoke about it again.

As I stepped outside, I flipped over the papers and glanced at them. In bold letters, they announced “Missing: eight-year-old boy,” as well as a description and picture of Jayce. I stood in shock. My parents were just going to put up ads for him, as if he was a runaway dog? And they expected me to put up these advertisements for my own brother as if it wasn’t a big deal? I was mortified, but I did as my mother asked me to do. No reason for adding on to her stress when she was clearly constantly worrying.

Half an hour later, I found myself standing in front of a local supermarket, willing myself to enter. It was as if my feet were stuck in cement, and I needed all of my strength to move them. I dragged one foot after another, pulling them until I stood at the entrance of the store. All at once I was inside the store, and facing the row of pre-wrapped bouquets. Sunflowers, daisies, roses, baby’s breath; the colors were intoxicating. I began searching for a clue, or a message of some sort. Although what I was searching for wasn’t exactly clear, I knew I would know it when I saw it. Right?

“Miss?” I looked up at the kind, smiling face of the shop’s manager. “Do you need anything?  I noticed you’ve been here a while, and you seem to be having trouble with these- these flowers.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” I wasn’t in the mood to reveal my situation right then.

“Okay. I just wanted to let you know the store will be closing in ten minutes.”

I blinked. “Oh. Sorry. I’ll — I’ll go now.” I was stuttering, and I could feel my face getting red, but I fled.

I continued back home through the city, shoulders hung dejectedly. Bailey always told me in that soft, soothing voice of hers to “feel strong, look confident,” and repeating that phrase over and over always used to help me pull myself together and quiet my mind. And now, I could feel the corners of my mouth dipping, my brow scrunching, but I made no attempt to change that. I knew I should be imagining my “happy place,” “practicing self-love,” and all of that other crap everyone tells me to do, but I felt discouraged, so why couldn’t I look discouraged?

This angry rant had been playing in my head for a few blocks when suddenly, I paused. On a streetlamp near me hung one of the signs I had posted earlier that day about Jayce, but next to it was another paper that wasn’t there before. It was a small square of computer paper folded in half, with my name, Skylar, printed in a plain font on the outside. I whipped my head around, chest thumping.

How did he know I would pass by here? How does he know my name? What if someone else had picked it up? Then one, last thought: What if he’s following me?

I was frantic. Should I take the note? Obviously, it was intended for me, because it was near impossible to find someone who had a name like mine. All I wanted to do was be safe at home. I was at a loss for what to do.

With one last second of hesitation, I grasped the note and ripped it free of the lightpost, a stray piece of tape detaching and fluttering to rest at my feet. Then, I turned around and ran, feet pounding against the pavement and the note crumpled tightly in a sweaty fist.
The next morning, I was awake and alert by dawn. No one was awake except me, so I crept out the front door, last night’s note folded neatly and pressed against my thigh.

What I had found inside the slip of paper shook me. It contained only a few typed lines of information, telling me Jayce was kidnapped and hidden somewhere in the city. The longer I took to find him, the more I would have to pay to get him back. Having this knowledge simply made me more determined to get my brother back, so I resolved to find him soon.

Along with that came a few stray insults about my parents, including that my mother was a “nosey know-it-all” who had no business doing anything with me. In fact, it specified I was not to let her help me or let her know about my situation. I was tempted to disobey the note, but who knew who I was dealing with? Better play it safe.

I wandered along, resuming my search for flowers. What could that mean? I walked down block after block, turning my head left and right as if I were a broken record. Still, nothing. My feet began to throb and sweat trickled down my back, and for the second time in two days, I felt completely, utterly lost. There was no way I would ever find Jayce in this maze of a city. It would be so easy to just give up, go home, and leave it to the adults. When the sun had crept halfway up to the top of the sky, I found myself back at the gates of Central Park. I was drawn by the joyful shouts of children laughing on swingsets and scrambling about on their light-up sneakers.

That’s when a wave seemed to hit me and I sank down to the ground immediately, spine pressed painfully against the sharp iron rods of the park’s gates. The memory washed over my mind and obscured my vision, forming a new scene:

Continue reading Vanished

Shells

Sometimes I wonder if I live in a world of shells.

 

Chapter 1

Where is the soul? How can it be found? What if… it isn’t there?

There are soulless people all around me. Look around and you will find them, too. Like my best friend, Bianca. She’s nice. If you cry, she’ll come over and hug you, and if you get a better grade on a test than her, she’ll still congratulate you. She’s funny, and cracks jokes whenever I’m feeling down. She likes songs, but isn’t the kind of prissy girl who loves makeup and boy bands.

But she doesn’t really understand me if I ask her to define what love means to her, or if I try to explain to her why it would be natural for someone in war to truly want to die for others. She just doesn’t comprehend.

Even if I try talking about these serious matters with my teacher, she doesn’t really understand. These people lack something in them, it seems, something that would enable them to discuss with me what’s really going on in the world, and what life really is about. They just want to talk with me about the latest song that came out, or the importance of knowing what happened on the Lewis and Clark expedition.

 

Chapter 2

We each have an inner self and an outer self.

I think everyone has an outer self that hides their true thoughts and feelings. At least I do. The outer self protects the soul so that the misty dreams and hopes inside a person can be shielded from reality. My soul contains my deepest thoughts, hopes, memories; it is where I philosophize about the world.

My friends don’t hide their true feelings and thoughts from me. They come and ask me for advice, and we cry and laugh together. But somehow I sense that it’s only their outer self I see.

Bianca’s deepest worry at the moment could be an upcoming test in math. She’s completely hopeless at it. My teacher’s deepest worries could probably be more relevant. Maybe it is war in the Middle East, police shootings, or a loved one dying. But neither of them ever show a hint of their inner self, no matter how close I may be to them. Their thoughts, and worries, and feelings consist of what is related to their lifestyle. They don’t question and organize everyday things that happen in the cycle of life; they just take it for granted. None of them care why someone would want to start shooting someone else, they only want to stop it. People are too obsessed with business and their lifestyles to think about the broader and yet more important subjects in this world.

 

Chapter 3

2+2=4.

But the more I reveal my true self to them, the more confusing they become.

At lunch today I asked Bianca, “What do you think your soul looks like?”

She laughed and told me she doesn’t believe in that nonsense. Then she hugged me and changed the subject to the math test and asked me to tutor her. I sighed, and began to drill her on percentages. But was math really more important than trying to understand what the soul is at that very moment? It’s as if she doesn’t have a soul, or an inner self. It’s as if she is just a shell.

 

Chapter 4

The worst feeling is the feeling of being alone.

I am running, chasing Bianca. She is gaining more and more distance on me. “Wait!” I shout.

“No,” she yells back. “Wierdo!”

I feel a sharp pang in my heart and my vision blurs as tears fall fast on the ground.

My room swirls into view as I open my eyes and realize it was all a dream. My eyes are wet, and I am drenched in sweat. A bird chirps outside, and my heart stops beating so fast. But I am still troubled. I remember my conversation with Bianca yesterday. Does she think I’m weird? No, I think, but I am still trembling.

 

Chapter 5

Different is a crime.

Normally, English prompts are fun and easy, something I can analyze and maybe show some of my inner self in. But this time, it’s hard. I stare at the prompt: Who are you?

It is a good question, but a question that is difficult to answer. I remember what Bianca had said only yesterday. “I wish I could be you. You’re smart and nice and generous, and just plain awesome.” I had thanked her. Should I trust her judgment?

Another memory penetrates my mind. Bianca and I were in a project group with a group of boys. They were playing with cards instead of working.

“Give them to me,” I thundered, holding out my hand. “NOW,” using my best “don’t mess with me” voice, and flipping my hair back sophisticatedly. My eyes flashed as the boys cowered under my unending gaze.

I remember Bianca was so surprised. “Whoa,” she had told me, eyes large like two suns. “I didn’t know you could be so… mad and… mean, but not in a bad way,” she added quickly.

“Yeah, I can be like that.” I told her nonchalantly.

She gave me a startled look. “Weird,” she muttered.

Weird. Bianca thought I was weird. And come to think of it, I’ve seen that startled look before. Like when I fight, but not with fists. With words. I’m mean. Sarcastic. Mockingly polite. No one can get in trouble for saying nice things, because you can say you weren’t being sarcastic.

That look on Bianca’s face. That muttered, “weird.” And when she and I volunteered to help the teacher during lunch, I was quiet. So quiet. I didn’t even smile. I just did what I was told and left.

Bianca asked, “How are you so quiet? You’re never quiet.” I just smiled. That look. The mutter. She didn’t understand. I can be bossy. Or lenient. Or kind. Or horrible. I can be moody and shy. I can be loud and outgoing. I can be brilliant. I can be naive. I can be a perfect little girl. I can be mischievous. It all depends on who I’m with. Is that wrong?

 

Chapter 6

Is that wrong? What, then, is right?

I act differently among different people. Is that wrong? I don’t want to be mean, I just want to do what has to be done. Is that wrong? I used to be like Bianca when I was little. One personality. One way I’m supposed to act, one way I’m supposed to think, one way people think of me as. But that doesn’t work. People judge me no matter how well I try to shape my outer self.

So I made my outer self a combination of everything, acting differently depending on the situation. Is that wrong? It was fine, but now people are starting to notice, and they say it’s weird. Every time Bianca mutters that cursed word, I feel that sharp pang in my heart like in my dream, as if she is stabbing my heart to pieces. It’s just a matter of how long my heart will last her stabbing knives.

 

Chapter 7

A perfect world is not perfect.

I’m starving by the time it’s lunch time. Bianca and I grab our lunch boxes and race to our table. Rushing to eat, we both slam down on the bench at the same time with a loud crash. I look over to her. I can tell she is holding back giggles. So am I. I smile. She smiles. Then we are laughing so hard, our stomachs hurt. That sets the rest of the table laughing even though they don’t know what’s so funny.  Recess in summer is usually way too hot. Today is not an exception. Bianca asks me if I want to play tag.

“Nah,” I reply. “Too hot.”

She runs off and I’m left looking at the clouds. I think, Wow, those clouds can teach us a lesson. It looks like they’re still, but they are moving ever so slowly. But soon,  I’m pulled out of my reverie. It’s time to go back in for seventh period. Social Studies Project. We are choosing which image of King Tut to use for a player in our board game.

“Do the cute one!” begs Bianca.

I grin. “Yeah. So then people will want to be him. This needs to be appealing to the boys.”

Bianca whispers, “Especially, Ben.”

The cute cartoon image of King Tut kind of looks like Ben. I giggle. We finish the project. We are the first ones to finish, so we just talk and play.

Going home, I tell my mom how much fun I had at school. I run into my room and look at my wall. It has photos of all my friends from school. I touch Bianca’s face. Then I rip them all down and burst into tears.

 

Chapter 8

Before I cry, my heart cries.

My mom is trying to comfort me, trying to find out what’s wrong. I’m ignoring her. She says I can tell her.

“It’s okay,” she says. But it’s not. “I’ll understand,” she insists. She won’t. My heart is shattering under those knives. I can feel the blood pulsing, a force. Something is pushing tears to my eyes, drawn from hidden wells. I close my eyes, resisting the force. A sob creeps up my throat and bursts out of my unwilling mouth. I taste the salt of my tears.

“But you were so happy today,” my mom says, confused. “Today was like your perfect day.”

I tell her they talk with me, but it isn’t real.

“Of course it’s real,” Mom reassures me, more puzzled than ever.

“NO,” I sob into her shoulder, half-crying, half-stuttering. “Th-that’s not what I meant. Everyone t-talks about projects with e-everyone!”

I hiccup and fall silent as Mom, bewildered, asks, “What do you want to talk about then, honey?”

There is no way to explain to her that I want to share with my friends my deepest thoughts, my soul, without having to mold myself into someone they would appreciate. I am desperate for another soul who will love who I really am, unconditionally. Someone who I can pour out my heart to.

“Honey?” Mom prompts.

I look out the window. “Clouds,” I tell her. “I want to talk about clouds.” Mom wants me to talk to her about clouds. I run to the bathroom, away from the world that will always hurt me no matter how kind they seem to think they are.

 

Chapter 9

Tears reveal the hidden wounds.
I huddle on the white tiled bathroom floor, crying uncontrollably. I grab my shirt in clenched fists and pull them towards my face. My face is red, but I am cold. I tuck my knees into my chest. What was wrong with me? I have shaped my outer self into a person whom everyone can like and work with. Yet, Bianca doesn’t like me as a person with many personalities. It is like my shell is cracking, but I don’t know how to rebuild it. I have pretended and acted for so long, I don’t know who I really am.

Which personality should I become? What if I regret my choice? I watch those clouds moving ever so slowly, wondering. I want to show part of my inner self to the world, reflect it in my shell, so that people can see who I am. But will they like it? I wish I could be like the rest of them – soulless, innocent, happy, carefree. I can feel my tears pushing behind my eyelashes, and I give myself up to their power.

I feel Mom lifting me up and carrying me to my bed. My tears stream and pool in my ears as I cry myself to sleep.

 

Chapter 10

Sometimes the best comforts are wordless.

I do not go to school the next day. Nor the next. Nor the next. Bianca calls me every night, asking how I am feeling. I tell her I am sick and hang up. It is not a lie. I am sick – sick of being misunderstood, sick of pretending, sick of the people who thought they were helping me. I am sick – sick of the world, sick of life, sick of having a soul, sick of wanting others to have a soul. My skin is warm, but I feel cold, as if those wells of my tears have frozen inside me and the cold is spreading to the very edges of my finger tips. But people are trying so hard to make me feel better. I can see the pain in my mom’s eyes as I refuse her comfort. I can hear the worry in Bianca’s voice each time she calls.

My mother comes in the room. She is holding the phone. I pick up. It is Bianca. “Today is Bring-A-Friend-To-Class Day at my dance school,” she tells me. “I know you’re not feeling up to it, but can you come? I think it might help.” She pauses. I am silent. “Please? For our friendship.” I am already lost among the people in this world. If I lose Bianca, I know I will never get up from the bed I am laying in. I hang up. I grab a duffel bag. I put in an apple, a bottle of water, and a dress to wear over my leotard. I slump out the door, my mother looking at me as though I am a ghost of a dead person.

There are girls in the dressing room who are as shocked and nervous and shy as I feel. But my heart lightens slightly at the sight of Bianca’s smile. She is so happy that I came.

I put on the tights and leotard they give me, and follow Bianca to a large, bright dance studio with a mirror covering one whole wall. The instructor is slim and pretty, sparkling brown eyes complimenting her black hair. I listen to the class’ conversations. They are all of different ages, different ethnicities, different strengths, different weaknesses, but they are all unified through this class. I watch in wonder.

The instructor tells me I’m naturally flexible. She wants to see my limits. I do not answer her. We are supposed to be following her, learning the short dance routine she is showing us. I feel a soft hand in mine. I can tell it is Bianca without looking. I try hard. For her. The teacher yells,  “Tendu, arabesque, jete, pirouette. Dance your heart out, my swans, dance!” And suddenly I am.

I think I am flying, flying to heaven. One moment I am tendu-ing, trying my best to point my toes. The next moment I am spreading my arms, lifting my leg, lifting my chest, and a thrill shoots through my heart. Even my heart is soaring in my chest. A smile breaks out on my face, for the first time in ages. And suddenly, I am spinning away from the group, leaping, flying, as they watch, dumbfounded. It is as if some bizzare, joyful spirit has overtaken me as I dance, not knowing the moves, but still dancing all the same.

The feeling of flight shoots through me again, and I feel as though all the stress and worries of the past are draining out of me, replaced by endless joy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the teacher smiling happily at me. It seems like it will never end, but it does. I stand in the middle of the room, trembling with excitement, smiling and eyes sparkling.

Bianca stands open-mouthed with awe. “Wow,” she whispers. “You’re good.”

I am jumping and running and skipping home with Bianca, the instructor’s words echoing in my ears. “You are a natural at ballet. You breathe through the moves. I’m impressed.” In my hand is a note that the teacher wrote to my mother, asking if I could attend the school. Bianca is hugging me so hard I can hardly breathe. But I’m smiling through it all.

 

Chapter 11

Everyone recognizes beauty in some way. I do through ballet.

Mom is kissing me all over. She and Bianca are thrilled, almost as much as me. She is going out to buy me dance attire right now. Bianca is going home to tell everyone how good I am.

I expect to feel the weight of my sorrows crashing down on me again, but I am no longer frustrated with life. I have found something that I can use to let out my feelings: ballet. I remember my teacher’s big brown eyes as she explained to me how good I was at dancing, how I put my feelings into it. She understood me through dance. I could see it in her eyes. They all did. And now I will be part of their community, too.

I pull the photos of my school friends out of the trash and tape them on my wall again. Then, I add everyone from dance class. Bianca’s picture stands out in the middle. Bianca. She showed me the joys of dancing, although I doubt she truly knew them herself. She had tried to help even when I wasn’t responding to her. I smile, joyful tears filling my eyes. Bianca didn’t understand me. Bianca will never understand me. But Bianca is still my truest friend.

Sometimes I think I live in a world of shells.

But that’s okay.

 

Birthday Surprise

Piper McCarthy blinked the morning grogginess away, then rocketed out of bed.

Birthday! Thirteen! Special!, were the first thoughts to zoom through her head. Standing in front of the mirror, she checked herself. Her frizzy, brown hair was as messy as ever, and her storm-gray eyes were exactly the same as they’d been since she was born. Her warm, brown skin looked and felt fine. No fangs, wings, scales, feathers, or fur had grown overnight. No gills or claws, either. She made a red X over a box on a chart taped to her wall. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tensed all her muscles and stood on her very tippiest toes. When she didn’t float up to the ceiling, she made another X on a different box.

Several exercises later, including (but not only) staring at a match, talking to her cat, Inkpot, and trying to see what her mom was thinking from the kitchen (all of which got an X on the chart), Piper arrived at the final test.

Please, please, please! Work! she begged, panicked. Here goes.

Crouching down, she thought decisively, I am a cat. I am a cat.

She tugged on her left earlobe nervously. I am a — POP!

Suddenly, she was a lot closer to the ground than she had been before.

I am not a cat.

She glanced down. She still had human hands, and legs, and feet. Then, why was everything so big? Oh, no, no, no!

With a yowl, the cat leapt down from the bed, thumping to the floor. Running desperately, Piper tried to jump over the long bristles of her shag carpet, her now-tiny slippers falling off her feet. Piper floated up, up above Inkpot, and close to the ceiling.

Oh, no, why’d I’d have to be a Different!?

When she eventually floated into the kitchen (it took a little while to figure out she could control her flight with certain movements, although she did still flap her arms unnecessarily), her mom looked up from her newspaper and coffee at the sound of Piper’s  voice.

“Good morning, sweetie! Um, where are you? Oh, are you invisible? Wonderful!”

“Actually, Mom, not so much. I’m up here.”

“Ooh, are you super small? Are you a fly? Where are you?”

Piper floated down, bumping against the marble counter top. “Right here, Mom.”

“So you are super small! But how can you fly, then?” Mrs. McCarthy was confused.

“I’m not a Shrinker,” Piper sighed.

“Then, what are you? I didn’t think Flyers could shrink.”

“They can’t, Mom. At least I don’t think so. But I’m not a Flare, Flyer, Shrinker, Fluffy, Changer, Speeder, Stronger, or any of the normal ones at all. Not even a Sensier.”

“Oh, sweetie! A Different? Are you sure?”

“I most certainly am.”

“Oh, your father won’t be happy.”

“He sure won’t.”

Piper’s father was a Flare, someone who could manipulate fire, and he was the principal of a prestigious school for other Flares. Being very well known and respected, he did everything he could to maintain a very normal appearance to the public, despite Piper being a “late bloomer” — someone who got their powers after turning twelve. Your thirteenth birthday was your last chance, because you couldn’t get a power after that. He did not much like Differents, mostly because his brother (who had always been a rival to him) had been one. Piper’s mother was a Fluffy and could thus communicate with animals, which was why Inkpot liked her best.

“Oh, sweetie,” Piper’s mom sighed.

Piper’s stomach rumbled.

“I’m hungry.”

Her mom tried to smile.

“I’ll get you some pancakes.”

Piper sat on the counter in silence while Mrs. McCarthy puttered around the kitchen, warming up some frozen pancakes. Piper fiddled with a Post-It note, folding it into a boat big enough for her to sit in. She plopped into the boat and wished for a normal power, like underwater breathing or butterfly wings. Differents were just, well, different. They were rare, for one thing, and weird. They usually had a combination of a couple of normal powers, though there were some odd ones like the girl whose singing made turtles fall asleep. Nobody liked Differents, though Piper had never been told why. Her stomach twisted at the thought of what her classmates were going to say. At least it was better than being a Nothing, someone with no powers.

Trying to be positive, she thought, At least I can fly, what I wanted most… and shrinking isn’t too bad — I just have to do both at the same time. She tried to smile.

Her mom clattered the plate of pancakes down in front of her and thumped down into her seat. Picking up her cell phone, she began to type furiously, though trying to tilt the phone away from Piper so she couldn’t read it. Pretending to go to wash her hands at the sink, Piper glanced at the website her mom was on. Rinsing her hands in a tiny puddle on the edge of the sink, she read the title of the site: “What To Do With A Different Child.” Piper felt like she’d flown into the refrigerator. Was being a Different really that bad? With an ironic twist of a smile, she noted that her power seemed to include super senses too. She could see everything. She could hear the tiny clinks of her mom’s mug and the rustle of the paper. Although she was still hurt by her mother’s internet search, she resolved to use her power as often as she could.

It‘s probably great for eavesdropping, she thought wryly.

Zipping back to the plate of pancakes, her newly sharpened sense of smell was overwhelmed by the scent of maple syrup and chocolate chips. Looking up from her newspaper, Mrs. McCarthy pointedly glanced at the plate and back at Piper.

“Okay, you might want to get big again.”

“I can’t.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Well, how did you get small in the first place?”

“I was crouching,” Piper bent down, “and I thought that I was a cat, and it happened.”

“Do it again.”

Piper thought, I am a cat. I am a cat. I am a cat! Nothing. I am a cat, cat, CAT! Nothing. I AM A CAT! And suddenly… nothing.

“It’s not working,” her mom observed.

“I can see that,” Piper snapped back.

“You must have done something else. Think!”

“I am thinking!”

In her annoyance, she almost didn’t notice her hand tugging on her left earlobe. She looked at her hand, and remembered, I tugged my left earlobe. She did it again. Nothing. This time, she tugged her right earlobe. Pop!

She was full-size, sitting on the counter in her favorite purple pajamas. Piper and her mom just looked at each other, worried. They had both heard it: her father lumbering down the hall towards the kitchen. He was not going to be happy…

 

Blackbird

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. Suddenly, thunderstorms brewed. It was not the weather; it was the mood in the Williams’ house. A big fight between Lucy William’s parents caused dark, gray clouds to hover over the house. It ominously ended with her father slamming the door to their house.  

As soon the door closed, Lucy rushed downstairs as fast as a lightning bolt.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Since your father is such a horrible person, we are getting a divorce.”

“Oh,” Lucy said sadly and ran up to her room. “Great!” She plopped on the bed, burying her head into her pillow, tear-stained tissues strewn around her. “What should I do?”  

Lucy was used to her parents, Martha and Michael, fighting all the time. They were so different. For one thing, her mother was so sensitive and prone to childlike tantrums. Her ginger-haired dad was so overwhelming and a busybody. Lucy had known that they would get a divorce one day, but it was still a surprise. Whenever her parents fought, it sounded like they were using a huge megaphone.  

Okay, she thought, how does this change my life? Do I tell anyone at school? Wait… I do not have any friends or family to tell. Everyone thinks that I am just a pack animal who they can take advantage of. I might as well be a donkey. Today is Tuesday… three more days of torture before the weekend.

Thinking about the song “Blackbird” by the Beatles, Lucy reflected on her life. She felt as if the song resembled her life. If only I could take these broken wings and learn to fly.  However, I cannot fly.  Oh, well, I might as well do the homework for tomorrow.

She fiddled with her straight, dark hair while reading her history book about the Cultural Revolution. People were forced to accommodate to Mao Zedong, China’s Communist leader. Lucy had to accommodate to her parent’s divorce.

“Ugh, I cannot focus. If only I had a friend. I could tell them things I usually keep to myself,” Lucy said to the silver-framed picture of her deceased grandparents. They had died in a car crash when she was four years old.  

“Now… I have a plan,” announced Lucy to the picture, “I will try to make a friend and just be myself.”

With that, she nodded triumphantly and finished her homework. She then reheated frozen macaroni and cheese in the kitchen for dinner. She also tossed a leafy green salad with ranch and little croutons. While she did this, her mother was in her room, contacting a lawyer. Lucy went upstairs to Martha’s room to give her a uniform tray of food with a little salad as a peace offering.  In response, Martha snapped at Lucy to go away.

As Lucy turned away, she rolled her eyes and went back downstairs to eat her own dinner in the kitchen. She cleared the table and washed the dishes. After that, she went to her room and fell asleep on her narrow bed, listening to the Beatles.

The next day, Lucy woke up with a sigh as the red alarm clock on her dresser beeped, alerting her that it was time to get up and go to school. Deciding to sneak past her mother and father, she changed into the usual uniform: a dark blue skirt, a white blouse, and black dress shoes. After packing her wheeled backpack with homework, she lugged it downstairs.  

While preparing her breakfast of steaming oatmeal and orange juice, she realized that her father had not come back from yesterday’s debacle.

Oh, well, she thought, one last parent to sneak past.

Just as she was about to leave, her Mother snuck up behind her.

“Where are you going?” she yelled into Lucy’s ear.

Wincing, Lucy said, “To school, of course. Where else?”

“Are you sure you are not going to skip school?”

“I think I know what I am doing.  Goodbye.” Lucy walked out to go to school while her mother stared in shock.

“This is not over,” Martha yelled.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Lucy thought, passing by Ms. Applegate’s green house.  

“Hey, girl,” Ms. Applegate yelled, a bit hard of hearing.

“Hello, Ms. Applegate,” Lucy muttered.

“What did you say, girl?”

“Hello! Now, goodbye.”

“Oh, you rude, girl, you rude.”

“Yeah, I guess I am changing,” Lucy said under her breath as she continued walking to school among the fresh evergreen trees.   

She finally reached the red brick building with a sign that said “Tenth Draft School.” Once inside, she sidled in her locker’s direction, trying to push through the crowds of people in the halls.  When she got there, she entered her combination code and started to take out of her books. Suddenly, the locker door slammed shut.  

Lucy turned around slowly, sighed and said, “What, Allison?”

Allison, a thin girl with pink hair, sneered, “Oh, look, it is the pack animal. Go join your relatives.”

“And my relatives are…”

“Just go over there,” Allison said, pointing across the hall to a girl with blonde hair and green eyes. She was clutching her books to her chest while leaning against the dented locker opposite of Lucy’s.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lucy said, opening her locker one last time. She finished taking her books out.  

“Go, already,” said Allison.

“Calm down, already,” said Lucy.

Lucy walked across the hall to join the girl as Allison walked away, joining her clique. She could smell lavender in the girl’s hair.

“Hi,” the girl whispered.

Oh, this is a perfect opportunity to make a friend, Lucy thought. “Hi, I am Lucy.  What is your name?”

“My name is Amelie. I am new. Is everyone here like… Allison… ?”

“Mostly. What was your other school like?

“Um, I did all the work for people in my class… but I would prefer not to talk about it.”

“Sorry, I do not really know how to talk to people. On a different note, what is your next class?  The bell will ring in three… two… one.”

The bell rang. Ring!

“I just came from the principal. Apparently, I have English next.”

“I have that, too. I will take you there.”

They walked to the English class in silence. As they entered the classroom, they found only one empty spot in the front of the room to the far left. There were four windows. The room was moderately-sized with a desk for the teacher, four tables with two chairs at each one, and posters with quotes from famous authors such as Shakespeare. The lemony smell of Lysol permeated the air.

“Well, there is only one place for us to sit. We should go sit there,” Amelie said.

They crossed the room and sat at the desk hesitantly. When the teacher, Ms. Robison entered, she had a surprise.

“Attention, class. We have entered a poetry contest where you write about a global issue. It is due tomorrow. You will work with the person at your table.”

The room came alive with boos and a few cheers. Amelie and Lucy looked at each other, smiled, and rolled their eyes.

“One last thing,” Ms. Robison said, “you will have time in class to work on it. Get started right now.”

“Okay. Lucy, what issues are you worried about?” asked Amelie.

“Um… I guess water pollution.”

“Me, too. I am really concerned about guinea worm. Even though the worm is in its final days, it once infected millions. People should know about it as it could occur in other developing countries,” Amelie said quickly.

“Well, we decided on a topic,” Lucy said.

Ring!

“Do you want to meet somewhere do to work on the poem?” asked Amelie.

I can speak so freely to Amelie, thought Lucy.

“Sure,” said Lucy, “ How about the library on Massachusetts Avenue at 5:00 pm? By the way, what class do you have next? The bell just rang.”

“I have Math and then Language.”

“I will show where you where Math is, but I need to go to Social Studies. Someone will show you the way to Language class.”

“Thanks.”

Lucy took Amelie to Math class and rushed to Social Studies. She got there just in time. Lucy thought about Amelie throughout her classes until lunch when they met again. They walked over to the swings with their lunches and started talking.

“How was your class?” Lucy asked as she bit into a mozzarella sandwich with ripe, red tomatoes.

“It was okay. I got homework but that is usual. However, Allison was in that class,” Amelie said. She was eating lasagna with tomato sauce.

“Well, that is that. Enough about school. What do you like to do?”

“I like to listen to music and cuddle with my tiny kitten, TomTom. I also read about world issues such as illiteracy, and musicians.”

“Two comments.  One, what do you like to listen to? Two, your kitten must be so cute.”

“Two answers. Beatles, even though it is old, and Adele.”

Ring!

“I like the Beatles, too. How come the bell rings when we are finally getting to know each other?”

“I do not know. Well, what class do you have next?”

“Music class. I will be learning how to play the acoustic guitar. After that, the library with you.”

“I am going to Music class, too. Let’s go.”

They walked off the playground together. Pushing through the students milling around the halls, they made their way to the small classroom. Soon realizing they were the only students, they sat in the chairs, waiting for the teacher. After waiting for a short while, a broad-bellied man called Mr. Harry ambled into the room, pushing past the piano.  

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to acoustic guitar. Does anybody already know how to play?” Mr. Harry said, passing each student a guitar.

“A bit,” said Amelie, strumming the chords.  

“Yeah, a bit. You are amazing!” Lucy said.

Throughout the class, Amelie entertained them with her skillful guitar playing.  

At the end, Mr. Harry said that Amelie might be able to receive a scholarship. Amelie grinned.

As Lucy and Amelie walked out of the room, they went back to the lockers and promptly took all of their stuff out. They walked down the steps to the school on their way to the library.

“Can we stop at my place first?” Amelie asked.

“Sure.”

They passed by oak trees, other colorful houses, and dogs yapping. Amelie and Lucy soon arrived at a well-to do home. Lucy waited outside while Amelie went in and got a newspaper article about guinea worms.

They walked to the old, white building called the “Bethesda Library.”

Inside, they passed endless rows of books and tables and found a table in the corner. They started by reviewing the Washington Post article called “The Dying Days of a Parasite that Once Infected Millions.”  

“So, what have you learned?” asked Lucy.

“That the guinea worm is close to being ‘wiped out’ but the final step of preventing it is tricky,” said Amelie.

“Do not forget that clean water is scarce in many countries.”

“I think we understand it now. Let’s start the poem.”

After many drafts, Lucy and Amelie composed a poem called “All That Water.” 

 

All That Water

 

Women gaze at their sleeping children,

hoping, praying.

that they will not succumb.

 

Fear clutches their stomachs,

soon replaced by dread as

their children, their babies,

cough that hacking cough.

 

The sounds of women, children, men

wailing in the night

as the guinea worm emerges.

 

Scavenging for wood that is scarce

and that abject poverty

cannot afford,

snapping off twigs,

tearing off leaves,

just to get to the bare wood,

still unable to boil the water.

 

Forced to drink from the source of life

that harbors the flaming serpent.

 

Water.

All that water that kills.

 

“Good job, Amelie,” Lucy said.

“Thanks. I have to go home,” Amelie said as she glanced at her watch.

“See you tomorrow.”

As Amelie walked out, Lucy smiled. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, she thought. She put the poem in her backpack. While walking out of the library of discovery, she remembered that she would be going to a shattered household.  

The sun was setting. Passing through the oak and evergreen trees and the silent houses in her neighborhood, she tried to sneak past Ms. Applegate. Unfortunately, no such luck.  

“Hey, girl!” shouted Ms. Applegate, rocking in a chair on her porch.

“Hello, Ms. Applegate. I have to go home, but I will see you later,” said Lucy.

“Why you so nice to me right now?”

“I am in a better mood than before. I made a friend.”

“Good.” Ms. Applegate went inside and Lucy continued on.

Finally, she reached her dreary house. She could see a “For Sale” sign planted in the freshly-turned soil. Rushing inside, she found her mother talking to her lawyer.  

“What is going on?” panted Lucy.

“We are selling this house. There are too many memories of your father.”

“Speaking of my father, where is he?”

“I do not know or care.”
“Where would we even move?”

“California to join my relatives.”

Lucy ran up to her room and collapsed onto her bed. Thoughts whirled around her head.

I have finally made a friend, and now my mother wants to move to California. My “broken wings” had flown. What will I tell Amelie? Should I choose not to move with my mother? Should I ask Amelie if I can stay with her? If I did, would she allow me to? I do not have her phone number or email. What do I do? Okay. I will ask Amelie if I can stay with her while I sort my life. I am sure my mother can be without me for a few days.

As the sky was black and purple, she just went to bed. Lucy did not make dinner or talk to her mother. However, she did change, as usual.

The next day was gray and dismal. Lucy woke up and realized she had not set the alarm clock the previous day. She was late. Changing into her uniform, and packing her backpack was an ordeal. She had to be quick. Lucy snatched a granola bar, noticing the note on the door.  It said “I have gone to a hotel to sort out my thoughts. I will be back in two days. – Mother.”

Are you kidding me? Well, now I can go to Amelie’s, thought Lucy.

After exiting the house, she sprinted past Ms. Applegate’s, her wheeled backpack being hindered at every crack.  

Lucy arrived at Tenth Draft School and went to her locker. She could not see Amelie anywhere. Putting her books into her locker, she wondered where Amelie might be. Maybe she was already in class?

Ring!

Lucy started walking to Language Arts. When she arrived, she saw that Amelie was not there. Where could she be? Sitting down, she mused this over in her mind. Was there something about Amelie that she did not know?

Ms. Robison walked in. “Poems, please,” she said.

Lucy absentmindedly pulled the poem out of her book.

When Ms. Robison walked past and Lucy gave her the poem, she asked “Where is Amelie? Is she sick?”

“I do not know.”

Lucy did not see Amelie for the rest of the day. Nobody knew where Amelie was.

Where was Amelie?